No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

And if a few card-carrying members of the Single Lady Vulture Squad want to keep glaring daggers, well...

It’s not like anything actually happened with Mr. Polar Bear.

But my heart’s skipping a heck of a lot over a whole lot of nothing, and that’s just silly.

The evening roundup keeps me busy for nearly an hour, slinging drinks and mentally tallying what costs I’m eating just to keep people’s goodwill and calm the general atmosphere.

It’s not a big deal, though, and it’s soothing for me to put together each drink.

By the time Mitch returns to apologize—this time without the dog, wife, or kids—I’m laughing, teasing Peace.

She claims it wasn’t the ruckus that ended her show early tonight, blaming sore fingers. I know the real reason is the chuckling man pulling her into his arms with a lopsided grin, rocking slightly as he hugs her close, favoring his movements on one leg.

I slide Blake his usual coffee—not that he notices me when he’s so focused on his wife—then turn a smile on Mitch.

“Hey, man. You okay? That was quite a show.”

“Yeah, sure was. I didn’t get hit. Neither did the kids or Momo, thank God. I’m real sorry about that, again,” he says with a sigh. “Didn’t know the cat would be here. Left Momo at home, though. That pup’s way too keyed up. But if you want me to pay anything, I’ll—”

“No way.” I hold up a hand. “It’s covered. We’re good, Mitch. No harm, no foul. Did you still want to order up?”

“Please! If my gal doesn’t get her late-night caffeine jolt, she’s out before the kids.” Then he pauses, braces his hands against the counter, and leans in, dropping his voice as he looks left and right. “Listen, though...after you close up tomorrow, do you think we could talk?”

Uh-oh.

There it is.

My internal warning, sounding red alert.

See, I knew that incident with the mugs was just a fake-out to lull me into a false sense of complacency.

Lady Luck isn’t done screwing me just yet.

I set down the mug I was wiping out, eyeing Mitch warily. “Probably. I can have the part-timers close up if it’s urgent.”

“Not urgent, maybe, but well...I don’t know. Just don’t feel like I should talk about it here. It’s about that car you sold me.”

“Dad’s old junker?”

I blink.

That old truck hasn’t worked right in years. It was just sitting at my place, gathering dust, ever since my father died. It’s practically an antique, which is why I figured selling it for parts was a better idea than spending the money to fix it up myself and sell it to a collector. So I turned it over to Mitch, and figured that was the last I’d have to think about it.

Mitch nods, leaning in closer. “I found something taped under the seat, and I think it was your dad’s. I thought you should have it.”

Every nerve in my body hums.

“What is it?” I ask slowly, even if I’m honestly afraid to know the answer.

Yeah, this is officially worse than I thought.

Anything related to Dad and his dirty deeds is bad, bad news.

I think Mitch knows that, too, or he wouldn’t be so secretive.

He wouldn’t give me the look he does, long and dark and dire.

“Not here,” he says. “I’ll be at the shop tomorrow until midnight. Just knock.”

“Okay,” I murmur, but what I really mean is Oh God, no.

I have enough ghosts rattling my cage.

Please.

Please don’t let Dad’s be coming back to haunt me.

2

All That Glitters (Alaska)

I love a good sunset.

But seeing them consistently by seven p.m. every night sure as hell weirds me out.

I’m from the land of the midnight sun. In Fairbanks, we don’t see sunset till it’s almost tomorrow sometimes, and I’m used to falling asleep with that bright glowing ball still high in the sky or hiding itself completely for months.

Today, though, I’m sitting on the back porch after dinner, lounging at the cozy little cabin I’m renting at the Charming Inn, just watching the sun sink below that pretty flower-decked cliff.

I’m supposed to be enjoying a beer and watching the stars come out. My nightly ritual.

Instead, I’m listening to Eli’s voice drifting through the window. He’s in the living room, screwing around on his tablet and talking to himself as enthusiastically as if he’s got a live audience.

He does that.

It’s funny most of the time, and right now he’s mumbling over cat treats like he’s just struck gold.

All because I told him it was cool to pick something out online to try to make amends with that ball of grizzled tangerine that looks like someone stripped a pipe cleaner and clumped the fuzz into a cat.

We’ve seen Mozart around a few times since yesterday, though he’s apparently mad enough that he’s ignoring Eli instead of coming around begging for scraps like usual.

Not gonna lie, I was a little worried after he scampered out of Miss Felicity’s coffee shop with that dog barking at his heels. Still, Ms. Wilma herself told me he’s a roamer, and he always finds his way home—just like he always seems to bond with the summer kids who come through here with tourists or new transplants.