Home > Eye Candy (Fighting for Love #3)(3)

Eye Candy (Fighting for Love #3)(3)
Author: Jiffy Kate

Plus, I’m an adult and should be able to do whatever I want.

In theory.

After I fix the spreadsheet and make it balance, I peek into the front of the store and see that my father is whistling away as he straightens shelves. This is typically our downtime, right before closing, when we stay open because it’s what the posted hours say on our door. My father is a stickler about honoring your word, even in the small things.

In all my life, I’ve never seen him close the store early or late. He’s always here and always does what he says he’s going to do, practicing what he preaches. It’s one of the things I love the most about him.

Smiling to myself, I quietly slip back into the office and resume my place at the computer, but this time, instead of balancing accounts or working on spreadsheets, I open up my secret file titled: Backlog. Another thing about my father, he’s technologically inept. I’m not saying that to be rude or indignant. I’m only speaking the truth. He knows it too, which is why he insisted on me getting my bachelor’s degree in business and accounting.

It’s my parents’ wish and dream that I take over this feed store one day, and in the meantime, and in the end, be better at it than they’ve ever been. Don’t get me wrong, my parents have done well for themselves, making this feed store more stable and prosperous than my grandfather ever thought about it being.

But that’s the thing, every generation wants the next to do even better… go further, be more.

I want that too.

Just not at O’Neal Feed and Fodder.

As the file opens, I scroll down to a document that’s titled: APR1095. It has nothing to do with inventory or sales and everything to do with my real dream, journalism.

At the top of the page, there’s the beginnings of my weekly column.

Greetings, Good People of Green Valley.

Sure, it’s not a piece in the New York Times or USA Today. It lacks mystery and grit. No one will ever mistake my little corner in the Green Valley Ledger for a big-time journalistic creation, but it’s something. It’s my chance to use my voice and give back to my community, in a small way, the only way I’m allowed.

And for now, it’s enough.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Cracking my knuckles, I pull the rubber band out of my ponytail and retie it at the top of my head, gathering up all the strands. It’s my routine. It’s the way I go from Maggie O’Neal, feed store employee, to Maggie O’Neal, columnist for the Green Valley Ledger.

Or, I guess I should say, Trixie and Tess, but that’s my little secret.

My big secret, actually.

The only people who know I’m the voice behind the gossip and advice column—and not two people, but one—is Sarah Clark, my editor, and Everly, my pen pal and confidant.

It’s the perfect job for me. No one would ever suspect Maggie O’Neal. Besides, most people think the article is written by two people anyway, and I fly so far under most people’s radars, it’d take an act of God for me to be found out.

Literally, God would have to come down and speak through Reverend Seymour from the pulpit.

Please, God, don’t speak through Reverend Seymour from the pulpit. I mean, do speak through him, but not about me.

Amen.

Now, what am I going to write about this week? My covert inbox, stealthily titled Junk, has been full of trivial gossip and complaints lately.

Why is there not more parking in front of Donner Bakery?

Have you seen the state of the flower beds near the Green Valley city limits sign?

Florence Goodman stole my carrot cake recipe and I’d like a written apology.

How do I get my husband to help around the house without nagging?

But just like every week over the past few months, my attention turns to the same topic: the Viking Invasion.

At least, that’s what I call it. And let’s be honest, there hasn’t been something this exciting going on in our small, quiet town since Jethro Winston’s exes formed a club. And then he went and married a movie star. As exciting as all of that was, it didn’t pique my interest quite as much as the Erickson brothers infiltrating Green Valley.

Maybe that’s my lack of social interaction talking.

Or the fact I’ve never been so enamored by the male species as I’ve been in the last few months.

Or maybe the way my mouth goes dry when I pass one of them at the Piggly Wiggly or bump into them leaving Donner Bakery or Daisy’s Nut House.

Do I intentionally put myself in their paths? Maybe. Okay, yes, yes, I do. But it’s for research.

Which brings me back to my article.

This week, I feel like the good people of Green Valley need to know there’s even more excitement coming. Last week, on one of my walks around downtown, I noticed an addition to Viking MMA. As I was peeking into the windows, I saw the brothers working on putting the finishing touches on a large ring, like the ones you see on the wrestling shows on television. Not that I’ve ever been interested in wrestling or fighting or any of that.

Until now.

The word around town is there’s a new addition to Viking MMA.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Vali

 

 

Walking down the stairs, I’m caught off guard when I see Gunnar on the mats. Typically, I’m up at least thirty minutes before he and Cage start their morning training sessions. When he hears my footsteps, his head pops up and he catches me in the mirrors.

“What’s up?” I ask, joining him on the mats to stretch before my run.

He lets out a heavy sigh and I pause to look at him. Gunnar is your quintessential baby of the family. He’s laid-back, fun-loving, and outgoing. The X factor for him is his drive. I’ve never seen someone so committed to their dream.

Well, except Cage.

But sometimes, I think Gunnar’s got him beat in that arena. He took the harder road by biding his time and going to college. The entire time he was in school, he was also training and keeping up his skills. He could’ve followed in Cage’s footsteps and jumped straight into the ring, but he didn’t. There’s always been an element of patience to Gunnar. It’s admirable.

But fuck if I’d ever tell him that.

It’d go straight to his oversized head.

“Nothing,” he finally says, letting out another sigh. “Just wanted to get a jump start on the day and have a few minutes of quiet before Cage starts in on my ass.”

I chuckle, because I’m glad it’s him and not me.

Cage is one of the hardest trainers I’ve ever witnessed, and growing up in a gym, around top athletes, I’ve seen my fair share.

“Are you nervous about New Orleans?” I ask, stretching out my hamstrings.

Gunnar shrugs, but I can see it all over his face. He wants this. If he can win this fight, it will be huge for him… for Cage, for this gym… our family. It will mean another Erickson has claimed a belt. Shit, Gunnar’s success will reach all the way to Dallas. Viggo is even coming to the fight.

All five of us will be traveling to New Orleans to be in his corner.

It’s what we do—what we’ve always done. Even when we don’t all see eye to eye or our goals don’t exactly match up, when push comes to shove, we’re always there for each other.

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