Tattoos streak his forearms beneath rolled sleeves. He has scruff on his jaw. His stance says he’s one bad day away from turning into a warning sign.
He takes my breath away.
And of course, a man like that would never look twice at someone like me.
My throat tightens. My stomach twists.
I force my eyes off the flyer like it burned me, and I take a slow breath.
No.
I am not doing that here.
I’m not giving him, my ex, my fear, my shame, any more space in my head.
It’s a silly idea, but a weekend in a cabin with a local bachelor means distance, locked doors, and someone who knows this mountain better than I do.
And if anyone comes looking?
I won’t be alone.
No, the idea is ridiculous.
My stomach growls, loud and rude, and I remember I haven’t eaten.
I head to a booth that smells like cinnamon and heaven.
A donut stall is set up under a striped awning, the air around it sweet and warm. The woman behind the counter smiles and hands me a powdered donut in a paper bag.
“Three fifty,” she says.
I lift my phone and tap to pay. I am not about to open an envelope bursting with cash in the middle of Heartstone Square.
I step aside, take a bite, and powdered sugar dusts my lips. The warmth of the donut and the bite of the cold air clear my head for half a second.
Then a voice booms from inside the pavilion.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lovesbury’s Valentine Day Auction!”
The crowd shifts, energy turning toward the stage. I follow the flow.
Inside, the pavilion is warm and bright, windows fogged from bodies and laughter. Rows of chairs face a small raised stage.
On stage stands a woman who looks like she came out of a small-town power fantasy.
Camel wool coat, cinched with a black belt. Pearls at her collarbone. Blonde hair glossy and perfect. Red lip gloss that catches the light when she smiles.
And her smile says she is about to meddle at a professional level.
“Thank you all for coming,” she says, hands spread wide. “I’m Evelyn Hartwood, the mayor’s wife.”
She pauses like she’s letting that settle.
“And before you look for him, yes, my husband is here too. Somewhere. Possibly hiding.”
The crowd laughs.
“As you know, our festival supports the veterans’ center. We need to fix that roof, and I, for one, refuse to let our heroes sit under a leak.”
