The bell above the door chimed.
Not the regular bell. Angela had swapped it out for one that played "Santa Baby" in its entirety, which meant roughly thirty seconds of Eartha Kitt purring about sables and convertibles and Santa coming down the chimney. I'd timed it once during a particularly slow shift.
I looked up.
Shepherd Starr stood in the doorway, snow melting on his shoulders, dark hair slightly mussed from the wind. His Stetson was in his hands. Snow caked his boots and the bottom of his jeans.
My face went cold, then blazed with heat.
We stared at each other.
"Miss Flannery." The words came out rough, like he'd swallowed gravel. He looked from the jingle bell hat down the cutouts in the red velvet, paused at the striped tights, then dragged his eyesslowly back up to my face. The surprise in his expression shifted into something that sent my pulse racing.
I wanted to disappear. To cease existing. To reverse time and choose literally any other job in Mistletoe Ridge.
"I do not like green eggs and ham," I blurted out, then immediately wanted to die. "I mean—that's not—" Color flooded my cheeks. "Sam-I-Am. The book. When you don't want something but—" I pressed the checklist to my chest. "Shep. What are you doing here?"
"I, uh..." He cleared his throat, not quite meeting my eyes now. Color crept up his neck. "Dash was so excited about your toy shop. Thought I'd come support local business. Maybe find something special for him for Christmas."
Oh God. This couldn't be happening. This absolutely could not be happening.
"This isn't—" I gestured helplessly at the shop, at everything, at my jingling hat. "It's not that kind of toy store."
He looked around the space behind me, really taking it in now, and comprehension dawned across his features.
My phone's weather alert blared to life, making us both jump. The automated voice cut through the awkward silence, loud and mechanical.
"Blizzard warning in effect for Texas Panhandle region. Highway 287 now closed to all traffic. All residents should shelter in place immediately. This is not a test. Repeat: Highway 287 is now closed."
The words settled between us.
We stared at each other.
Outside, the world had turned white. I could barely see my car through the wall of falling snow.
"You're kidding," I whispered.
Shep pulled out his phone, thumbed at the screen. His jaw tightened. When he looked up at me—in my costume, still holding my checklist—the heat in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Roads are closed." The words were low and measured. "Looks like we're stuck here."
The heating system hummed to life, filling the silence.
I was trapped in an adult boutique with Shepherd Starr. The single dad whose son I read stories to every Thursday. The man who turned me into a stammering mess just by walking into a room. The one person in Mistletoe Ridge I absolutely could not have find out about this job.
And he was looking at me like he'd just noticed what had been right in front of him all along.
Outside, the blizzard raged on. Inside, the temperature seemed to climb by several degrees.
This was going to be a very interesting night.
Chapter Two
Shep
The drive out to Highway 287 gave me plenty of time to second-guess this decision. Snow was coming down in thick flakes, catching in my headlights as I navigated the winding road toward Amarillo.
Truth was, I'd been thinking about Flannery Green for months now. Ever since I started bringing Dash to Story Time almost a year ago, she'd become the highlight of our Thursday afternoons. The way she lit up when she read to those kids, how she remembered each child's favorite characters, the patience she showed even when the little ones got restless or distracted.
