My throat is tight again.
But this time, I’m already moving away from him.
Forward.
A sign flashes past the window, painted red and white with hearts dangling off the letters.
WELCOME TO LOVESBURY
The bus hisses to a stop. People shuffle out, shoulders hunched against the cold. I follow, my boots hitting the pavement, and the air slaps my face so hard my eyes water instantly.
It’s freezing in that clean, bracing way that makes your lungs feel alive whether you want them to or not.
I blink against the sting and take in my surroundings.
Lovesbury is small-town cozy. Brick buildings with snowy ledges. Twinkle lights strung between lampposts. A main street that looks like it belongs on the cover of a romance novel.
Which feels like a personal attack.
I walk toward the sound of music and laughter and the smell of food.
Heartstone Square is the center of it all, a heated pavilion glowing like a lantern, vendor stalls clustered around it, steam rising from cups and grills. People are bundled up in scarves and knit hats, cheeks pink, hands wrapped around cocoa like winter is a festive hobby instead of a threat.
Everything is decorated for Valentine’s Day.
Red ribbons. Paper hearts. Heart-shaped wreaths.
A diner on the corner has a sign that reads THE WAFFLE DEN, and it smells like coffee and sugar even from here.
There’s a bulletin board near the pavilion entrance, plastered with flyers, bake sale announcements, and something about missing mittens.
My eyes snag on a bright pink page with a bold title.
LOVESBURY VALENTINE FESTIVAL
SPECIAL EVENT: BACHELOR AUCTION
ONE WEEKEND CABIN GETAWAY
PROCEEDS BENEFIT THE VETERANS’ CENTER
My pulse stutters.
One weekend cabin getaway.
Auctioned off.
I scan the photos beneath the text.
A line of men, all rugged and too handsome, wearing flannel like it’s a uniform. Beards. Smiles. Big shoulders. The kind of lineup that makes you wonder if the town’s water is spiked with testosterone.
And then my gaze hits him.
The one who isn’t smiling.
Maverick Rodgers.
He’s standing in front of a log cabin, arms crossed, expression carved out of pure disapproval. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair. Blue eyes so intense they look like winter itself.
