Page 15 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

“Well, the jersey stays,” Nuvella stated with a sniff. “It identifies you as a celeb even to those who don’t know sports.”

“The Dragons aren’t exactly a selling feature, given their losing streak,” the man behind the camera muttered.

“We’re a new team,” Chad growled.

Howell cleared his throat and adjusted the camera’s angle. “Stand closer.”

“So my other NHL guests are going to wear their team jerseys as well?” Athena asked, frowning at Chad as he obeyed Howell’s orders and stepped closer to her.

“I suppose,” Nuvella stated reluctantly.

“Wait—I thought I was a regular on here?” Chad pulled out his phone again. “I need to talk to my agent.”

“And roll,” Howell said.

Chad sent a text message, then looked around as though expecting to be handed a script. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Look pretty while I work,” Athena grumbled.

Chapter 4

“Hey,” Mullens said quietly, after watching Athena toss ingredients around for a few minutes.

The camera guy was full of commands, including confusing ones such as not turning her back when she wanted to access the stove—which was behind her. How the man expected her to make an omelet was beyond Mullens.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

The glint in Athena’s eyes suggested she wanted him to curl up and die, but she said with surprising lightness, “What I say. So, basically do whatever you want. I’m sure gold will rain down on you either way.”

He choked on a laugh.

She caught him eyeing her earrings and she nervously fingered the left one. He could tell she’d been reluctant to accept the gift, and hadn’t wanted to put them on. But she had.

This show meant a lot to her. Ditto for him. His career might even depend on it.

“We need to find our groove,” he said. “Bring out your fiery side. Viewers will love it.”

“I proposed a murder mystery theme,” she replied, her tone sassy enough that he wasn’t quite sure if she was kidding. She grabbed an opened bottle of red wine from beside a large pot, no doubt intended for a different recipe, and lifted it to her lips. After taking several long, slow gulps she set it down again and exhaled deeply.

What?

She gave him a challenging look. “Ready to find our groove?”

Her top lip was deliciously moist from the wine, and the mascara she was wearing made her pretty eyes stand out. This woman, whether she knew it or not, would always have the upper hand with him.

“Jersey on or off?” he whispered, aware of the hint of intimacy in his question.

“Jersey on,” Nuvella snapped from the other side of the counter.

“What do you say?”

Earlier she’d looked as though she might go after him with that deadly blade lying beside the bowl of mushrooms. Now her gaze was warmer. It wouldn’t thaw a steak or anything, but it wouldn’t turn him into a popsicle, either.

“There’s broccoli in the omelet I’m making.” She wet her lips with her tongue, her brown eyes darting over the fabric covering his chest, then up to the tattoo that peeked out from the collar of his jersey. He resisted rubbing his fingers over it like a touchstone. It was a reminder of a life that had just begun, of a promise for the future and all the things he wanted.

“Broccoli?” he prompted.

“Now, I know you dislike broccoli, which really makes me wonder what you do eat….”

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