Prologue
Grayson
My boots squish with each heavy step as I slide through ankle-deep slush. I squint against the brutal wind, grimacing as flecks of ice fly up to flick me in the face. Snowbanks line the sidewalk, nearly waist-high, a reminder of the desolate gray winter we’re in. February in Iowa is the worst time of the year, in my opinion, and even worse to be walking up and down the city streets, lost.
Now that Christmas has come and gone and the excitement of New Year’s is behind us, there’s nothing left for the winter besides sub-zero temperatures and record-high snowfalls.
Some get excited for a snowy Valentine’s Day. It’s an excuse to lie low and cuddle with the one they love, but it’s been so long since I’ve had someone to celebrate that day with, most of the time, I forget it even exists.
The snow falls in thick wet flakes, landing on the shoulders of my jacket and daring to soak right through. I runa hand up to brush the flakes off of my hair, wishing like hell I had grabbed my hat from the truck.
“Where the fuck is it?” I murmur, studying the window displays of each shop as I pass. The bright lights glow warmly from inside each building, a stark contrast to the weather outside. I inspect each shop sign, keeping my eyes peeled for Madame Muffin. I chuckle a little; the name alone telling me why this is my little sister’s favorite bakery. We have a bakery right in my hometown of Copper Ridge, but when Harper asked for her dream birthday cake, one specifically from Madame Muffin herself, who am I to tell her no?
An oversized SUV on the street next to me suddenly brakes, the red tail lights reflecting off a dirty snow bank. They halt in the center of the road, pausing traffic, and I watch as they dare to flip their blinker on. They back up, a slow and steady pace, barely turning the wheel as they try to parallel park in a spot that I can clearly see is too small for them to make.
Traffic lines up behind it. One by one, the cars form a line like a swarm of marching ants. Horns blare, curses are shouted, and my shoulders rise to my ears.
Thank fuck I don’t live in the city.
I couldn’t imagine walking these streets every day, getting shoulder bumps from strangers that are too busy towatch where they’re going. Horns screaming at you as you drive.
A relieved woosh of air is pushed from my lungs when I look up and see the soft pink sign for Madame Muffin three stores down. The wooden sign swings back and forth with the whipping of the wind; a faint squeak echoes down the street with each move.
I pick up my pace, excusing myself past a younger couple walking side by side. They’re holding hands, fingers laced together through fuzzy gloves, and she’s resting her head on his shoulder. A slight jealousy churns in my gut at their intimate embrace, but I brush it off, twisting my body sideways to pass. I nod politely at them, making sure to give a wide berth so I don’t knock them off the slick streets. My berth must have been a little too wide, however, because as I move by them, my opposite shoulder bumps into someone else. I turn quickly to mutter my apology, but I suck in a breath when I see a wisp of blonde hair, arms flailing about, and realize that she’s about to topple off the sidewalk.
In one long stride, I reach out and grip her by the biceps. Two gloved hands extend to latch onto my forearms, her legs spreading wide as they slip on the ice that’s hidden underneath a few inches of slush. I tighten my grip, making sure she isn’t going to fall.
“Shit, sorry about that, ma’am,” I mumble, keeping my hold on her shoulders until I know she’s steady.
“It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking.”
The voice that comes out is meek, faint, and when I hear a sniffle follow, I loosen my grip, but gently turn the figure toward me. My breath is nearly knocked out of my lungs at the sight of her.
Her long blonde hair is in a loose braid that hangs over her shoulder. A black wool hat is pulled low to cover her head, but her cheeks are flushed and the tip of her nose is pink from the winter’s chill.
She stands to her full height, hands pressed to my chest for balance, and it’s then that I can take her in.
A set of blue scrubs peek out from underneath a gray peacoat. Her head tilts up to face me and I’m momentarily struck by her round chocolate eyes. Dark lashes fan across her cheeks, and yes, she’s stunning, but that’s not what hits me.
It’s the sadness. Her eyes are rimmed with red and glossed over as if she’s spent the entire afternoon into the evening crying. She has her cell phone tucked in one hand as she brings both hands up to press the backs of them into her eyes.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” I slide my hands from her shoulders down to her elbows, keeping my touch light, but hopefully comforting.
“Totally,” she croaks, and I chuckle a little at her tone.
A car whips by us with its horn blaring at another car that abruptly pulls out of a parking spot and into their lane. They shoot to the side to avoid an accident; the twisted front wheels slam into a pool of watery slush that flies up. I don’t have time to pull the woman in my arms out of the way before that icy slush flies up, splashing all over the back of her legs.
Her hands drop and her eyes widen at the sudden chill. I expect her to turn, to study the damage on the back of her legs, but instead, her posture slumps. Her bottom lip wavers with the tears that build in her eyes, and shit, I think this woman is about to break down in front of me.
“Hey,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and calm. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you out on the side of the street like a peace offering.”
Her chin tilts up as she faces the night sky. She sucks in a rattled breath, letting the snowflakes gather on her lashes in clumps. “I’m having the worst day of my life.”
Her voice cracks with the last word. Whispered so softly as if it pained her to say them. She’s not being dramatic. I can see that from a mile away. Something inside thiswoman is broken, and something inside of me calls to it. “Tell me about it.”
She huffs at that, blinking away the snowflakes and turning to focus on me for the first time.
The pink flush on her cheeks from the cold air darkens to a crimson color as she studies me. I'm nearly six and a half feet tall, and while my twin brother stole all the good genes and boasts a six pack, I’m somewhere between strong and soft.
