I’d heard the gossip, of course. It was impossible not to in a town this size. Holly Bascombe had been left at the altar by Eric Whitmore, who’d run off with his much younger sister’s best friend. Then, Holly’s flower shop closing under suspicious circumstances when the landlord hatched a plan with a developer. Her parents fucking off to Florida when she needed them the most. Her best friend moving to Spain for some guy.
She’d been through hell, and she was still here, still fighting, still making art out of flowers and trying to rebuild a new life from the ashes of her old one.
I didn’t just want Holly, I respected her. Iadmiredher.
And I wanted desperately to be someone worthy of her trust. Someone she could count on to stay.
The billion-dollar question, though, was how the fuck was I supposed do that?
Lord knew I sucked at people-ing at the best of times. With a kind, beautiful woman who I was already halfway in love with? Completely hopeless.
Maybe there was a tutorial out there or something that could walk me through it. Could help me be less of a pathetic loser. But what did I even search for? “How to talk to a gorgeous florist without spontaneously combusting?” Or maybe “Social skills for hermit billionaires?”
I was still contemplating my complete lack of game when my phone buzzed with a text from my cousin Nate, Mistletoe Bay’s chief of police.
Nate
Dinner tonight? Rosa’s at 7?
Unless you’re planning to hide in your house forever.
Which, fair. It’s a great fucking house.
I huffed out a laugh and typed back.
Me
Rosa’s is fine.
Nate
Wow, immediate capitulation. Are you feeling okay?
Me
Shut up
Nate
See you at 7, hermit.
Rosa’s Italian Kitchen was tucked into a brick building on Harborview Street, the kind of place where the owner knew everyone’s names and their usual orders. I’d been coming here at least once a week since I moved to Mistletoe Bay because Rosa herself had taken one look at me on that first visit, declared me “too skinny,” and made it her personal mission to fatten me up.
Nate was already at a table in the back corner when I arrived, still in his police chief uniform minus the duty belt. He looked up from his phone and grinned.
“Well, well. He emerges from his fortress of solitude.”
“It’s not a fortress,” I said, sliding into the booth across from him. “It’s a historically significant home.”
He snorted. “Right. And I’m sure all the historically significant homes come with state-of-the-art security systems and enough smart home technology to launch a satellite."
He wasn’t wrong, but in my defense, the security system was more about keeping people out than keeping me in. One day,back when I still lived in San Francisco, I’d woken up to find a woman I’d never met before naked in my shower. Ever since, I’ve taken my security very seriously.
Rosa appeared at our table with a basket of bread and her trademark smile. The smell of garlic and butter wafted over me. “Luke! You look pale. Are you eating enough?”
“I’m eating fine, Rosa.”
“Fine isn’t good.” She turned to Nate. “Make sure he eats the whole plate tonight, yes?”
