Page 6 of One Sweet Match Up

But he knew her name now.

She yanked off her apron. There’d be plenty of time to dissect their awkward encounter once she was home in her warm flannel pajamas tucked under her favorite red wool blanket with a glass of wine, but now she needed to get out of here before the roads became too treacherous to drive.

She headed into the back to grab her things. Sliding on her black wool coat, she scanned the pile of unpaid bills covering her desk. A knot forming in her stomach.

They weren’t going to pay themselves, but she’d need to dip way into her savings to cover them and the ones that would follow. She collected the invoices and put them in a nice stack. She’d deal with her pathetic finances after the storm.

When she’d opened her frozen yogurt shop last summer, she knew that the winter months could be light on revenue, but she hadn’t anticipated that her shop would be empty. Each cold day brought in one less customer.

Realizing in January that things could get tough, she’d been extremely tight on her budget. Even the bottle of red wine she’d take home tonight she’d gotten on sale.

Until the weather got warmer, she wasn’t expecting things to change. Peanut butter and jelly and canned tomato soup were going to have to be her staples until things turned around.

Putting on her worn pink knitted hat and matching mittens, she picked up her purse and the bottle of wine and headed for the door to brace the storm.

Bitter wind stung her cheeks the second she stepped out, and she pulled her coat tight to her chin. She really should have left hours ago, but she’d been working on her summer frozen yogurt menu that she hoped would be a hit and bring back her customers. She was so adamant about perfecting her country fair–inspired treats that she’d lost track of time.

It only took one glance down the deserted, snow-filled street to realize her small Honda would never, in a million years, get down the road. Even if it did make it, the small hill leading up to her apartment would no doubt be treacherous.

Just great. What do I do now?She blew out a cold, defeated breath. Her home was two miles south. It’d probably take her over an hour, but walking home seemed like her only option right now.

She picked up her legs, making it halfway across the street when, all of sudden, a gust of wind caused her to rock on her heels. Unable to keep her balance, she fell front first onto the snowy street.

Pain radiated from her kneecaps as a fast gust of wind blew her hat right off, taking it with it down the street.

“Dammit,” she cried out in frustration. That hat was her favorite and had belonged to her mother. Couldn’t this blizzard show any mercy? She pulled herself up and took two steps, her boot slipping once again and forcing her to the ground.

Before she knew what was happening, she was being tugged up gently from behind.

“Get your hands off of me,” she screamed. She struggled to regain her footing, ready to flee from whoever had placed his hands on her.

“Zoe. It’s Donovan.”

She steadied herself and pulled her jacket zipper up, feeling relieved she wasn’t dealing with a stranger about to accost her on a deserted street. “Are you following me?” she asked, throwing all of her agitation for this awful evening at him.

“No. I saw you wipe out. I came to help you.” He reached down and grabbed her wine bottle, laughing while shaking snow off it. “I think this is safe. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle and holding it to her chest.

“Are you trying to walk home?” he yelled over the wind.

“Yes.” She took a step but stopped and sighed. Walking home on the slippery sidewalks would be impossible, not to mention probably pitch black once she turned off Main Street. The last thing she should be doing is fumbling around in a blinding snowstorm. “I don’t know.” She flung her arm straight in front of her. “It’s two miles that way. I guess I could go back to my shop and stay there for the night.” She turned around and took a couple of cautious steps, not wanting to face-plant in front of the hunky chef again.

“Are you hungry?”

Zoe stopped in her tracks and turned around. Why was Donovan interested in whether she was hungry or not? “I don’t think anything is open right now.”

He dug into his coat and pulled out a set of keys, raising them up. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m helping out at the Sugar Spoon while Emma Stevens is out of town. We could wait there until the plows come through.” He nodded toward the bakery. “I’m a pretty decent cook. I can whip us up some dinner that will go good with your wine.”

A decent cook. That was the downplay of the century. Zoe stood frozen, and it had nothing to do with the icicles probably forming off her ears.

Donovan Foster wanted to spend his evening cooking me dinner.

Alone.

Wow.

Didn’t see that coming.Had the universe invited mother nature into its master plan to mess with her?

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