Mistletoe and Mr. Right

by Sarah Morgenthaler

  Furrowing her brow, she of the glasses and ice water frowned, the tendril of hair falling back in between her glasses and nose. “How do you know my name?”

  Graham cut his head toward the stunning woman holding court in the center of the restaurant.

  “I remember my customers, and Lana said you were a Tourist Trap”—pausing at the word virgin, Graham cleared his throat—“newbie. I’m Graham.”

  Someone must have said something exciting because a roar of guffaws made Zoey wince. The brief respite from the jukebox ended as they cranked it up again. He blamed Lana. She always loved to blast “9 to 5” every time he made her work. The tourists found it hysterical.

  When Zoey glanced around at the cheering crowd and grimaced, Graham rested his forearms on the counter and leaned in toward her. “Yeah, me too. My ears don’t work anymore. Not a Dolly fan?”

  “Not after a nine-hour flight. I’m not even sure where I am right now.”

  Customers he had already served started lining up again, ready for their free beers, but Graham kept his attention on the woman shifting from one foot to the other, her fingers tugging on the hem of her Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. She took a sip of her water without gagging.

  “We’re in Moose Springs, Alaska. An hour and fifteen minutes outside Anchorage and a thousand miles away from everything awful except your hotel. That place is a dump.”

  When Zoey choked on her water, Graham admitted, “Okay, it’s not too terrible up there. Lana said you wanted a Growly Bear?”

  “Umm…I’m worried what that means.” She must have noticed what they were doing to the statue near the jukebox. Barley—the life-size carved grizzly bear guarding the far corner—had been groped more times than Graham ever had, lucky son of a gun.

  “You should be.” Gesturing toward Barley with his chin, Graham added, “Look at that. It’s not right.”

  Zoey swirled her glass of moose pee in her hand, ice cubes clinking. “Do you think the artist meant for that…part…to look like that?”

  “True artistic expression should never be qualified or quantified.” Graham swallowed the last bite of his hoagie. “Besides, got to let the guy keep his dignity.”

  “Yes, but why is the grizzly wearing chaps?”

  “It’s a biker bear.”

  “Oh. Huh. I guess I can see that.” Zoey started to turn, then she hesitated. Curling her finger at Graham to lean in closer, she lowered her voice.

  “Watch that guy at the end of the counter. The one in the blue shirt.”

  Blue shirt, khaki pants, third to enter the diner in a group of six. They’d been working their way through Graham’s selection of Alaskan brews, vocalizing their thoughts on each loudly enough to impress the poor schmucks stuck sitting nearby.

  “Don’t worry. I keep count of how many drinks they’re having,” Graham promised her in reassurance. “Counting to three is one of my many skills.”

  “I think you might have lost count on Lana already.” Zoey’s lip quirked up a little. “And he just took a twenty from your tip jar. Thanks for the drink.”

  Graham’s head snapped around, but all he saw was blue shirt and his buddies lifting their beers and simultaneously chugging, frat boys grown up to be no more refined than they’d started.

  When he turned back, Zoey had reseated herself at her small table, book in hand and glasses slipping down her nose.

  She was reading a book. In the loudest restaurant ever. Fascinating.

  To be exact, she was reading Luffet and Mash’s How to Do Alaska. There wasn’t actually a Luffet, and Mash was a guy named Jerry who had passed out on Graham’s floor last year after an ill-conceived notion the entire resort needed burgers after their Christmas celebration. Sobering him up in a snowbank had been fun, but Jerry’s idea of how to do Alaska was nowhere close to the real—or right—way.

  When blue shirt came up and asked for another round, Graham kept close watch out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, his elbow was right next to the tip jar.

  “Watch out,” Graham said in gruff warning as he scooped out a massive order of fries and grabbed their last beers. “I keep a trap in there.”

  “What?”

  “The tip jar. Be careful. There’s a live fox trap in the bottom of the jar beneath the bills. It will shatter your wrist.”

  Blue shirt looked at him like he was crazy, but he didn’t stick his hand inside the tip jar this time when he dropped in a couple dollars. Idiot. Graham wasn’t a hunter. Killing defenseless wildlife had never appealed to him, but even he knew enough about hunting to know traps were rarely smaller than seven to eight inches across when set. At most, the tip jar was five.

  Maybe he would get a larger jar and actually keep a trap in there. Would serve anyone with sticky fingers right. Speaking of serving…

  Zoey and her book were still at the table near him. She should have stuck out like a sore thumb in this crowd, but Zoey blended in to near transparency.

  For some reason, he found that refreshing.

  Since she had saved his tip jar, Graham stopped what he was doing, ignored the yowls for more food, and leaned over the counter. Easton was still waiting for the last of the tables to finish clearing their trash, much to his friend’s obvious annoyance. Graham could have helped him, but talking to her seemed a lot more interesting.

  “Hey, Zoey. You want that Growly Bear? Last one of the night.”

  “Umm…maybe?”

  “Yes or no, darlin’. If you’re going Growly, you’re going all in. If you have doubts, step away from the bear.”

  When she lifted her chin and pushed her glasses higher on her nose with the tip of her pinkie, Graham couldn’t help the wide grin stretching across his face. Damn, she was cute.

  “I’m in.”

  * * *

  What had she just gotten herself into? She didn’t even drink.

  Those same words had been replaying in Zoey Caldwell’s head ever since she’d gotten off the plane in Anchorage. She wasn’t a risk taker, far from it, but she’d dreamed of coming to Alaska her whole life. Zoey had scrimped and saved every spare penny she could scrape together for years. When she had finally saved up enough and Lana mentioned her plans for her next trip to Moose Springs, offering to share a room as she always did, Zoey couldn’t pass up the chance at her dream vacation.

  A trip to Alaska wasn’t just the top item on Zoey’s bucket list. Alaska was the whole bucket and the water inside it.

  Never had Zoey been so excited, so overwhelmed, and so ready to sleep off the jet lag her nine-hour flight had given her. But Lana insisted on them coming to the rustic little hamburger and hot dog joint, claiming this a rite of passage. The Tourist Trap was charming in the same way the guy at the grill was charming. A little rough around the edges, but amusing. There weren’t any menus, only a whiteboard sign with a Magic Marker. It read Menu: Same crap we always have. Specials: Whatever you jerks didn’t eat yesterday.

  Zoey liked it here already.

  Swirling her glass idly, Zoey decided the gorgeous cook should have at least added salt to her yellow water and made it room temperature.

  If one was going to be a smart-ass, it was important to go all in.

  Graham was disturbingly attractive. Too attractive. Grab your moose pee and run back to the hotel on the mountain type of attractive. In Zoey’s world, that level of attractiveness was almost off-putting. Medium attractive was more her type. Safer. Calmer. Less…whatever was happening over there behind that grill.

  If the Tourist Trap wanted to make money, they needed cooks who were remotely approachable. Not tall, muscled, scruffy-faced men in blue jeans and snug white T-shirts with warm eyes.

  He caught her looking at him and winked.

  Graham gave exceptionably good wink.

  “Oh, you’re a bad, bad idea.” Zoey groaned, shaking her head. “Nope,
not doing that.”

  “Not doing what, love?” Lana dropped down in the seat next to Zoey, drumming her fingernails on the tabletop. “Who are we not doing?”

  “No one.” The clack of rattling ice cubes against metal pulled her attention. Yep. Sexy T-shirt man was shaking something in a makeshift cocktail shaker fashioned from a YETI tumbler. Strong fingers held the shaker closed with a single hand, biceps flexing as he absently shook the YETI and scooted fresh-seared burgers to the far side of the flat top grill.

  Competent and gorgeous just didn’t seem fair.

  Lana followed Zoey’s eyes. “Oh, trust me. He’s not for sale. That boy is locals only. But he can shake a cocktail, can’t he?”

  Blushing, Zoey took refuge behind her book.

  In the land of the midnight sun, June was technically the month with the most hours of sunlight. And since she’d arrived on the summer solstice—the longest day of the year—it was no wonder this day seemed like it had lasted forever. The first flight from Chicago to Seattle had been a series of children kicking her seat back, strangers trying to talk to her despite her earphones, and rushing through the airport terminal because someone—who would remain unnamed—hadn’t given herself enough layover time between flights. Added to her natural reluctance of flying, Zoey nearly clawed her way out of the plane from Seattle to Anchorage, the final leg of her trip.

  One look at the mountains rising in the skyline surrounding Anchorage, and Zoey knew getting here had been worth every second.

  To her pleasure, Lana had hired someone to pick her up from the airport instead of Zoey having to take a shuttle. Lana accompanied the chauffeur, so Zoey had her friend to talk to on the long drive to Moose Springs. The winding scenic road had been stunning, even with her growing headache and jet lag. The deep green and blue mountains with their snowy peaks rising above the hotel and the quaint Alaskan town with its small lake cradled in the foothills below were incredible. Then they’d pulled into the hotel and Zoey’s jaw had dropped.

  Moose Springs Resort was, to put it simply, absolutely fabulous.

  Somehow the rustic luxury of the world-class lodge was even better than what Lana and a hundred internet image searches promised. Lana had invited her to come along every time before, but as with all of Lana’s adventures around the world, Zoey had been forced to say no. Just because Lana wanted to fly off to Europe on any given weekday didn’t mean Zoey could afford to take off work to go too. Her friend might be a trust fund baby with more than enough cash to spend on them both, but Zoey refused to let Lana foot the bill of their friendship. Besides, she had a waitressing job she couldn’t risk losing.

  Finally being able to say yes to a trip with her friend was just as fabulous as the resort itself.

  “There’s just no one interesting here yet.” With a dramatic sigh, Lana’s eyes swept the room. “It gets better around here closer to the Fourth of July… Oh! I see a familiar face. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you.”

  Nope. Nope nope nope. Theirs was a friendship with long-established rules. Shaking her head, Zoey leaned in. “I don’t make you listen to stories about my job, and you don’t introduce me to your other friends, remember? Everyone always thinks I’m your assistant.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “One day, you will be less of a stick-in-the-mud. I will break you.”

  Taking a sip of her moose pee, Zoey shot her friend a sassy look. “You’re welcome to try.”

  Theirs was a strange friendship, but somehow it worked. They had next to nothing in common, but they complemented each other well. Zoey didn’t want to be the center of attention, and Lana had that covered. Lana needed someone she could trust, someone she could talk to with impunity, no matter what she’d gotten herself into this time. Zoey was good at listening without judging too much…or calling the cops.

  Another rattle of ice—this time in a glass—was equally hard to ignore.

  “Try not to let your eyes fall out of your head, love,” Lana murmured.

  “Shut up.” Hiking her book higher up, Zoey glanced guiltily over the top. Sexy T-shirt guy’s attention was locked right on them even as he worked.

  “How’s your water, Zoey?”

  “Don’t tease her, Graham.” Lana tsked, a tease-me-instead tsk if there ever was one. “Zoey won’t fall for your tricks.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “Don’t trust him, Zoey. Graham might look like a sweet thing, but he’s a snob through and through. To him, we’re the enemy.”

  Instead of being offended, Graham just dribbled a splash of red-colored liquor over the brightest, bluest cocktail Zoey had ever seen. “Hey, Zoey. Have you ever read Where the Red Fern Grows?”

  Zoey blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “So, this kid wants to earn some money, and he decides to do it by catching raccoons for their pelts. He figures out the raccoons will stick their hands in a coffee can to grab a piece of shiny tin and get stuck. Mean, right?”

  She tilted her head, confused at the randomness of his comments, then squeaked in alarm as Graham abandoned his counter and headed for their table. “He’s coming over here, Lana,” she hissed.

  “I know.” Even her jet-setting friend seemed impressed. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever seen his feet before.”

  Setting down the drink and some unknown kind of bratwurst in front of her, Graham gave them a sexy smile. “My motto has always been not to grab the sparkly stuff. Lana’s sparkly, and I’m liable to lose my pelt when she’s done with me.”

  “If Lana lets you get a paw on her, just let go before you get bonked in the head.” Zoey returned his smile with a shy one of her own.

  “Hey!” Lana protested, but not with nearly enough vigor, her attention already straying across the room. In all their years of friendship, Zoey could count on her fingers how often Lana had managed to sit still for more than a couple of minutes.

  Sexy T-shirt guy must have known Lana well. “I’m too lazy to keep up with her anyway. Enjoy your Growly Bear. This one’s on me. Just drink it slow.”

  Mesmerized by how bright and blue it was, Zoey picked up her drink with a murmured thanks. Why were there blue gummy bears swimming in the liquid? Or were they drowning? Currently, Zoey was drowning in the cuteness of her dinner. It looked like a normal bratwurst, but he’d slipped a pair of paper antlers over one end and added two eyes and a toothy grin with ketchup.

  “This smells delicious, but it’s too freaking cute to eat.”

  Arching an eyebrow at his generosity, Lana waited until Graham was headed back to the grill before leaning in, her voice lowered conspiratorially. “He only gives kids the antlers. And he never gives anyone anything for free.” Lana’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “He likes you. I’ll ask what he’s doing later.”

  “No.” Her face flushing, Zoey gave her a warning look. “Lana, don’t you dare.”

  “I’m doing it.”

  Just as Lana started to open her mouth in Graham’s direction, Zoey squeaked out one of her best threats. “I know your natural hair color.”

  Lana paused, considering it. “Fine. But you’re no fun.”

  No one should look that good walking across a room or ignoring the customers vying for his attention. Zoey took a bite of the dog as she watched Graham, then immediately spat it out. It tasted awful, the meat filled with a heavy combination of spices that made Zoey gag. In a panic to get the taste out of her mouth, Zoey grabbed for the drink, taking a slug of the bright blue liquid. She was drinking fire. Sugary fire.

  Lana dissolved into laughter at the expression on her face.

  “What’s in this?” Choking and sputtering, Zoey took refuge in her pee water.

  “It’s better not to ask,” Graham replied at the same time as Lana patted her hand and said, “Don’t worry. Reindeer is an acquired taste. By th
e time we leave, you’ll love them.”

  “I’m eating a reindeer?” A sweet, cuddly, pulls Santa’s sleigh at Christmastime reindeer? Zoey stared at them in horror. She was eating Rudolph. She had just swallowed Rudolph by-product.

  Graham said to her from behind his grill, “Welcome to Alaska, Zoey.”

  Well, there was no going back now. Grabbing the Growly Bear, Zoey took another drink.

  Chapter 2

  Lana’s generosity had led to…shenanigans.

  Disturbing beer-inspired shenanigans that would have horrified the younger, more impressionable version of Graham. Someone tried to summit Frank the Mounted Moose’s impressive antlers and almost succeeded. Another failed in such dramatic fashion, Graham was forced to water down everyone’s drinks. Finally, when they were dangerously close to becoming a fun place to hang out, Graham declared it closing time.

  It was barely ten.

  Sometimes he closed as late as midnight in the summer, knowing his town stayed up and wanted somewhere to eat during the sunlight-filled evening, but that changed depending on his mood. He was less reliable in the winter, and when the Seawolves were playing, he’d been known to not bother opening at all.

  Boy, did the tourists online review the snot out of him for that.

  “Out!” Graham called cheerfully to the remaining stragglers. “Sorry, ladies. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “But, Graham—”

  “Nope. Back to whence you came. Shoo, tourists, you are no longer trapped today.”

  Locking the door, Graham turned to the mess he’d have to clean up and blinked.

  There was a drunk bookworm in his diner.

  Somehow during all the craziness of the evening, Graham failed to notice Lana had left, but her friend had not. Zoey had abandoned her table and was now curled up on a seat against the wall, wedged next to a pay phone that hadn’t worked since Graham bought the place.

  She was still trying to read her book, but she was half-asleep, and her book was upside down.

  Huh. He’d only given her the one drink, and that had been hours ago. Joining her by the pay phone, Graham hunkered down so they were eye level, voice softened to sound unthreatening.