Page 5 of Slapshot & Sweet Potato
She nods, sadness flickering. “In my opinion, there’s no lonelier place than surrounded by people who don’t get you.”
This feels too intimate. Too real. Discomfort grips me. “Yep, like all you holiday go-getters. You could drive a body crazy.”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” she says in silky tones. “But at some point, don’t you think they’d want you to move on?”
My face tightens, her words getting dangerously close to the raw spot inside my heart. “Probably, but if moving on means forgetting… Well, count me out.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Actually, I think moving on means holding even tighter to the important things.”
“A baker and a philosopher. Nice seeing you again, Wendy.”
“You, too, Wallace.” I can feel her waiting, her energy still watching me as I open the door to leave.
Last minute, I cock my head back in, say in rough tones, “Weather report says we’re in for a doozy. If you need a ride or help preparing for the event, let me know.” The pull to keep the sassy girl with the pixie cut safe is strong, though I don’t know why.
She couldn’t look more surprised if an alien walked into the room.
I add, “I’ve got a big truck, and I know how to get more than little black pucks from point A to point B.”
Sweet Potato, with her lavender hair and ridiculous heart, has me volunteering before my brain catches up.
“A multi-talented man,” she grins. “I do have a grocery run coming up that I could use an extra hand with. You free tomorrow?”
“Stopping by my new cabin to make sure it’s buttoned down for the winter. But other than that, I could find some time.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a business card. I flick it across the desk to her. She picks it up, eyes the glossy dark blue and black card. “I didn’t know you used to be a mechanic.”
“Still am. Keeps me sane when the ice gets tough.” Why the hell I sound so vulnerable around her today, I can’t decide. I growl, letting the door shut behind me as I move through the bakery. Gotta get out of here before I say something even dumber—or offer to fix her damn oven next.
Chapter
Three
WENDY
The air thickens with anticipation, gray storm clouds burgeoning overhead. In the distance, Alpha Ridge’s peaks vanish beneath snow and cloud. Looks like they’re getting absolutely hammered. According to this morning’s weather report, we’re next.
Couldn’t have picked a worse time for the bakery van to go in for a recall. But the email from the mechanic made it sound important—like driving anywhere other than his shop would be taking my life into my own hands.
Maybe I should’ve asked for Wallace’s help. But?—
Ugh. I don’t know when it comes to that guy.
I slide more pie boxes and canned goods into the back of my hatchback, biting my bottom lip in concentration. Not nearly enough room. My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket, and I pull it out, reading the screen: “Heavy snowfall expected by this evening. Avoid travel where possible.”
Great, I grumble, my normal sunshine cracking. “It’ll be fine. Everything will work out.” I hum “Let It Snow,” choosing cheeriness over anger to irritate fate.
Suddenly, a menacing black truck pulls up next to me, heavy metal blaring. My eyes dart to the driver—black hoodie, baseball cap, mirrored shades. I gasp, clutching my heart.
He laughs, lowering his sunglasses and smiling. “You scare easy, Sweet Potato.”
“Nice disguise, Jason Bourne.”
He shrugs, voice nonchalant. “Beats being mobbed at the pumpkin display.”
I raise my eyebrows. “This is your way ofnotgetting noticed?”
He nods.
“For the record, it’s backfiring spectacularly. You couldn’t look more sus if you tried.”
