Page 26 of One Sweet Match Up

“Okay.” He’d been around women long enough to know when a conversation was done. He wasn’t going to risk pissing her off more than he already had. “Have a good afternoon.”

He all but expected her to storm into her shop, but she stood for a few seconds before spinning around.

Maybe their conversation wasn’t done. “What’s up?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid.

“Don’t you see how weird this is? You get a cryptic message where Mary may or may not be requesting soup, and then we just so happen to find asoupladle in that vintage bag that was definitely empty when I found it this morning.”

“Hmm.” He’d been so caught up in Zoe running out of the theater he hadn’t connected the dots. His grip around the ladle tensed. “It is odd.”

“It’s more than odd, and I want nothing to do with it.” She turned back to the door.

“It’s not a big deal.” Donovan opened the purse and stuffed the ladle back in. It was time to reassure one wigged-out Buttermilk Falls transplant that magic was part of the town’s welcome package and nothing to be afraid of. “A lot of people we know—from what I hear—have gotten gifts from Mary. Brandon’s got her antique trunk at the Lakeside Inn. Hell, rumor has it Bethany’s entire back storage room in her Christmas shop is full with Mary’s crap.”

“Well, Mary can play her shenanigans on someone else.” She nodded down to the purse. “Can you do me a favor and get rid of it?”

His heart beat a little at her plea. She wanted his help. “That I can do. Consider it done. I’ll take it to the Sugar Spoon. You’ll never have to see it again.”

“Thanks.” She pulled open her door and stepped in, her back propping it open. “Listen, Donovan, I don’t know why Mary seems to be interested in my life, but I don’t need it. I’m a simple frozen yogurt shop owner fro—”

“From Denwood,” he interjected.

“Right.” She broke eye contact, lowering her gaze to the ground.

Guilt washed over him. He wasn’t trying to make her feel bad about herself, but that’s all he seemed to be doing today. Maybe it was time to give her a little pep talk. Make her feel she’d made the right decision to move to Buttermilk Falls. God knows, he didn’t want her to leave.

“Zoe, I think you’re doing a great job. I mean . . . I didn’t mean what I said earlier about your closing being a good decision.” He lowered his head, trying to meet her pretty blue eyes to no avail. “Running a successful business takes time. I’ve been there. I know.”

She lifted her chin, and damn if her glistening baby blues didn’t make his heart melt.

“It is hard,” she admitted. “Which is why I don’t need gifts from ghosts. I need living, breathing customers who can pay me cold, hard cash. Thanks for getting rid of the purse. I’ll see you around.” She stepped inside, the glass door closing behind her.

“See you,” Donovan said to the door and watched a defeated Zoe walk the length of her shop. Her shoulders were slumped, and there was a detectable sadness in her face as she busied herself behind the counter—a far cry from the night of the blizzard when he’d witnessed her jubilant celebration over her frozen yogurt.

He blew out a cold breath. She was right. She didn’t need magic. She needed customers.

Too bad with these frigid temperatures customers would probably prefer something warm rather than frozen in their bellies for at least the next three months. His head dropped to the ladle handle peeking out from the bag. An idea began to form.

With one last glance through the glass door at the pretty, blonde frozen yogurt owner, he

proceeded down the street.

Maybe he could help.

6

Donovan grabbeda wooden spoon and stirred the industrial metal pot full of his cheesy tomato soup, the gooey cheese melting in the hot soup. When he’d left the Ice Heaven earlier in the week, he’d gone straight to the senior center. It was a crazy idea, and one he wasn’t quite sure would even work since it hinged on Zoe’s agreeing to it, but damn, he had his old friend, Spark, back.

He turned the burner on high and spun in a circle. It was time to ignite his ole buddy.

When he’d reached the senior center, he’d been greeted by the director, Loretta Collins, who just so happened to be his and Rachel’s former babysitter growing up. She’d greeted him with a warm hug and a peck on the cheek.

It was then that he asked for a favor: let him cater lunch for the Saturday event, and he promised to knock everyone’s socks off with a selection of gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches and his special tomato soup.

It only took Mrs. Collins seconds to nod an enthusiastic yes.

So, here he was in the center’s large kitchen, making lunch for a room full of seniors, ready to put his plan into motion. When Zoe arrived with her frozen yogurt, he was prepared to make his pitch.

He gave his soup a satisfied stir. Yes, this could work.

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