Page 38 of Under Pink Skies

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“I’ll be working on some more marketing graphics today. Since we’ve got a decent social media following, I figured we could use that to our advantage, to see if we can’t drum up some online hype for the upcoming festival. Could you ask Abbie to send over whatever Founder’s Day graphics the council has provided for her? Since this is a joint effort, after all.”

“Sure,” I said. “I was planning to head into town here shortly, if either of you want to join me.”

Lucas waved a hand in dismissal while Kam shook his head.

“I’ve got a few meetings this morning, so I’m unfortunately glued to my laptop,” Kam said.

“And I’m planning to go for a hike. It’s been ages since I’ve been on a good hike.”

“Killer’s Ridge is good, if you’re looking for something more challenging.”

Kameron and Lucas both looked at me with blank expressions.

“The name makes it sound like some serial killer funhouse,” I said quickly, “but it’s not. It’s named after one of the most prominent founding families in Watford, whose surname was, unfortunately, Killer.”

Kameron let out a low whistle. “Told you these small towns give me the fucking creeps.”

Lucas shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That sounds cool.”

I smiled as Kameron barked out a laugh. I rinsed out my coffee mug and set it off to the side.

“See you losers later.”

I headed toward Watford General with two of Blackbeard’s lattes in hand. I tried to tell myself that the coffee wasn’t a peace offering, but there was no escaping the fact that it definitely was. It was also helpful to focus on something other than the way the teenage girl working at the coffee bar had been furiously texting her friends as soon as I picked up the coffees and turned to leave.

“Hello?” I called as I pushed the door to the store open. I put my latte behind the checkout counter to grab later. It was still piping hot, and unlike one Abbie Collins, I wasn’t a fan of having my taste buds burned off while drinking my coffee.

“Back here!” Abbie’s voice was muffled by the aisles and pillars between us. I shook my head, a smile appearing on my face subconsciously.

“Where is—”

I almost dropped the latte in my hand as I came face-to-face with Abbie’s backside. Abbie Collins in jeans was a sight to behold, the denim fabric hugging her hips and curves in a way that had me clenching my free hand into a fist to keep from grabbing and pulling them against me.

“Sorry,” Abbie said, grunting with the effort of pulling something to the front of the shelf. “A certain someone decided all the spare nails needed to be kept in the most difficult place to reach.” Another grunt of effort as she stood on her tiptoes. “That someone being me.”

The movement stretched the fabric even more, and I barely stifled a groan.

“Can I help you?”

“I can do it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said, my voice rough around the edges, “but Kameron arrived in town this morning. He hired some extra hands and paused programming this week in order to focus on the festival. I’m staying for the foreseeable future.”

That statement caused Abbie to momentarily forget she was precariously perched on top of a seven-foot ladder and whip her head toward me. Her foot slipped from the top rung, and she wobbled unsteadily for exactly three seconds before that gorgeous backside made a beeline for the floor. I shoved her latte on the nearest shelf and caught her.

“Did you just catch me?” she asked, and I could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage.

I gently set her down on the floor. She swayed slightly and used my forearms as a balancing agent, her wide eyes meeting mine.

“Withoutspilling the coffee?” She added.

“Is that a serious question?” I asked. “Of course I caught you. I wouldn’t let you crack your skull open on the linoleum floor.”

Abbie frowned as she looked at the floor between us, holding my arms tighter.

“I guess that would be a bitch to clean.”