David grinned, looking boyish despite the weight of the conversation. “No worries. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Monica elbowed him. “It’s already planned. All you need to do is show up.”
David gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not convinced about the vanilla cake. I think I want butterscotch.”
Monica’s eyebrows rose. “You want a butterscotch wedding cake?”
“Sure, why not?” David asked, unbothered.
Monica glanced down, thinking. “Well…we could do one layer of butterscotch, I guess. I’ve just never seen that before.”
“There you go,” David said, grinning. “See? I’m helping.”
Monica rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Oh—Ophelia. I went through some of my winter boxes and found a parka I think will fit you. It’s a little longer in the arms so will fit you, but I don’t wear it anymore. I gave it to Amka to save for you when you came in.”
Ophelia’s heart warmed. “Thank you. That’s so nice of you.”
Monica waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ve got extra snow boots somewhere too, but they might be out at the shop where David keeps the snowplows. We’ll head out there later this week and I’ll dig through them.”
“That’d be great, but there’s no hurry. These are surprisingly warm.” Ophelia looked down at the snow boots Amka had given her.
David draped his arm over Monica’s shoulders. “Come on, hon. We’ve gotta go.” He steered her toward the lumbering snowplow across the street.
“I need coffee.” Ophelia walked inside and spotted Jarod by the fireplace, a mug cradled in his hands, steam curling upward.
Amka bustled behind the bar, wiping it down with precise, almost obsessive movements.
“That guy really doesn’t do a damn thing, does he?” Ophelia muttered under her breath.
“Nope,” Brock said. His voice dropped. “You need me?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Brock’s expression tightened, but he nodded. He stepped toward Amka at the bar as Ophelia wound her way through the tables toward the fire.
Jarod looked up as she approached, his brown eyes darkening as a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face.
“Well, hello, Agent.” He kicked the chair across from him out with his foot. “Why don’t you sit your pretty self down?”
“Gee, thanks.” She pulled out the chair and lowered herself into it. The warm scent of whiskey drifted toward her, mingling with the smell of wood smoke. She glanced at his mug. “Hot toddy?”
He nodded. “Would you like one?”
Ophelia hesitated, then sighed. “No. I need coffee.” And three days of sleep.
Jarod raised his hand. “Hey, Amka—coffee over here.”
“I can get it,” Ophelia muttered.
“No, no. I’ve got it,” Amka called, waving her hand as she hurried toward them, the white apron around her waist cinched tightly. She set the steaming mug down in front of Ophelia and patted her arm. “This will warm you up, Olly.”
Ophelia managed a smile. “Thanks.”
Jarod watched Amka walk back to the bar, his gaze lingering.
“You’re an interesting couple,” Ophelia said.
Jarod’s grin widened, but something flickered behind his eyes—something Ophelia couldn’t read. “Thank you.”
