“I know, but for the sake of my sanity, I’ll be glad when everything’s done. The upside is we’re close as long as nothing unexpected crops up. It helps that we’ve become a hub for theReaper’s Wolves MC. Those guys spend a shit-ton every single night.”
“Pays to have good friends, huh?”
Austin and the motorcycle club’s president are old military buddies which is why the club relocated to Suitor’s Crossing last year. Snow heard his friend needed help, and like a true brother, he rode in with a club of men at his back ready to render aid.
The town wasn’t too keen on the steel horse invasion, but for the most part, the men stick to themselves and don’t cause too much trouble. They just run their strip club at the town’s border and whatever other club shit they have on the agenda.
“Damn right. If you want to help me load these in my truck, I’ll get going. I’d like to have these installed before the evening rush starts.”
“Sounds good. Maybe I’ll stop by later to see how they turned out.” If my date goes awry, I definitely will need a beer to cheer me up.
Shaking off the negative prediction, I heft one of the light fixtures onto my shoulder and follow Austin outside to his truck. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a woman. It’s not like I’m asking for much. Just a lady I can take home to my dad and a hot-blooded wildcat I can fuck in my bed.
All while being someone who doesn’t expectheart sparksand romantic shit that means fuck-all compared to what I can actually offer: security, companionship,orgasms.
Am I crazy for thinking those are worth more than frilly romantic sentiments?
***
Damn, Daffodil’s is crowded for a Wednesday night. I thought picking a day during the week would mean fewer witnesses to a potential disaster of a blind date, but clearly, I miscalculated.
Parking further down the block, I sneer at the large hearts decorating the street lamps. Already the town is poised tocelebrate Valentine’s Day all month long, eager to spread theheart sparklegend to every tourist who stops by during this time. It’s great marketing for our small town, though I wish everywhere I turned wasn’t covered in red and pink. Especially since it’s still fucking January.
This is why you stay hunkered down in your forge on the mountain. To avoid all the love shit.
I wouldn’t exactly call myself a hermit, but my social circle revolves around a set couple of people: King, who is my nearest neighbor, the guys who own Olson-Keller Lumber & Construction where I source my wood supply, and Austin. Though the townspeople who’ve watched me grow up here prefer to think otherwise, always trying to force me into one social engagement or another.
A harsh wind nips my nose as I walk down the sidewalk, and I'm thankful for the beard protecting my cheeks. Living in the mountains is a lesson in braving the elements. Bitter winters can lead to being snowed in and rainy summers can result in mudslides. A man has to be prepared for every possibility.
Jazz music leaks out of Daffodil's as a couple leaves the restaurant, and my steps slow upon nearing the entrance. My mystery girl and I haven’t exchanged many messages since setting up our date earlier. We confirmed the time and place and how we’ll identify each other, but that’s it.
I’ve got a red carnation in hand from the floral shop, something she suggested, while she’ll be wearing white lace gloves—an odd choice in winter, but what do I know about women’s fashion?
Absolutely nothing.
Hopefully, the impractical attire for this kind of weather isn’t an indicator of other impractical beliefs of hers… like fairytales orheart sparks.
As I open the door to Daffodil’s, there’s a thump against my back, and a surprised squeak follows the crash of someone hitting the ground.Seriously?I’m a giant motherfucker, pretty hard to miss, yet somehow this person still managed to run into me—a pebble bouncing off the mountainside.
Words of annoyance stick in my throat as I whip around and see a woman lying on the concrete, the skirt of her dress tangled around her waist revealing thick thighs that I can’t stop staring at.
They’re dimpled and pale and perfect for squeezing as I eat—Fuck!
What’s the matter with me?
I’m literally here for a blind date, yet I’m ogling the curvy bundle before me like she’s the last piece of dessert at the buffet. And are thosecatson her pussy?
The glimpse of her sense of humor brings a smile to my face as the possibility of her being my match crystallizes. What are the odds another woman loves orange tabbies enough to have playful kittens dancing between her thighs?
Surely not that high.
Which meansmygirl just ran into me like a fucking freight train of feminine heat, and tonight’s off to a better-than-expected start.
Thank fuck.
CHAPTER THREE
WILLOW
