Graham offeredto drive us in his rental, and since I arrived on foot from the bakery, I agreed. I was a little surprised to see his fancy rental was a plain old white truck. I was sort of expecting to see a Rolls-Royce Phantom or a Lamborghini Veneno Roadster. There is definitely something homey—and dare I say attractive—about a man who drives a truck, and those are two things I refuse to associate with someone who pretty much amounts to the archnemesis of my childhood.
“We’ll be looking at the one on the end.” I point over at the Spitzers’ place.
Graham grunts with a nod before slowing down and inspecting my own home as if it were suddenly an option. “So, this is your house?” He gives an open-mouthed smile as we drive past my sturdy clapboard home, with its bright red door and oversized green wreath decorating the front of it.
“That’s where I call home. I was able to save up enough for a down payment last year. Just moved in back in July, but I pretty much have everything the way I want it.” I motion for him to park in the next driveway, and he does. “I’ve got the lockbox combo, so I can show you the inside. Dave and Marlene have been in Florida for the last few months, and this place has just sat empty. They’ve become Gingerbread’s official snowbirds, leaving at the first sight of a cool breeze. They’ve pretty much retired and are living out all their white sandy beach fantasies.”
Graham takes a deep breath as he inspects the place, and we both get out and take in the fresh Gingerbread air. “So, what are you fantasizing about, Sprig? You still hiding that Barbie collection in a shoebox under your bed?”
My face heats ten shades of crimson as my body prickles with embarrassment. “I’ll have you know those dolls are now considered collectors’ items, and the only reason they’re under my bed is to keep them safe from roving perverts who are thinking about renting the place next door.” I take a step into him, and his stark good looks, that midnight black hair, those eyes that look as if they’re trying to show the sky up with their color—Graham Holiday’s good looks are only magnified with the vast backdrop of snow on the ground. “I bet you’re still hiding that Hot Wheels collection in an oversized tire that doubles as a briefcase?” All of the memories of that cute little carryall come flooding back, and I can still smell the sweetness the plastic emitted.
A hearty laugh rumbles from him. I can’t help but note the tiny laugh lines around his eyes, and suddenly my insides melt at the sight. Graham isn’t the young boy I used to know and detest so much. He’s grown into a man in every capacity. And judging by his fast-paced life, he’s outgrown Gingerbread by a New York mile. I’m just some backwoods small-town girl to someone like him. Besides, he’ll forever see me as Nick Winters’ little sister, the girl who braided her Barbie’s hair far longer than she ever should have.
“Hot Wheels, huh?Okay—I might have a Hot Wheels or two in the attic at my parents’ house. Just let me know when your Barbies want to get together with my Hot Wheels. It’s a date.”
An incredulous laugh huffs from me. “Please—I wouldn’t date you if you were the last person on earth. I refuse to date people who tugged my hair as if it were a sport. And FYI, I still have a bald spot behind my ear to this day.”
His brows bounce in that obnoxious way that lets me know he thinks he’s got the upper hand. “What’s the matter, Sprig? You still think boys are icky?” He chuckles at his own little dig.
“Ugh! Would you please stop calling me that? You do realize I detest that nickname.” Sprig is a play on Mistletoe. My formal moniker had been the butt of a few too many jokes when I was in elementary school, so I quickly convinced the entire town to call me Missy. “In fact, I banish you from ever uttering it again. We’re grown-ups now, remember? And if you must know, I don’t think all boys are icky. Just the one standing in front of me.” I lean down and scoop a handful of snow before pelting him with it square in the face. And then I do the only grown-up thing I can think of—run gleefully screaming into the backyard. Dave and Marlene Spitzer’s property is parceled off in every direction by a small wooden fence that surrounds the property. It’s the last house on the cul-de-sac and butts up to the woods at the edge of town. The thicket behind our homes is the exact reason why I chose this area. I love how quiet and secluded it is. Holly thinks it’s spooky up here at night, but I’ve always appreciated the solitude. I guess that’s the one and only thing Graham and I have in common.
“You can run, but you can’t hide!” he booms as he comes up from behind, and an icy explosion detonates over my back with a thud. He always did have a killer curveball.
Something small and yellow leaps from the crepe myrtle behind a pile of snow, and my feet stop in their tracks as I let out a blood-curdling scream.
“Geez!” Graham runs up panting. “Come on, Sprig. It couldn’t have hurt that bad.” His eyes are rife with worry as he inspects me for injuries. But before I can spear him with another pointed barb from my tongue, that furry creature does another hop and a leap back behind the crepe myrtle, and this time I all but jump into Graham Holiday’s arms as I let out another primal scream. I can tolerate a lot of things, but hairy scary creatures that are practically airborne are not one of them. “Hang on.” He picks up a stick and heads to a nearby bush, gently rustling its branches.
A yelp comes from the fence line and then a whimpering cry that sounds anything but hairy scary. In fact, it sounds downright cute.
“Oh my God!” I cry as I struggle to hold myself. “It’s gone rabid! It’s going to eat us! I’m going to lose a limb to that thing!”
Graham pauses from his pursuit to track it down and frowns over at me. “Are you always this brave, sweetheart?”
“Always.And you can drop the sweetheart. Your sweet talking superpowers are faulty with me.”
“That’s right. I’m icky.” He treads in toward the whimpers and heads around the tree, out of my line of vision. “Well, look what we have here.” It takes a moment before he emerges, and I gasp at the sight of the cuddly little creature he’s holding in his arms. The cutest little blonde puppy in the whole wide world.
“You found a baby!” I squeal as I tiptoe my way over—my go-to move for all things fearful.
“I found a yellow lab is what I found.” He gives a gentle scratch behind its ears. “It’s a cute girl. They can’t stop following me around.” He gives a playful wink, and I can’t help but groan.
“Give her to me.” I’m quick to pull the bundle of joy my way, and I can’t help but notice she’s shivering. “She’s freezing! Who knows how long she’s been out here.”
“Looks like Dave and Marlene left someone behind.”
“No way. They’re cat people, and they took Felix with them. I bet you she got in through that hole in the fence.” I nod at the opening near the woods. “We’d better get this baby to a vet. I bet there’s a family out there who is missing her like crazy.”
“I bet you’re right.”
We head for the driveway, and my mouth falls open. “The house!” After the icy, yet strangely satisfying snowball fight, after discovering the most adorable puppy ever—I almost completely forgot our true intentions. “I could show it real quick if you like?”
“Nope. I’ll take it sight unseen. There’s a puppy who needs to see a doctor more than I need to see the inside of that place. Besides, I’ve seen my fair share of bedrooms.” That greasy grin of his slides up his face as if he were trying to goad me.
“I’m sure you have. And I’m sure you’re gunning to see a lot more.”
“You’ve already turned me down.”
“Please. Gingerbread is rife with wanton women, and some of them even have egos that match yours.” I shed a wide smile because, let’s face it, he practically walked into that one. Graham Holiday has an ego the size of the Rocky Mountains. Way back when we were still in school, his ego was so big it needed its own picture in the yearbook.
