by Taryn Quinn
A flurry of honks went off as the driver moved into the opposite lane to pass our collection of vehicles on the side of the road, much to the sheriff’s consternation.
“We need to get this car out of here. Talk at the shop. You keep it moving once your vehicle is ready.” The sheriff pointed at me. “I don’t want to hear about you causing another ruckus in town.”
“I wasn’t aware I’d caused a ruckus to begin with, but I’ll take it under advisement.” By this point, I couldn’t do much other than shake my head.
At least I’d get an even more tricked out vehicle come the new year, even if it was at considerable cost. I could afford it. My account was nicely padded, and my agent thought a few more pieces would sell soon.
If I ever made it out of small town, USA. Hopefully, without a ticket. I wasn’t even sure for what.
Sheriff Brooks would think of something.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Dare smiled. “You’ll be on your way sooner than you think.”
Ninety minutes later, I finally walked out of the auto shop. The snow was still thick and steady, but the townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. The shop was just a bit down the street from what seemed to be a town square of sorts near the lake. The wide snow-covered lawn was covered with different food and game booths as well as the holiday floats I’d seen, plus a few others. People roamed around with their mittened hands clutching cups of cocoa, talking and laughing, accompanied by excited kids and scampering dogs.
Somehow I’d driven right into a Hallmark Christmas movie.
There was even the gazebo that had clearly served as the inspiration for the float that had glided past my damaged car. The real thing was even more grand as it gleamed in the darkness, strung with miles of lights and with a tree sparkling inside. Families clustered into the space to surround the tree, their laughter carrying on the crisp breeze. Someone pitched a snowball at a woman in the crowd, and she shrieked and rushed down the steps to build a snow arsenal of her own.
I smiled despite my general irritation. I’d been told I’d be able to pick my car up probably tomorrow, thanks to the hefty rush fee I’d paid. We’d scheduled the custom work for the new year.
At least I’d already secured lodging. After a recommendation from the shop, I’d called to reserve a room at The Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast down the block. The sprawling inn overlooked the frosty gleam of the lake and the Christmas hijinks going on nearby.
There was certainly plenty to inspire me here—even if cozy holiday scenes and frigid winter landscapes weren’t my typical subject matter—but I didn’t have any of my supplies. I definitely didn’t have my laptop. Handily, I could take photos and sketch in my on-the-go app if I wanted to capture anything until I got back to my studio at home.
In the meantime, I’d just grab a slice of pizza from Dare’s and Gage’s dad’s booth, Robbie’s Pizza, at the winter festival. I’d heard it was the best in town. Of course Dare was entirely biased, but my growling stomach was willing to take his word for it.
Gage had neither confirmed or denied. He’d just written up my work order silently while giving me a healthy dose of side-eye worthy of my students.
Further cementing my daredevil status in town, I crossed the street outside the crosswalk and headed into the middle of carnival madness.
I bought two slices of cheese pizza and a bag of fried dough that steamed my glasses. Then I looked around the crowded square for a place to sit—or lean, since there was a half wall just beyond the gazebo attached to the pier. I found a spot and ate while I stared at the sprawling homes that lined the lake, their lit windows so homey and comforting in the snowy dark.
Something twisted in my chest that felt suspiciously like yearning. I didn’t mind spending time alone. In fact, due to my large family, I’d grown to appreciate solitude. But being in the center of a happy crowd at Christmas reminded me that hey, there was more to life than teaching and grading and sketching and painting. More than Sunday dinners at my parents’ house filled with friendly or not so friendly squabbling, depending on who was in a mood that week.
The holidays were coming up, and since I’d turned down my best friend Bryce’s pathetic attempts to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends, I’d likely be alone.
Again.
“Hey, mister, you dropped your fried dough.” A young girl with a dark ponytail and braces held out the bag of warm fried dough I hadn’t realized I’d dropped.
I took it from her and smiled. “Thanks. Hey, do you want a piece? I can’t eat it all.”
But she was already walking away, back to her family.
Swallowing a sigh, I turned toward the gazebo and stared at the gigantic tree, its boughs weighed down with tinsel and ornaments. On the other side of the gazebo someone had hung a large sprig of mistletoe, and a woman stood beneath it, gazing up at the thing as if she couldn’t understand what it was.
Or as if she was waiting for someone to kiss her.
Tufts of her light-colored hair—maybe pink?—stuck out in every direction from beneath her knit hat, as if her long braids had started unraveling in the wind. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold and her unbuttoned coat flapped in the breeze, revealing a long, soft-looking dress. I couldn’t decipher many other details about her, other than the lipstick-red scarf tossed jauntily over her shoulder.
She was cute. Maybe even beautiful if I could’ve made out more of her features in the darkness.
I threw out my empty plate and strode toward the gazebo steps, clutching my bag of fried dough as if it was a bouquet of roses.
I stopped on the top step. This was stupid. What was I even doing in this town? As soon as my car was ready, I’d drive away and never look back—except for coming back for my custom car work appointment. When I was in the mood for company, I was all about enjoying Syracuse’s city scene, visiting nightclubs and trendy eateries downtown. Most of the time, I simply didn’t bother.
I definitely didn’t approach random women in gazebos on a snowy night too close to Christmas, when my loneliness tasted like chalk in my throat.
Then she looked over at me and smiled, and I couldn’t have stopped the forward motion of my feet if I’d tried.
I forgot the fried dough. Forgot the moms and dads and eager kids swarming about, pushing and nudging to get where they were going. That nameless woman drew me like the North star, a jewel glimmering in the darkness.
Words stuck in my head. I was usually so glib, so prepared with a ready remark. Not here. The dough slipped out of my hand as I reached her and simply lifted my hands to her icy-cold cheeks.
She was already rising on her tiptoes to meet me, her glossy pink lips parted and waiting.
We collided on a rush of breath, her mouth molding to mine as I gripped her jaw. I tilted her upward, taking her unspoken invitation and slipping my tongue inside. She sucked on the tip lightly, igniting a fire in under my skin as she rubbed against me. She fisted a handful of my coat, tugging at the material, bringing me down to her level so she could kiss me back with the same intensity.
She tasted like vanilla ice cream. Pure, sweet. Innocent somehow, as if she was daring me to break my control.
She didn’t know she already had.
My teeth skimmed over her full lower lip, and she moaned as my hand moved of its own volition to her breast. I had the briefest sensation of its weight in my palm, round and perfect, before she tore her lips away.
Fuck, I’d gone too far.
She stared at me for a moment before darting around me and fleeing down the steps, her scarf slipping off and sliding to the ground.
“Wait.” I followed and picked it up, but she never looked back.
I pressed my lips together. They were still tingling from the pressure of hers.
“It’s mistletoe, you pervert.” Someone jostled me from behind, and I turned to see I’d been bumped by an older woman’s cane as she descended the steps. “Not a peep show.”
She gave me another wack
on the ankle for good measure before letting out a “harrumph” and shuffling down the walk.
I fingered the baby-soft scarf my mystery woman had left behind. She didn’t know it, but I’d be sketching her tonight wearing this.
And only this.
Two
My day was not off to a rip-roaring start. And it wasn’t even the same day of the car-ditch mishap.
Maybe I’d finally learn that sweet small towns weren’t necessarily meant for everyone.
“You don’t recognize it?” I held up the bright red scarf as if it was the spoils from a prizefight. “Are you sure? It has your shop’s tag right here.” I jabbed at the embroidered Kinleigh and August’s attic emblem near the fringe.
“No, I’m sorry.” The woman who owned the store I was currently standing in glanced over her shoulder as a baby let out a wail. “That’s my daughter. She needs lunch.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll wait while you give her a bottle or whatever.”
Kinleigh smoothly pulled her long curly red hair over one shoulder. “Her lunch comes from my nipple.”
I blinked. A sleepless night had left me on edge, and admittedly, I wasn’t processing as fast as I would have normally. But that didn’t compute for a good half a minute. “Oh. Oh.”
“Yes, oh. And I’m afraid I can’t share client lists in any case, even if I knew who had purchased that particular item.”
“You do know. I can tell. Look, I’m not a crazy stalker, I swear. I just want to talk to her.”
“As all crazy stalkers have claimed since the beginning of time.”
I let out a breath. She did have a point. “No, it’s not like that. She kissed me. We kissed each other. You know that mistletoe at the gazebo?”
Kinleigh raised her ginger-colored eyebrows and waited.
“She was standing beneath it, and it was snowing, and God, she looked—”
“Willing to sleep with a handsome stranger who was a good kisser?”
“Obviously not, since I slept alone at the bed and breakfast.” I frowned. “Did you just call me handsome? Pretty sure you’re the only person who’s said something nice to me since I drove into town. Except Dare, but you’re a lot prettier than he is.”
Wordlessly, she held up a hand and tapped her sparkly wedding ring.
I had to laugh. “I wasn’t hitting on you. Just saying the welcome mat in this town has not been rolled out in my direction.”
“Yet a beautiful woman kissed you thoroughly enough you’re ready to search to the ends of the earth for her. Sounds pretty welcoming to me.”
“So far, I’ve only been here. That’s hardly searching to the ends of the earth.”
“We get a lot of tourists for the winter festival.”
“And she happened to have bought a scarf from you just before she met me?”
“Met you with her lips, you mean, since you haven’t even said her name.”
I had no answer for that.
“It’s Christmas,” I finally implored as her daughter released another cry from her white carriage a few feet away. Her mother’s attention was obviously split, so I’d take advantage of any moment of weakness I could. She might not know I wasn’t a serial killer but I did. “You have a baby and a husband. Or wife,” I amended when she glanced back at me. “Surely you believe in romance.”
“Making out under mistletoe is not necessarily romance, but okay, fine. How about this? I’ll meet you halfway.”
I waited.
“I’ll contact her and let her know you’re looking for her. If you leave your information with me, I’ll pass it along if she’s interested.”
I frowned. “That’s smart and very kind of you. Thank you for being so protective of your customers.”
It was her turn to blink. “Are you warming up for her? I have to admit that’s a good line.”
I laughed as I scrawled my cell number on her mailing list signup pad and pushed it toward her. “Tell her my name is Callum. MacGregor,” I added after a second. “I’m twenty-nine, single, and oh, I love vanilla ice cream. I’m staying in town a bit longer.”
Mostly due to her, since my car would be ready in not too long. But I couldn’t just walk—drive—away without making a real effort to find this woman.
Why? Because she has soft lips? Because she can kiss? Because her moan made you want to hear it when she was naked and on top of you?
I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very thankful for my long coat. I hadn’t expected to develop a semi in the middle of Kinleigh’s vintage clothes and home goods shop, but Crescent Cove was turning out to be an experience in a number of ways.
“Maybe you should stop before the ice cream part,” Kinleigh suggested, jotting down what I’d said just the same.
“She’ll know what it means.” Maybe, if I’d pegged her taste correctly.
“If you say so. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She trailed off. “Luna, c’mere a sec.”
A bouncy blond emerged from the back, jingling from her impressive collection of earrings and bracelets. “Sure thing, boss. What’s up?”
Kinleigh unbuttoning her blouse was my cue to split. “Thanks again,” I said before heading out. “Tell her to call day or night,” I added just before I closed the door behind me.
Way to sound desperate.
I glanced up and down the block. I wasn’t even certain I could recognize her in the daylight. Her hair had seemed pinkish in the dark. But I didn’t know if it was straight or curly, since she’d had it in braids.
Hell, for all I knew, she’d run because she was dating someone. Or engaged. Or married. Maybe she’d done both of us a favor, and I’d just have to chalk it up to a good moment not meant to be repeated.
A great moment.
Feeling moronic, I wrapped the red scarf I still carried around my neck. Then I lifted the fringes to my nose and took a long sniff. Not even the faintest scent of vanilla. Nothing but cold, crisp air singeing off my nose hairs.
I didn’t have a clue how to spend the day. My Christmas shopping for my family and Bryce and a few other friends had all been done before November 1st. I wasn’t one for putting things off. But my mom might enjoy a trinket I found in one of the shops here.
Just give her the scarf. Pretty sure it’s cashmere.
Nah, I’d just bide my time there.
I wandered in and out of a few shops. I found a kitten sun-catcher in one of them with a lake motif that I thought my mom might like in the dead of winter. A cat steering a boat was kind of weird, but she had a wacky enough sense of humor to appreciate it.
Then I took a walk near the water. Last night, I’d gotten a few clothes at a funky store called Vintage December so that I wouldn’t have to wear the same outfit today and possibly tomorrow. Most of them were back at my room, but my messenger bag was still bulging from the sweater I’d brought with me for the day. The button-down was soft and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the things in my closet. I’d dropped a few hundred dollars in that shop since I hadn’t exactly been prepared for an impromptu vacation in a lakeside town that had to be at least ten degrees colder than Syracuse.
After I shrugged on the cardigan, I closed my bag. The army green fabric was covered in old stamps in faded ink along with hand-sewn patches from all sorts of random cities in New York. I wondered if Crescent Cove had a patch I could add to my collection.
Maybe I’d have more interest in browsing later. For now, I was shopped out.
On my way back to the bed and breakfast, when I was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk with the midday shopping crowd—and yes, apparently the holiday festival was still in progress, judging from the amount of signs—I caught sight of a small art shop tucked beside the library. It was obviously new, and when I stepped inside, there were still dropcloths all over the floor.
“We aren’t open yet, sorry,” a woman on a stepladder called out.
Though it wasn’t in my nature to be rude, I’d noticed two things I needed. I grabbed the sketch pad off an ea
sel and plucked a hunk of charcoal out of a cup. “I have to have these. Name your price.”
Her laugh was as airy as the windchimes tinkling from the eaves. “Well, seeing as you’re my very first sale and I intend on framing that dollar, I won’t overcharge you. But I’m really not open yet. I don’t even have the register online.”
“How’s fifty bucks for you to frame?” I was already prying out my wallet. If I’d ever needed the supplies more, I couldn’t remember it. “Extra because you’re really helping me out of a jam with these.”
“Sold.” She held out a hand, and I gave her the money. Rings winked on every finger. “You’re not spending your last dollar for those, are you? Here, let me get you a bag.”
“No, I have a few left. Thanks.” I let her take my purchases and put them in a paper sack before returning them to me. Then I slid my items into the messenger bag I’d grabbed from my car before turning it over to Dare.
True to her word, she slipped my money into a small frame she had waiting before hanging it on a hook on the wall. “There. Every Line A Story is officially in business. Thank you. I hope you’ll come back when we’re open for real in a couple weeks.” She turned back and dusted her hand on her hip. “I’m Colette.”
“Callum. Nice to meet you. Afraid I don’t live here or travel this way, but I wish you all the luck.”
She smiled, her long brown hair ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Inwardly, I sighed. If only I’d met her the day before. Now my head was full of possibly pink hair and unforgettably soft lips.
I nodded to her and went back outside, taking a bracing breath of the crisp, water-tinged air. At least the snow had stopped, although the slate gray sky warned it wouldn’t be long.
We’d just see how long I would get.
I crossed the street and got lucky with a bench near the lake, just beyond the bulk of the festival mayhem. Even on the gloomy day, the small lapping waves of the lake glittered.
