2
A few hours later, I’m heading out the door. I’ve showered and changed into cute jeans and a red top that makes the most of my boobs. I’m not beautiful or particularly sexy, but I dress up okay. I’ve got straight brown hair and big brown eyes and a medium-sized figure with wide hips. I’ve always been the smart, serious girl who prefers to follow the rules and doesn’t like to take risks, which means I’ve never been all that popular.
I’ve got plenty of friends, a loving family, and a good, stable career as a financial adviser with a local firm. I don’t need to be a star. Right now all I want is to think about something—anything—other than being dumped.
My grandmother calls as I’m stepping out onto the sidewalk outside my building. She’s my father’s mother, and she’s the only grandparent I have left. The others all died early.
“Hey, baby girl.”
“Hi, Grandma. Is everything all right?” I only ask because she almost never calls, and if she does, it’s for something big.
“Yes. It’s all fine. I wanted to check with you about Christmas.”
“What about Christmas?” It’s only mid-November, so Christmas is still more than a month away.
“You’ll be around, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.” In addition to my grandmother, I have a mother, a father, a brother, and a plethora of aunts, uncles, and cousins—most of who still live in the area. We usually have big family holidays, and I’ve never been tempted to do anything else but stay in Green Valley for Christmas.
“Okay. Just making sure. I’m going to have everyone over to my place this year.”
I blink. My grandmother still lives in what can only be classified as a mansion on a huge acreage about twenty miles away from Green Valley. “To Serenity Farm?”
“Yes. And not only for Christmas Day. For a full week. I was thinking of one of those old house parties. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
“Y-yes, it would be fun. But some of us won’t be able to get that much time off work.”
“Well, folks can come for as long as they can. You get a week around Christmas off, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I think it will work out for most of us. It’s important to me. I’ve got all these ideas.”
“Okay. I’m sure that will work out. Have you talked to everyone else about it?”
“Yes. Everyone’s on board. They think it will be a lot of fun.”
“I’m sure it will be. It just seems like a lot of work for you. Will you be okay hosting all of us yourself?”
“I’ll hire some staff. I’m going all out.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” I’ve made it down four blocks and walked into Millhouse Bar. It’s not all that busy tonight. It never is on Sunday evenings. A glance around proves that Joey isn’t here yet, so I head to the bar and take a stool to wait. “If that’s what you want, Grandma, then that’s what we’ll do. You know you always get your way.”
“Of course, dear. And that’s how it should be.”
I laugh at the bland sincerity of her admission. “I’m about to meet Joey, so we can talk more about all this later. Okay?”
“All right. Have fun.”
I disconnect the call and smile at the bartender who just walked over. “Hey, Lincoln. I didn’t think you worked here anymore.”
Lincoln Wilson is several years older than me, but I remember him well from school. Everyone remembers him. He’s always been one of the best-looking men I’ve ever known. For a long time, he was at odds with his wealthy family, but ever since his father died a few years ago, he’s gotten close to them again. The last I heard, he was starting to work for the family business.
He gives me a smile. He’s so good-looking my breath hitches slightly. “I just fill in occasionally when they’re desperate. I kind of like it. Do you want your regular?”
I shouldn’t be surprised he remembers my regular drink, but I am. We’ve been friendly enough for several years, but it’s not like I’ve ever been Lincoln’s friend. He hasn’t been working here regularly for months. Does he really keep people’s favorite drinks in his head? “Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”
He goes to pour me a shot of good whiskey. It’s what I almost always drink. To tell you the truth, I only started because Rafe taunted me about being too girly to try it, but now I genuinely love the strong bite of it. When he slides the glass toward me, Lincoln nods over toward my right. “Your best friend is here.”
I glance over immediately, wondering if I somehow missed Joey. The first thing I see is Leo Magnusson’s wry grin and familiar face.
“Shit,” I mutter, now knowing who Lincoln is referring to.
Leo is one of Rafe’s good friends.
When I stretch farther to catch a glimpse of who else is around the table, I see the back of Rafe’s head. His long, tousled hair. His broad shoulders beneath a retro camp shirt—he wears those ugly things all the time. And his strong profile when he turns his head. Square chin. Sharply chiseled cheekbones. Straight nose.
My lip curls up as I turn away before he can see me looking. He has a creepy sixth sense that somehow notifies him whenever I’m around, especially if I happen to be doing something embarrassing like staring at him.
Lincoln isn’t busy tonight, and he’s lingered, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
I give him an eye roll without much heat. It’s impossible to stay annoyed with this man with his quicksilver wit and his blithe indifference to any sort of criticism. “It’s really not that funny,” I tell him.
“Oh, I think it is. How does a woman so hardworking and serious and responsible and polite end up with a nemesis?”
I can’t help but giggle. He somehow managed to land on the exact same word I myself use to describe Rafe. “I don’t know! I don’t think I’ve done anything to encourage it, but he’s been plaguing me all my life.”
“Have you ever tried to ignore him?”
“Of course I have! I’ve spent weeks at a time studiously pretending he doesn’t exist. It doesn’t work. He always ends up lurking in my sphere somehow.”
“Have you tried to become friends with him? Maybe that would take the edge off.” Lincoln’s vivid green eyes are laughing although the rest of his expression is sober.
“How the hell do you become friends with someone who does nothing but mock you and rile you up on purpose?”
“It’s possible. Maybe the thing to do is look deeper into the motivation.”
“What motivation?”
“For why he’s always mocking you and riling you up.”
I frown. “It’s pretty clear he’s doing it because it’s an intrinsic aspect of his character.”
“Is it? Does he do that with anyone else?”
Since Lincoln’s amusement has settled into what looks like genuine interest, I answer him honestly. “I… I’m sure he does. Doesn’t he?”
“Not to my knowledge.” He glances toward the door, quickly assessing the group of young guys who just came in. “Let me get their drinks real quick, and we’ll finish this.”