“I am so sorry!” he said, picking up the errant Christmas decorations and shoving them back in the box. “I didn’t think that through.”
I sat up slowly, pushing away the strong hands that gripped my shoulders. “I’m fine,” I lied. I was fairly positive my nose was broken and this idiot was to blame. My hands came up to gingerly cup my nose and I winced involuntarily, eliciting a frown from the man squatting beside me. Warm, gooey blood seeped from my nostrils and covered my fingers.
The stranger pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it at me. I balled it up and pressed it to my nose. I couldn’t help but notice his expensive watch. What kind of man carried around a handkerchief? A rich one did.
“Please, let me drive you to the hospital.” He glanced around, obviously unfamiliar with the area. “We should get someone to look at your nose.”
We did not get strangers often in our small town of Holly Springs. When we did, they were either adventurers stopping for gas, or lost tourists in need of directions to one of the larger ski resorts they were heading to.
“That’s really not necessary,” I said, coming to a stand. I felt fine. Aside from the probably broken nose and fuzzy feeling in my brain, naturally. And the blood. I glanced down at my shirt and groaned. It was never going to come out. Somehow it had even managed to drip on the short apron tied around my waist.
He reached forward as though he meant to steady me and I pushed away his hands. Why was he constantly touching me? Uncomfortable, I stepped away. “But thanks anyway.”
He scoffed. “I can’t just leave you like this. At least come in and sit down a minute.” He gestured toward The Bell behind us. “This place looks quiet.”
I clenched my jaw. He didn’t know; he couldn’t. I leaned down and picked up my box with one arm, keeping the other pressed to my nose. My voice came out nasally. “Yeah, it’s quiet.”
He stepped forward, his longs legs crossing the distance in one stride, and held the door for me. I set the box on the floor and took a seat at a booth along the back wall. The blood seemed to have slowed. I grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it to my nose, shoving the sodden handkerchief into my apron pocket.
He slid in opposite of me, his dark eyebrows pulled together in concern. Combine his angular jawline and piercing blue eyes, and I had a veritable romance novel cover model on my hands. Perhaps that was what he was doing around here—an on-location photo shoot.
Honestly, a man this conventionally handsome could not be anything but a model. His shoulders were too broad and eyes too blue for much of anything to be going on in that perfectly styled head of his.
“What was it that hit me?” I asked, a headache forming above my eyes.
He grimaced. “A bottle of hot sauce. I was aiming for the trash can.”
“From across the street?”
He had the grace to look chastised. He glanced away, giving me a view of his profile—he even looked perfect from the side. If he was not a cover model for romance novels yet, then he really should be. He could make a killing in that field.
“Wow,” he said under his breath. “The service here is something else, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure they’ve got a good reason for taking their time.” I glanced around the small diner, trying to see it from an outsider’s perspective. It was quiet, yes. But it was also simple, and lovely, and rich in history. But then again, I was biased.
“If I yell out to Duke do you think he’ll answer?” He indicated the framed photo on the wall behind the counter. It hung beside the award for Best Diner in Town, with the name Duke Bell typed in the winner’s line. “No wonder this place is empty. No one is working.”
I stiffened. Reminding myself that this stranger knew nothing and would shortly be gone forever, I pasted a smile on my face. “Are you hungry?”
“Actually, yes. I went into that market down the street but all I got was an energetic sales pitch on the guy’s homemade hot sauce. I bought a bottle just to get him off my back.” He laughed. “Then I escaped.”
“Fred.”
“Excuse me?”
I kept the annoyance from my face. Or, I tried to. “That guy’s name is Fred and he runs the market. The market where he sells his homemade hot sauce.”
Hot sauce which this guy used to break my nose.
I stood, my irritation nearing a breaking point. The bell rang over the door. I glanced at the entrance and caught Britney’s eye before turning back to the stranger and pulling a notepad from my apron pocket. “What can I get you?”
His eyes bulged as he took in my apron for seemingly the first time. “You work here?”
“You could say that.”
He was either dumbfounded or working really hard to recall every point of our conversation where he’d talked about my diner. I shoved the napkin in my pocket, the blood seemed to have stopped for now, and tapped my pen on the pad while I waited. Britney took a seat at the bar behind me and my false smile stretched further the longer I waited.
He cleared his throat and turned to face me, his arm lying lazily across the back of the bench. “Do you have a decent soup selection?”
“I’m not sure what qualifies as decent, but I’ve got a French Onion today and a corn chowder.”
“I’ll take a French dip sandwich then.”
“Soup?”
“French Onion.”
“Drink?” I asked.
“Coke.”
I pivoted away, sliding behind the counter and giving Britney exasperated eyes. I caught my messy reflection in the picture frame on the wall and dipped a fresh napkin in a cup of water before wiping the dried blood from my face.
Britney looked over her shoulder and turned back to me, her sleek blonde eyebrows raised in question. I tried to silently convey that I would not be discussing the stranger while he was sitting in my diner. I filled a glass with Diet Coke and placed it in front of her with a straw before starting the sandwich on the stove against the wall.
Whether from sheer stubbornness or an effort to assuage my pride, I delivered the best French dip sandwich and soup I had ever made with a fresh Coke and a side of hot fries.
“I didn’t order the fries,” he said when I placed the plate in front of him on the table.
“On the house.”
“Oh, but I don’t…”
I looked at him expectantly. He didn’t what? Want them? I tried to smile, growing less patient as the headache grew more pronounced. The ring of the bell above the door saved him from answering and I left him to eat in peace as I seated Mrs. Hansen and began brewing her regular mug of tea.
I delivered the mug with a side of plain rye toast—there really was no accounting for taste sometimes.
“Madison, you’ve a little something right there,” Mrs. Hansen said, pointing to the bridge of her own wrinkled nose.
Instinctively I reached up to touch the bridge of mine and regretted it instantly. “It’s probably a bruise,” I explained. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Safe behind the counter again, I slumped forward, resting on my elbows.
Britney peered at me over the rim of her cup, her head tilting to the side, her eyes squinting.
“That bad, huh?” I asked, my voice low and nasally.
“Um,” she said. “No?”
“I just hope it doesn’t turn into two big black eyes.”
Britney grinned, loudly sipping the dregs of her Diet Coke. “You could always reschedule your date with Patrick.”
I groaned. “I can’t, though. I’ve rescheduled three times already and I need his help moving my furniture.”
“I’m going to tell him you only want him for his body.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said, laughing. “But I might need to borrow a little concealer.”
“Girl, you’re going to need more than a little.”
A throat cleared to the side of the counter and I straightened. The cover model was standing a few feet away, hands in his jacke
t pockets. That was quick.
“Can I get you something else?”
“No, it was great. I left cash on the table.”
“Wonderful. Thanks for stopping in,” I said, trying very hard not to sound sarcastic. “If you’re ever back in Holly Springs be sure to stop by The Bell.”
He gave me a look that clearly said he knew I was delivering my spiel with a side of sarcasm.
He nodded and left.
“Explain,” Britney said before the door had even closed all the way behind the guy.
I shrugged. “Nothing to say.”
Her face was a picture of doubt. “There’s a handsome stranger eating in your diner that you seem to have a strong dislike for and you’re sporting a bruised nose. There’s a story here.”
“He hit me in the face with a bottle of Fred’s hot sauce.” I raised my hands to stave off her indignation. “It was an accident, but then he had the gall to insult my diner.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, leaning back on her stool. “And he’s only passing through?”
“Probably,” I said, removing her empty glass and wiping the counter to remove water rings. Hardly anyone passed through anymore, and when they did, they never stayed long. It was something which would need to change if I was going to save the diner.
Britney sighed. “I hope you’re wrong.”
Ignoring her, I moved around the counter to clear Hot Sauce Guy’s table. The full plate of fries sat untouched. Scoffing, I dumped the plate in the clean-up bin with the rest of the dirty dishes.
“My boyfriend is constantly out of town and I need some eye candy. We could use some fresh men,” she said, spinning around on her stool. “Especially if they look like him. They don’t make them like that in Holly Springs.”
Also by Kasey Stockton
Contemporary Romance
Snowflake Wishes, A Holly Springs Romance
His Stand-In Holiday Girlfriend, Christmas in the City 1
Historical Romance
A Duke for Lady Eve, Belles of Christmas Book 5
To Be Loved By the Earl
Women of Worth Series
Love in the Bargain, Book 1
Love for the Spinster, Book 2
Love at the House Party, Book 3
Love in the Wager, Book 4
Love in the Ballroom, Book 5
About the Author
Kasey Stockton is a staunch lover of all things romantic. She doesn't discriminate between genres and enjoys a wide variety of happily ever afters. Drawn to the Regency period at a young age when gifted a copy of Sense and Sensibility by her grandmother, Kasey initially began writing Regency romances. She has since written in a variety of genres, but all of her titles fall under sweet romance. A native of northern California, she now resides in Texas with her own prince charming and their three children. When not reading, writing, or binge-watching sappy chick flicks, she enjoys running, cutting hair, and anything chocolate.
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