Chapter One
Mick Whitehouse
I’ve got it bad.
Crazy bad.
So bad not even a gorgeous redhead with legs for miles and a dress so low-cut it’s offering a hand-written invitation to stare at her cleavage can keep my thoughts from the girl who walked away.
Ran away is more like it.
After we kissed at the Fireman’s Ball, I’m pretty sure Faith broke a short distance sprint record in her hurry to get away from me. And the next morning, while I was still in bed, dreaming about her addictive lips, Bliss River’s only female firefighter was splitting town.
She took two weeks’ vacation—an unprecedented occurrence, according to her boss, and my sister’s fiancé, Jake—and vanished.
I have no idea where she went.
I only know I can’t stop thinking about her or those stolen moments beneath the mistletoe. She’d felt so perfect in my arms and the way she kissed…
Hell, I don’t have the words to describe how hot that kiss was. I only know that for the first time since moving home, I wasn’t thinking about my ex. For a few bliss-filled minutes, Bridget was the furthest thing from my mind.
I crave that almost as much as I crave the way Faith makes my blood rush.
Bottom line—I want Faith, and no other girl will do.
I’ve tried to forget her. I really have. First with Betsy, then Therese, and now, Nina…whose chest has to be in danger of frostbite in that tiny blue dress with only a light sweater around her shoulders.
Why isn’t she wearing more clothes?
At the very least, she should have on a winter coat.
Wishing a hot girl in a revealing dress was more covered up. What is wrong with you?
“Thanks for coming out.” I smile at Nina, ignoring the inner voice.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
Nothing some quality time with Faith can’t cure, anyway. I don’t want a long-term relationship or any of the associated angst; I just want to make Faith come a few dozen times before we go our separate ways. She isn’t interested in anything serious, either—she made that abundantly clear—so we’d be perfect for each other.
She said she didn’t date, after all, not that she didn’t like men in general or me, in particular.
There’s still a window open there.
A tiny window, maybe, but…
“Yeah, thanks for dinner,” Nina says as we stop in front of Icing, the bakery my sisters just opened on Main Street. “I had so much fun tonight.”
“Me too.” I fish for my keys in my pocket, making a mental note to touch up the paint around the door tomorrow, after I finish the kitchen remodel I’m working on south of town.
The bakery’s only been open a week, but it’s already a Bliss River hot spot and has the chipped paint to prove it. Almost every morning, there’s a line out the door and down the street as people queue up to get their favorite cookies, pastries, bread, and cakes before Icing sells out for the day.
Last Saturday was rough, and I don’t expect tomorrow will be any different. By tomorrow morning at seven, people will be milling around outside, gossiping and laughing as they wait for the shop to open, making far too much noise for me to sleep in.
Which is as good a reason as any to end this date early.
I yawn as I pull Nina in for a quick—platonic—hug. “See you at the New Year’s Eve party. Drive safe.”
I figure that’s the end of my latest failed date, but Nina doesn’t seem to get the message.
“I could come up for a while if you want,” she says, angling herself between me and the door. “I’d love to see your new apartment. It sounds like so much fun, living above a bakery.”
I silently curse myself for moving out of my parents’ house, where I was living with my sisters while Mom and Dad are in Florida for the winter. True, my sisters were driving me crazy, especially once they started planning Naomi’s wedding and the entire living room looked like a marriage bomb exploded in there.
But I have to admit, at times, their date-repelling qualities came in handy.
Naomi and Maddie wouldn’t intentionally scare Nina away. They aren’t like that. But there’s something about the presence of a man’s sisters—especially when one of the sisters is a famous celebrity chef—that tends to intimidate girls.
Thanks to the Sister Scare-Off Factor, I haven’t slept with anyone since the pair of them moved back to Bliss River.
In my more rational moments, I tell myself that going without sex for two months is the reason I can’t get Faith out of my head (though I’ve certainly gone much longer before). In my less rational moments, I suspect I have a crush, a bad one, the kind that won’t be banished by time, distance, or dates with otherwise perfectly great women.
“I don’t know,” I say with a laugh, stepping away from the door. “It’s pretty messy up there.”