Kiss or Kill Under the Northern Lights

by Susan Johnson

  “Please.”

  She set the blanket down and came to the door. “This better be good, Ford,” she smirked, reaching for her coat.

  I took her small hand in mine and led her around the corner to the lake side of the cabin. Her gaze traveled upward, and she let out a small, barely audible gasp.

  “There are so many of them!” she exclaimed, looking at the twinkling stars. “It’s beautiful!”

  “Yes,” I agreed, looking at her profile in the starlight. “Very beautiful.” I turned, gently pulling her closer.

  Her eyes connected with mine, her mouth curving into a timid smile. “How do you feel about second chances?” she asked softly.

  “I like second chances,” I replied, lowering my head and placing my lips on hers.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Laura Ashwood

  Laura Ashwood writes contemporary romance stories that are a little sweet with a dash of spice. She lives in northern Minnesota with her amazing husband and two very spoiled Chihuahuas. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with their four adult children and their families, cooking, fishing, watching Food Network, and reading. She is a member of RWA and Northern Lights Writers.

  www.lauraashwood.com

  How to Catch a Tomcat in Seven Days

  By Angie Speed

  When the stakes are your happily ever after, flirt your butt off.

  Beautiful and talented, Megan knows exactly what she wants out of life—her gorgeous best friend TJ. When a summer gallery job could have her packing her bags, she’s forced to face the depth of her desire—telling TJ those frightening, friendship-jeopardizing, three little words. But when her daring confession of love plummets toward failure, Megan forms a plucky new plan—a surefire tomcat catching to-do list.

  Sexy landscape architect, TJ is stunned when Megan reveals she’s sweet on a player. Worse yet, he warns her off her horrific plan. Instead of heeding his warning, she twists his words into man-catching advice. The result, a hair-raising week of attempted seduction. Will Megan’s plan be a sizzling success or a spectacular disaster?

  1

  The Kiss

  There’s a foolproof way to become a spinster—fall in love with your best friend.

  The kitchen screen door exhaled a low hiss and clicked, closing behind her and TJ. Megan Doll’s lifelong crush, the man of her dreams, draped his arm over her shoulder and asked, “Wanna kiss?”

  Every cell in her body started fluttering. It was finally happening.

  An anxious breath tumbled out between her lips, while her tongue stuck clumsily in her mouth. Lifting her chin toward Thomas Johnson’s beautiful face, holding a tight rein on her heart, she offered him a coy answering smile, feeling awkward with her parents standing next to the Frigidaire.

  TJ’s sexy grin teased at his kissable lips. “I opened the bag in the car,” he said, opening the hand dangling over her shoulder to reveal a silver-foil-wrapped chocolate. The Kiss dropped into her palm.

  Tricked by TJ’s innocent action, her memory flashed back to when they met. Drawing 101, Duluth East High School, assigned as table buddies. His good looks and magnetic charm made her uncomfortable. Nervous. She’d never had a boyfriend, and she didn’t dare risk joining the long list of girls to fall for TJ’s killer smile and quick humor. Five weeks later, with an unfamiliar weight on her knee, she’d braced herself against his brazen advances.

  “Get your paws off.” Her words were clipped, overriding her shy nature and the skittish tickle in her belly.

  “Is that until hell freezes over, or is there some leeway?” He chuckled, his eyes lighting up, amused, and moved the cover of his drawing tablet that had accidentally fallen across her lap, the paper she assumed to be his wandering hand. He told her she looked pretty when she blushed in lieu of a truce.

  Her answer had cemented their relationship in the “until hell freezes over” zone years ago. Why dupe herself into hopeful flirtation now?

  The sight of the sweet Kiss turned her stomach sour, but she schooled her face into a friendly expression. Megan glanced her mother, who gave her a knowing look. Quick as a whip, her mom folded her arms over the high waist of her Saturday dress and raised one manicured eyebrow. TJ crossed the cramped kitchen in two long steps, depositing a paper grocery bag on the island counter.

  Popping the candy into her mouth, she squeezed between her curious parents, ducking her head into the chilling safety of the refrigerator. “So good!” she exclaimed with an exaggerated moan, chewing the chocolate that was like clay in her mouth.

  While she waited for her face to cool, she rearranged leftovers to make room for the banana cream pie TJ had helped pick out on their way over.

  Her mother stood to the side of the swinging door, her face inches from the ketchup bottle, still wearing the look.

  “Daddy bought some of that spendy Leinenkugel beer,” Nancy Doll said, wiggling a finger at the bottom shelf where the bottles jammed up against a watermelon. “Why don’t you offer Thomas one, dear?” She paused. “Maybe you can trade it for another kiss?”

  Megan pushed the olive jar into the pickle jar with a clack and locked eyes with her mother. Each silently said, “We’ll talk about this later.” Then Megan changed her mind. She never wanted to talk about it. She could sense TJ shifting his weight behind her.

  “Got another kiss right here for you, Meg-doll.” TJ held out a chocolate, then bounced on his heels, finally catching on. “Uh, sorry, I uh…” His looked from Megan to Harry, stopping at Nancy. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was propositioning Megs…” He gave Nancy his no-big-deal good-old-boy grin, but Megan could see the tension in his shoulders through the cotton of his navy tee.

  “Why not?” Nancy asked.

  “What?” TJ laughed, and a knot in his throat moved up and down.

  “Mother!” Megan died a little.

  “Stop teasing the boy,” Harry chimed in, pulling loose the cap of his beer. “Nobody in their right mind would think those two are anything but friends.”

  Nancy crossed her arms.

  TJ nodded like a bobblehead.

  Megan wanted to cry.

  2

  The Dish

  They should be eating barbecued meat. The temperature warmed. The sun shone. Spring had finally sprung in Minnesota. Frowning, Megan watched her mother crank open a can of cream of mushroom soup. The dull sound of metal slicing metal filled the silence. If her mom couldn’t find the recipe in the Duluth League of Women Voters cookbook, she wouldn’t dare feed it to company. And by the set of her mom’s chin, Megan knew hotdish trouble was the least of her worry. Darn TJ and those Kisses. She needed to change the subject.

  “You don’t have to go to the trouble, Mom. TJ brought brats.” Megan held up the package, glancing out the kitchen window toward the men. TJ and her father were getting comfortable around the weathered cedar dining set on the patio. TJ stretched out his long chino-clad legs and tilted his face up to the sky as he kicked back in a tempting patch of afternoon sunlight. Her father wiped a thumb over his mustache before pointing toward the rear corner of the yard. Megan figured he was once again milking TJ for free landscaping advice. A light breeze fluttered in, making the lacy curtains sway, and she breathed in the goodness of the moment.

  “Nonsense. That boy’s been coming over for years for my tater tot hotdish.” Nancy glopped the goopy condensed soup out of the can and began refilling it with milk. “Years,” she said again. The word spanked with impatience. “He’s the lid to your pot. Just get on with it already.”

  Turning away from the window with a groan, Megan shook her head but refused to take the bait. She lifted a folded paper from her purse, smoothed it, and crossed off “groceries” from the day’s to-do list, tapping the tip of her pen over “dinner”. Her mother stood, red rubber spatula in hand, waiting for an answer as if she’d asked a question.

  “It’s not that easy,” Megan replied, lowering her voice so that it wouldn’t ca
rry through the screen. “I told TJ a long time ago that we’d never be more than friends.”

  “High school.” Her mother clucked while poking at the ground beef and potato product coated in soupy milk. “Half a lifetime ago. It’s time you recover from your poor decision. I’m tired of waiting.”

  “I’ve never said—”

  “Tell me, dear, are those Kisses”—she pointed toward the bag of candy abandoned on the counter—“all that satisfying?”

  “Remarkably satisfying!” Megan raked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “You need to let go of what you think you saw. We’re just friends.”

  “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

  “If I happened to decide to be interested in…” She tipped her head toward the window. “Then I do have a problem. You know what he’s like.”

  “Thomas is your best friend.”

  “Because he’s not worried I’ll ask for more.”

  “Because you two are meant to be.”

  “You’re fantasizing.”

  “Don’t you, dear? Don’t you find him attractive?”

  “Of course,” Megan whispered, pushing the window closed. “Half the town finds him attractive.”

  “I think it’s his body.”

  “Mother!”

  “Well, don’t you? He’s fit in all the right places, but not too bulky. Naturally shaped from working outdoors.”

  “Can we please not talk about his body?”

  “Just wondering if he’s worth fighting for,” her mother said.

  “Of course he’s worth fighting for. Women do it all the time. He has those dreamy eyes, the sun-streaked hair, those stupid, frustrating lips that look delicious!”

  “Ha!” Her mother shouted the laugh.

  “Happy?” Megan sulked, her secret exposed. The misleading Kiss blunder, another example of how she tamped down longing, only to have it sizzle through her guard. All at once, her need bordered on unbearable.

  “I knew it.” Nancy started humming the wedding march.

  “No. No. Do not do that. My…problem…doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to risk our friendship. You know how he is with girls. All. Of. The. Girls.”

  “Well…” Her mom scrubbed a sponge over the countertop, working off flustered. “He’s a good man. A good friend.”

  “He is. And I’m scared. If he knows…he catches on…he doesn’t do relationships.”

  “Maybe he’s ready to change?”

  “Ha! I once bumped into TJ while he was out on a date. The woman called him her boyfriend. He turned red, claimed IBS, and left the ticket line without her.”

  “Thomas has irritable bowel syndrome?”

  “No. He has commitment-phobia.”

  “You’re just talking scared, sweetheart.”

  “Of course. Dropping the I-love-you bomb has irreversible consequences.” Megan fastened her fingers to her lips as if she could push the confession back inside, deep down where it belonged.

  Her mother lit up, radiating with joy over hearing the L-word. “But if you don’t—”

  “Then I won’t lose my friend.” She paused, devoting her energy toward keeping her emotions together. Then, guiding her mother into a fresh topic, she said, “I had an interesting phone call this morning.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I was offered an opportunity in Grand Marais.”

  “What do you mean by opportunity?” Her mom’s smile slipped toward crashing and burning. Nancy didn’t do change.

  “To work out of a gallery. Move north for the summer tourism, maybe longer. My illustrations are selling well there, so I said I’d think about it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me!” She shook her hands around her head, causing her dyed-blonde bobbed hair to whoosh out of place.

  “I’m telling you now.”

  In a flash, Nancy threw open the window, pressed her nose to the screen, and yelled, “Harry! Our baby is moving away!”

  Through the glass, two sets of wide eyes focused on Megan. Her father recovered first, crossing his arms. TJ froze, beer in hand, mouth agape. She could see his tonsils.

  “Megan.” Her mother pinched Megan’s chin between her fingers, directing her attention from the window. “You tell that man how you feel before you go, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “You’re being melodramatic.”

  “I am not. Mothers know best. I’ll tell him myself if needed.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Put it on your list.” Nancy dug a pen out of the kitchen drawer, slapping a Bic on the counter. “That way I know you’ll follow through.”

  3

  Day 1—Tell Him

  TJ drove the long way home, avoiding interstate 35, enjoying the way the pink evening light colored the young leaves on the trees. Megan dug around in his glove box. Producing a pair of gold-rimmed aviators, squinting through the sunlit windshield, she slipped on his spare sunglasses.

  “Pretty,” he said, glancing at her.

  “It is. I love the way the crab blossoms turn the trees pink like cotton candy on a stick. It’s like they belong in a Dr. Seuss book.”

  “Dr. Seuss has nothing on you.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Are book sales doing well?” he asked, struggling to understand her relocation motivation. Maybe she needed the money.

  “They are. It’s just that I have to wait for Jan to draft another manuscript before I can work on the pictures.”

  “Makes sense to go the gallery route,” he said, even though his heart ached to see his Meg-doll go. “You’re more than an illustrator. You’re an artist.”

  He could feel her gaze on him, but when he looked her way, she turned toward the view of Lake Superior and said, “I like the landscapes. The freedom to do what I want.”

  “I thought the children’s books were your favorite?”

  “That too.” She turned back to him. “The challenge of bringing someone else’s vision, a magical place, to life…” Shifting closer, she lifted the borrowed sunglasses, tucking them on her head. “You and I are the same that way.”

  “How so?” He glanced at her, surprised to find her face only inches away, her sparkling cornflower blue eyes looking up at him through thick lashes.

  “You say your clients expect magic.” She touched his shoulder. The gentle pressure soaked soft warmth through his shirt. “You take their wishes, add your creativity, and make it happen.” Then she ran her fingertips down his arm, making all the little hairs stand. “Only your art, people play in, live in.”

  He looked at her, wondering what the heck she was up to now. “Are you buttering me up for something?”

  “Just being nice.” She pulled back and tipped the shades down over her eyes, annoyed.

  They rode in silence, nearing her street, while he wondered what he’d done wrong.

  “You’ve been quiet tonight. Is it this decision about moving?”

  She leaned her head against the seat. The low light spilled over her strawberries-and-cream complexion. Her hair glowed like hot silk where it lay in a wave over her breast.

  “He wants my answer within a week.”

  “He? I thought Agatha Jensen owned The Shores Gallery. She used to live on my folks’ street before she moved north.”

  “She does, but her son Christian manages it now.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of him as the gallery type.” TJ tightened his hold on the steering wheel and turned as they slowed to stop.

  Doll’s pretty gardens offered privacy from the row of neighboring houses. The roses along her driveway bloomed large, heavy blossoms in the perfect shade of peachy-pink. He smiled, recalling her surprise, how he planted them just to see her smile. Admiring the pop of color against her gray bungalow, he thought how empty it’d be without her. She dug in her purse. Producing a list, she crossed off dinner at her folks’ and sighed.

  Grinning, he bumped his shoulder into hers an
d said, “My name is on your list.”

  “What?” She pressed the paper to her chest.

  “Doll, your list has my name on it.” He gave her a teasing wink, watching her bite her lip. “Right at the bottom.”

  “Oh…that…” She folded the paper, then lowered the Ray Bans, returning them to the glovebox. She moved like she was in slow motion.

  “Well?” Nudging her with his elbow, he said, “I got you home safe and sound, didn’t I? You going to cross me off?”

  “Oh…right!” She nodded and stared at him. Still stuck in slow motion.

  “You’re looking at me funny.” He ran his tongue over his teeth.

  “TJ, I umm…I have your name on my list for a different reason. Something I need to tell you.”

  He studied her. The weariness in her eyes, the soft set of her lips. She looked too fragile and pensive. “Is something wrong?” He braced himself to be strong for her.

  “No. Sorry. I’m going about this all wrong.” She paused, holding a breath, then started again. “I love…” She sat there for the longest time before finishing with, “someone.”

  “What are you talking about?” He pinned her with his full attention, feeling like she’d lied about something being wrong. “Did you say, ‘love’?”

  “Yes. I have feelings—”

  “Oh.” He forced a calm expression. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

  “Not seeing, exactly.”

  “What is not exactly?”

  “We’re not dating.”

  “You’re in love with someone. Someone you’re not dating?” he scoffed, trying to make sense of it.

  She frowned and nodded, affirming his ridiculous summary.

  “Who? Tell me his name.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, she said, “TJ.”