Page 12 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

Not that she’d ever tell Chadwick Mullens she needed him.

“Howell will come by tomorrow. We’d like you to use recipes from both cookbooks.”

“But tomorrow is Christmas Eve!” Athena sputtered. She had plans to bake traditional Greek goodies with her mom and sister, inhale the wonderful aroma of Christmas thanks to the fresh pine in the living room that was straight from Cassandra McTavish’s local Christmas tree lot, and shift into low gear for a few days.

How had all this video stuff been arranged so quickly? Was this how fast events moved when a celebrity got involved in a project? Everything kicked into a supersonic speed, as if the producers were afraid the celeb would move on if given half a beat to breathe or think—or forget about it and renege?

Although she had a few other NHL players penciled in for some promos in January and February—just before the book’s March launch—and nobody had been moving this fast with them. Maybe this was the special “Mullens Effect?”

“So Howell is going to come by your kitchen,” Aurora said, and Athena glanced around the disaster zone. She’d believed she had weeks, not hours, to whip the dusty kitchen into shape before the grand opening. However, she had listed it as the available commercial kitchen in her online video pitch to her publisher, and she couldn’t suddenly say she didn’t have access to it anymore. Maybe she could enlist her family and friends to help out. They’d do almost anything in exchange for a batch of her fresh-baked brownies.

“He’ll critique you,” Aurora continued, “and make sure the dynamic between you and Mullens really pops.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a concern,” Athena muttered. “There will be a murder mystery dinner in each and every episode.”

Her agent laughed. “The marketing department will iron out the details of your theme. If you can get some of his favorite recipes, or ones that are favorites in his family, that would be great. Really involve him on all levels, so he’s not just a marketing ploy.”

Which he was.

The man was calling her bluff and trying to get her to ease up on tattling to Louis about his diet. After all, she’d threatened to take away what was dear to him, and now he was initiating payback. She couldn’t fault him for that. She would have done the same in his position.

Meddy barged through the kitchen door, waving a bag of wonderfully scented takeout and causing Athena’s stomach to growl. Her sister’s phone was wedged between her ear and shoulder and she was saying loudly, “No, Dad, we didn’t forget tonight is FBGN.” She turned her rounded eyes to Athena.

Family Breakfast Game Night. That’s why Athena hadn’t grocery shopped. The four of them would binge all night, and she and Meddy, despite any protestations on their part, would surely come home with leftovers. She’d forgotten about FBGN since it was only two days until Christmas.

Game night started with carrot-walnut pancakes, sausage, fresh fruit and scrambled eggs. Then came several ruthless rounds of cutthroat cards. It had been a tradition since the day Meddy had come home from kindergarten upset that she didn’t know her numbers as well as the top kids in her class. Their dad had instituted a family game night on the spot, with playing cards at the center, finding a fun way for her to get better at her numbers. It had been such a blast it had become an instant, unbreakable tradition.

Until Athena moved to Jersey to live with Lonnie a little over a year ago. She’d missed family game night as she sat alone with Lonnie’s cat, Banx, waiting for him to come home from hockey.

But five months later—early last spring—she’d been single and back in Sweetheart Creek again, with a position with the Dragons and no longer taking family time for granted. And in September, when her sister had been downsized from the county office, they’d pooled their savings and bought the shop, including the two apartments above.

“Of course we’ll be there.” Meddy cringed dramatically and checked her watch. She mouthed to Athena, “Thirty minutes.”

They were going to have to inhale their takeout. Athena tucked her phone between her cheek and shoulder, making gimme hands at the bag. She was rewarded with a wrapped, hot cheeseburger.

She was lucky she wasn’t a pro athlete, for she’d never make it a week following the strict diet she gave them. Then again, nobody was offering her a million or two a year to stay in top physical shape. And anyway, she allowed her players the odd binge day, which was what takeout from the Longhorn Diner was, right?

And on the odd chance that the greasy cheeseburger didn’t count, then chasing it down with a second supper over at her parents’ surely would.

She mouthed “Thanks” to Meddy, set the burger on the mostly cleared counter and began unwrapping it with her free hand, making sounds of agreement into her phone as Aurora continued to talk, going over their publishing schedule.

“But back to Chad Mullens,” Athena finally said. “How’s he getting paid for this?”

If she recalled correctly, her publisher had a flat fee payable to any stars who joined the project. But knowing the savvy Mr. Mullens, he’d probably leveraged something extra. “Is he taking a cut of the royalties or making extra sponsorship deals on top of this?”

“Just the flat fee, which he’s donating to a hungry kids’ charity.”

Athena paused over her burger and closed her eyes, holding back a growl. A food-related charity? For kids?

He really was playing hardball, and planning to strike her out by aiming straight for her heartstrings.

She dropped her cheeseburger on the counter, no longer famished, and asked, “Is there any possible way I can say no?”

“Anyone here?” Mullens asked, opening the back door of an empty building on Main Street, Sweetheart Creek. The front windows were papered over and the front door locked. A handwritten sign suggested the place was soon going to be a bookstore and café and that deliveries would be accepted around back between certain hours.

Double-checking the address given to him by Athena’s publishing team yesterday, he’d left his gorgeous, factory-ordered, volcano-gray metallic Porsche parked out front and walked around to the alley, wondering if Athena was having a laugh at his expense. He’d considered driving away, but was already on thin ice with Louis and the Dragons’ managers because of his rift with the dietician. And even though it had been confirmed that the coach was falling for some local chick, that didn’t mean he’d go easy on Mullens.

What if this address snafu was retribution? Athena wasn’t one to ignore a battle cry, and he’d pushed his way into her cookbook project. She could be sending him to an abandoned building in a charming town of less than five thousand people, with plans to lock him inside so he’d miss Christmas. The joke was on her; he didn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.

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