Frostbite

I knew snow was in the forecast, but I hoped that fate would be on my side, and I’d beat the storm.

I watch as the woman who trashed her umbrella waves down a passing taxi. The driver narrowly misses hitting the delivery truck in front of him before he brings the car to a stop close to the curb.

She yanks on the back door handle and slides in. The relief on her face is evident when she gazes out the window in my direction as the taxi’s driver turns his signal light on, hoping someone will let him in the bumper-to-bumper traffic that trails as far back as I can see. It’s not that far, given that the snow has now picked up and visibility is down to less than half a block.

I round the corner to Perry Street. I’m almost there. The change of direction should give me a reprieve from the snow.

It should, but it doesn’t.

The bitterly cold wind lashes the side of my face, so I bow my head to ward it off.

I take a step and then another, cursing the fact that I didn’t follow my instinct and go to the craft store an hour ago. Instead, I wrote an email to my former boss wishing her well for the holidays and hoping that her New Year’s Eve wedding in Brazil is everything she wants it to be.

My breath catches when the wind trails over my neck as it pushes my hair aside.

A car horn startles me enough that I glance to my right to see what the fuss is about.

Just as my gaze lands on a car sliding into the back of another, I run into what feels like a brick wall.

The bag I’m cradling close to my chest smashes against me.

Something warm sprays over my face, and I trip.

Forward – right into the arms of a man.Chapter 2Raelyn“What the hell? You should watch where you’re going.”

His voice draws my gaze up. I look into his blue eyes before I glance at his hair. It’s brown and mussed just enough from the wind to look stylish. Since he’s bundled a gray scarf around his face and throat, shielding everything from his nose down, I can’t see his expression.

I shake the bag I’m holding to hear the unmistakable sound of shattered glass.

Dammit.

“You knocked my coffee right out of my hand,” he accuses.

Great. Not only am I now holding a bag of broken ornaments, but my hair is going to freeze in place because this guy’s coffee landed all over me.

I swipe my fingers over my forehead. “You ran into me.”

He dusts his hand over the front of his gray wool coat, chasing away droplets of coffee. “No. You obviously weren’t paying attention.”

What the hell is his problem?

He looks into his now empty coffee cup and the plastic lid lying on the snow-covered sidewalk. “You’re lucky I bought this twenty minutes ago. Otherwise, you would have burned yourself.”

Other than a sexy deep voice and a face that is at least half-handsome, this guy has nothing going for him.

“You’re lucky,” I spit back, trying desperately to wipe droplets of coffee from my chin before they freeze. “I would have sued you if you burned me.”

I wouldn’t have. Accidents happen.

“Sued me?” The words are wrapped in a deep chuckle. “Listen, miss, you clearly weren’t looking straight ahead. If you were, this never would have happened.”

“Where were you looking?” I drop a hand to my hip. “If you saw me coming, you would have moved out of my way.”

He ponders that for a moment with the draw of his brows up. “What’s in the bag?”

I drop my gaze to the bag, shaking it again, so he can hear the damage he’s done. “My balls.”

Even though I can’t see it, I sense a smile has bloomed on his lips. “Your balls are in that bag?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Or, yes. Christmas ornaments. I just bought them, and you broke them all.”

“You broke them all,” he repeats my words. “Next time, watch where you’re going.”

That’s it? No apology. No offer to replace the broken ornaments or money to cover the dry cleaning bill to get his coffee off of my coat.

Snow whips around us.

“I’m late,” he says gruffly. “You’re making me extra late.”

I step aside. “By all means, leave.”

His blue eyes hone in on my face. “Here’s a word of advice…”

“Keep it to yourself,” I spit back with a raise of my hand in the air.

“Next time, have your balls delivered.”

I shake my head. I’m frustrated to the point that I don’t care what this guy thinks of me. “A gentleman would apologize for running into someone. He’d ask if they’re okay. And for the record, I am fine, but you ruined my work. I was going to paint those balls tonight, and you messed that up.”