Chapter One
Tess
What the hell has my life become?
I tilt my head slowly to the side as I watch my best friend’s brother, Cole Maxwell, stride into my favorite little bookstore in full-on fireman gear. Well, minus a shirt.
Apparently, shirts aren’t necessary in zero-degree weather. No, that would be ridiculous. Every good fireman knows that freezing temperatures are about stripping down for dramatic entrances.
The stripper in question tracks snow across the old pinewood floors, a wide, satisfied grin on his face, his suspenders hanging low on his hips like some kind of calendar cliché. “Someone call for a fireman?” Cole smiles even brighter as he circles the folding chairs whereThe Smut and Cocoa Book Clubsits gawking and whistling.
Note to self, never assume old women are wholesome and sweet.
“Umm, Cole,” I say, clearing my throat, “what are you doing? Did you lose your shirt in a fire or something?”
“Nope,” he says, popping the‘p’in the word. “Just here to save the bookstore.”
I can’t help but laugh, though it’s short-lived. “And how does defiling your uniform save the bookstore?”
“You said you needed heat, so I brought it.”
I blink at him, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I said we needed the heater fixed. It’s been smoking. I thought you did that kind of thing on the side?”
“I am here to fix the heat.” He glances back at the women fanning themselves in the circle. “Looks like everyone is getting warmer.”
Dear God.
“You’re such a generous man,” I say sarcastically as I cross my arms over my chest, trying hard not to scan over his perfect abs and his bulging biceps.
I have self-control. I’ve seen abs before. They don’t prove anything other than the fact that a person spends too much time working out.
“Just doing my civic duty.”
Okay, this smiling thing is getting out of control. So are the women giggling like teenagers behind me.
“The heater is in the back closet,” I say, working hard to keep a straight face. “Would you like me to show you?”
He nods once. “Lead the way, city girl.”
I roll my eyes and turn on my heel, guiding him toward the back room, where the utility closet sits tucked behind the self-help shelf. “Heater’s in here. If you get bored, there are a few books nearby you could check out. I’d recommend‘Bench-Pressing Emotional Growth’by,” I bite back a grin at my own joke, “can’t remember the author, but I’ve heard good things.”
“You saying I need help, princess?”
“No,” I snap. “Don’t call me princess. I’m not your princess. I’m a grown woman.”
The crowd of women hushes behind me as though they’re listening for every juicy detail of this very strange conversation. Cole and I have only met a handful of times, but every single interaction is just like this.
Sarcastic and strange.
“Didn’t say you weren’t grown. You just look like royalty with all the bossing me around.”
How does this man do what he does? How does he say a completely rude and condescending comment and make it sound sweet? I think it’s his face. The square jaw, the beard, and the deep voice, though the muscles probably don’t hurt either.
Instead of falling all doe-eyed for whatever it is he’s trying to prove, I counter with something truer to me. “Oh,” I smile sarcastically, “well, you’re right about that.I am royalty.The kind that likes to behead men who call me princess when I’m in fact a queen.”
He nods his head back slowly and pulls a toolbox from beneath the bottom shelf like he’s been here before. “Your majesty,” he says with another warm grin, “I had no idea. Do you think you could send one of your servants to fetch me some cocoa? I need a little something to get motivated.”
There are barely two beats that pass before Brelynn Walters is sandwiched between us with a cup of steaming cocoa and a sugared Christmas cookie.
