Snow Days (The Hope Falls Series)

by Shawn, Melanie

  She pulled away and looked up at him, her swollen lips and glazed eyes making a grin tug at his lips. She was just so damn adorable.

  Through ragged breaths, she asked hopefully, “And you love me?”

  His grin turned into a full-fledged smile as he answered her. “Yes, Amy. I love you. And I don’t want to have some kind of CIA-style secret relationship either. I want to be with you and I want everyone to know it.”

  “Well I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Tyler said from the back of the room.

  Both Amy’s and Matt’s heads turned, so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if they both suffered whiplash, to find not only Tyler but also about ten other students and half the faculty, including Mr. Gardine, Mrs. Canela, Mrs. Coolidge, and Mr. Sternhagen, all standing in the back of the classroom.

  “How long have you been here?” Amy’s voice squeaked.

  “Long enough to know that the boy finally came to his senses. Good for you,” the normally curmudgeonly Mr. Gardine said with an expression that could nearly be described as pleasant.

  The bell rang and Mrs. Coolidge announced that the show was over and started shooing people out of the classroom. Matt used the momentary distraction to dip his head and lean his forehead against Amy’s. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

  “I don’t know. What were you thinking?” Amy smiled up at him and his heart was filled with more love than he’d ever thought he’d feel again.

  “Well how does Taco Truck sound? On me?” Matt asked, pulling her tighter against him.

  Amy batted her eyelashes up as she replied. “How could I refuse?”

  He laughed and leaned down to give her an all too brief peck. “I love you, Amy.”

  She sighed happily. “I love you too.”

  The room broke out in applause, whistles, and shouts.

  “Way to go Mr. K.,” Tyler yelled.

  “About time,” Mr. Gardine stated.

  “Cutest couple ever!” Tiff enthused.

  Matt smiled down at his Amy as he watched a blush creep up her cheeks and her eyes widened. Matt knew, in that moment, that he would happily spend the rest of his life making her blush.

  Excerpt: Snowed In

  Chapter One

  “So tell me,” asked a portly middle aged man with salt-n-pepper hair and a lusty gleam in his eye, “are you a card carrying member of the mile high club?” His breath reeking of whiskey, he leaned forward, causing the barstool he was teetering on to squeak loudly. He leered at her, “Because I am, and I wouldn’t mind initiating you into it on the flight tomorrow.”

  Oh, good lord. The “mile high” pick up line. Couldn’t he at least try to be remotely original?

  If Nikki had a dollar for every time she’d been asked that, she’d be a millionaire. Okay, well maybe not a millionaire, but very, very well off.

  “Wow, that is one tempting offer. Still, I am going to have to decline,” she stated flatly.

  Nikki looked back down at her phone, hoping the drunk saddled up next to her at the hotel bar would take the hint. She typed in the password to access her Cal State academic profile. She only needed a seventy percent on her statistics final to complete her B.S. in Psychology. Once that was finished, she could start working on her Master’s degree. Her stomach knotted as the page loaded.

  “You know, you sure were a lot sweeter to me on the flight earlier today.” The man, obviously not taking the hint, leaned even closer.

  “Yes, I was. Because that’s my job,” Nikki pointed out the obvious, “but, in case you hadn’t noticed, we are not on a plane. We are in a hotel bar. I’m off duty.”

  “Oh, come on, I thought we had a connection,” the man’s voice dropped to a lower octave, in what she assumed was his pathetic attempt at seduction.

  Nikki lifted her head, looking straight into his beady black eyes. “Yeah, and I bet you think strippers like you, too.”

  “Hmm, I’d sure love to see you strip,” the man said as he placed his hand on Nikki’s thigh.

  Okay. That’s it. Nikki had tried to be nice (well her version of “nice” at any rate!), but this was crossing a line.

  “If you don’t take your fat, greasy fingers off of me this second I will break every last one of them.” Nikki spaced her words evenly so that he didn’t miss one. She did not break eye contact or move a muscle.

  For a moment the man just stared at her, presumably in shock, before finally removing his pudgy hand. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” he slurred before grabbing his glass. It was filled with amber-colored liquid which sloshed over the rim, landing on the bar as he awkwardly schlepped off the barstool.

  Right, I’m the bitch.

  Shaking off the insult Nikki immediately returned her attention to her phone. Her eyes fell on the screen and her heart sank. Shit. Disappointment and frustration rioted through her.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw her phone at the wall.

  She didn’t cry because she wasn’t a crier, and screaming wasn’t an option because, as empty as this bar was, she really didn’t think the few patrons here would appreciate it.

  As far as throwing her phone? Well, that wasn’t going to happen for a couple of reasons. One, she liked this phone. Over the last six months she had traveled to six different countries with this phone, and she’d gotten attached to it. Two, it wasn’t her phone’s fault that it mockingly displayed the score of her Statistics final...which was a dismal sixty-eight percent.

  Nikki knew that she had only herself to blame for failing to receive a passing score. After breezing through last semester taking only Social Psychology and Physiological Psychology, earning a ninety-five percent in one and ninety-two in the other without putting in that much work, she had gotten out of the habit of disciplining herself to put in the hours to study. That wouldn’t work with Statistics, which she’d been putting off for years now. If there was any class she should have studied for, this was it. Now she was going to have to take it again.

  Great. Finishing this degree should have taken her one year tops, not three. Why, why had she dropped out half-way through senior year? She was such an idiot.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” a man’s voice interrupted Nikki’s pity party.

  Nikki turned her head and saw a decent looking guy, probably early to mid-thirties, around six-one, blonde, blue-eyed, well-built, well-dressed...and with a wedding ring on. Of course.

  “I don’t think your wife would appreciate that.”

  “My wife’s not here,” the slime ball smirked cockily, “and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “Not interested,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

  Nikki again looked down at her phone, this time pulling up her sister’s name on the contact list, and tapped it. She needed to check on her Chihuahua, and this conversation was so over.

  Mr. Cheater let out a forced laugh before delivering his parting shot, “Your loss, Sweetheart.”

  Gimme a break. Nikki rolled her eyes and sighed as the phone rang in her ear.

  “Hello,” Amy answered with a giggle as she picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Hey. I was just calling to check on Scrappy and let you know that we got grounded in Dallas due to bad weather. So I won’t be by to pick him up tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, okay. Love you,” Amy said, seeming to be in a rush to get off the phone.

  “How’s my little guy?” Nikki asked before letting her sister go.

  “He’s good. He’s been sleeping in with Scooby, it’s adorable. I’ll send you pics.” Amy giggled again and Nikki heard her sister whisper something that sounded like hold on.

  “Alright, I’ll let you get back to playing grab ass. Tell Matt I said hi.”

  “We’re not playing-” her sister began defensively before admitting, “okay, I’ll tell him.” Nikki smiled to herself as she disconnected the call. Her sister hated lying.

  Until just a few weeks before, Amy had been ho
oking up with her new boyfriend behind everyone’s back. They had kept it secret because things were supposed to remain in the friends-with-benefits category, but it ended up turning into much more than that. Matt had eventually declared his love for her in front of about a dozen students and faculty at the school that they both taught at, and Amy had seemed deliriously happy ever since.

  Setting her phone down on the wooden bar top, Nikki felt a pull in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was just homesick or if hearing her sister sound so giddy had simply made her a little lonely. Either way, it didn’t feel good. Not that she wasn’t happy for her sister’s newfound love, of course she was! Matt was a great guy, and Amy deserved great.

  Up until last year Nikki would never have been envious of what Amy and Matt shared. Nikki liked to keep her options open. She didn’t like to be tied down. Plus, as a flight attendant, she was gone all the time. She lived out of a suitcase, which wasn’t exactly a lifestyle that was conducive to serious relationships.

  That had never bothered her before. It wasn’t like she wanted for male attention, she had plenty of that. However, over the past year or so, Nikki had realized that she wanted more.

  “Can I get you another one?” the bartender asked.

  Nikki nodded. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday night and she was stuck in this hotel. There was no way she was going out in this storm, and she didn’t feel like being alone in her hotel room. So, she was here at the bar and yes, another Cosmo sounded heavenly.

  “You can put that on my tab.”

  Glancing up, Nikki saw a very good-looking man. He could have just walked right off of the pages of G.Q. Doing her preliminary scan, she noted an Armani suit and a Gucci watch. Nikki couldn’t quite see his shoes, but if she had to guess, she would gone with imported Italian leather. A rich musk wafted through the air. He even smelled rich.

  And no wedding ring.

  Everything checked out, but even with all that he had going for him, she just wasn’t feeling it. No sparks. “Thanks but I got it,” she smiled, politely declining his offer.

  “It’s on me,” Mr. Rich Guy stated firmly.

  Nikki had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Once in a night was more than enough. It was hard, though, because she was very familiar with his “type.” Wealthy, fairly attractive, and used to always getting his way.

  Lovely, this was just what she needed. Nikki knew she had to play this just right. If she shut him down cold, he would just look at her as a challenge. If she was too wishy-washy, he would just think she needed convincing. If she was actually pleasant, she wouldn’t get rid of him for the rest of the night. Guys like this lived to talk about themselves.

  Nikki had to pull one out of her bag o’ tricks that she hadn’t used in years. Her Hail Mary of responses, if you will. “No, thanks. I’m actually meeting someone.”

  Mr. Too-Rich-For-His-Own-Good stared down at her intently. She knew he was trying to read if she was, in fact, telling the truth—like he had some super power of visual lie detection. Nikki was well-versed in keeping her expression blank. She wouldn’t go so far as to say that she was necessarily proud of the fact that if lying were a sport in the Olympics, she would have a gold medal...but she did know how and when to use it to her advantage. Like now.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Money Bags called her bluff, smoothly responding, “I’ll keep you company until he arrives.” Nikki wanted to slap the smug expression right off of his knowing face as he slid casually onto the barstool beside her.

  Great. Now what?

  “Hey, Babe, have you been waiting long?” A very deep, very male, very sexy voice sounded behind her. Nikki felt a large hand settle on the small of her back and, like the epicenter of an earthquake, it sent ripples of tingles shooting throughout her entire body.

  She turned to see who this sensual voice and magical touch belonged to, and she was not disappointed at what she found.

  Scanning quickly, Nikki observed his upscale shirt, tie, and slacks. He was well put together, classy with a casual appeal. Lean and muscular, standing over six foot, dark brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and kissable lips. No wedding ring.

  Hello, Tall Dark and Handsome.

  “Hi,” Nikki said in a barely audible whisper. This was a first. She had never been rendered even close to speechless before in her life.

  --- ~ ---

  “Hi,” Mike automatically repeated in response to the gorgeous girl in front of him.

  He had no idea what had possessed him to do this. Actually, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of the sexy, long-legged blonde since she walked into the small hotel bar an hour ago. She captivated him in a way that he had never experienced.

  He’d overheard her fending off guy after guy and he knew that her newest admirer wasn’t going to be put off as easily as the others. Without giving it a second thought, he’d moved across the room with no regard for the consequences of his actions, which was very out of character for him. Mike hoped that he hadn’t just committed career suicide. In his high-profile position, if this mystery woman took his intentions the wrong way, it could be disastrous.

  Still, the way he was feeling in this moment had a small voice in the back of his head saying - she might just be worth it.

  Her golden brown eyes peeked up through a bed of dark lashes. The second their gazes locked, his heart jumped in his chest. She was beautiful. Her large doe eyes, pixie nose, and full lips created a tantalizing combination. But it wasn’t her beauty that had his heart jumping. No, it was something more. It was an undeniable primal connection.

  Excerpt: My First

  THE CROSSROADS SERIES

  Book One

  Chapter One

  “Welcome home!” Katie said sardonically to herself as she sat, eyes closed, in her rental car on the side of Highway 90. She had a paper bag pressed tightly against her mouth and a mantra running through her brain on repeat.

  You can breathe. Just breathe. Breathe in and out slowly. You can breathe.

  Katie had been back in Illinois for less than an hour and here she was, smack dab in the middle of her first panic attack in five years. She gripped the steering wheel hard, trying to soothe her racing heart to anchor herself to reality. She forced her movements to be slow and deliberate.

  This seems to be working, albeit slowly, she assured herself. When the overpriced therapist who taught her the breathing exercise and mantra had laid out his plan, Katie had wanted to roll her eyes. She had wanted to tell him that he clearly had no flipping idea what a panic attack really felt like if he thought that repeating a little magic spell in her mind about breathing was going to have any effect at all. She had wanted to tell him that panic attacks didn't feel like nervousness or butterflies you could just calm with the power of your mind. They felt like you were having a heart attack, like you were dying. Have you ever heard of someone having a heart attack curing themselves by simply telling themselves to breathe?

  Of course, Katie hadn't said any of those things. She had smiled politely, practiced with the bag, and kept her judgment of his professional aptitude (i.e., that he was a total quack!) entirely to herself.

  Still, since she hadn't had a panic attack in the past five years. She hadn't ever been able to test out the technique and prove his quackitude with rock-solid evidence. Now that she was in the middle of one and the exercise actually seemed to be working?

  Well, I'll move his status down to 'Jury's Still Out on the Level of His Quackosity' but I'm not nominating him for the Nobel Prize just yet, Katie thought. Of course, this wasn’t even close to a bad attack. This one was fairly mild.

  But, that’s exactly how they had started ten years ago. They had begun as hyperventilating episodes and over time had developed into severe attacks resulting in her being rushed to the emergency room—twice—having truly believed she was having a heart attack. Which had not been the case.

  The E.R. docs were the reason she had ended up lying on the overpriced therapist co
uch (metaphorically speaking; in reality she had sat in a plush leather chair). Once the doctors at the hospital had ruled out the possibility that anything was physically wrong with her, they had strongly recommended that she delve into the possibility that it was her psyche, not her body, that needed medical attention.

  Even now, as the panic attack was subsiding, Katie was still feeling some of the physical symptoms. Her head felt as if it were floating away, her fingers were tingling as if they were being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, and she was being bombarded by an obnoxiously loud ringing sound. She forced herself to anchor to the sensation of the paper bag digging into her lips to ground her in reality and repeated the mantra (which, she had to admit, was kind of growing on her.)

  You can breathe. Just breathe. Breathe in and out slowly. You can breathe.

  Slowly, bit by bit, she drifted back to the present and into her body. She closed her eyes to appreciate the little sensations she was now aware of—the leather of the seat pressed cold against her back, the icy breeze from the air conditioning blowing refreshingly on her face.

  Leaning her head back against the headrest, she felt the weight of her chest rising and falling. Her arms felt heavy. Lowering them to her sides, Katie was vaguely aware that the paper bag had slipped from her hand and landed on the console beside her.

  After several minutes, her breathing returned to normal and the ringing sound in her head grew sporadic. Katie searched her memory in an attempt to identify if ‘sporadic ringing in the head’ was a normal side effect post-panic attack. She hated that these horrible attacks used to occur with such frequency that she actually had a personal database of experiences to check her symptoms against.

  Nope, she concluded, the sporadic ringing is new.

  Turning her head to take in her surroundings, she saw cars whizzing by on the interstate. She squinted against the glare of the sun, which was shining brightly down on the pavement and bouncing off the car windshields speeding by.

  Katie retrieved the paper bag and folded it up, returning it to her purse. She didn't love the thought that she might need to keep it handy for future use, but better safe than sorry. I mean, let's be real, she told herself. You're less than an hour off the plane and barely starting down the highway toward Harper's Crossing and you had a panic attack. You really think you're getting through the rest of the weekend unscathed? Not likely.