I lifted my head; unease tossing ice water on the hot flames of my indignity.
“Mom? Dad? I’m in the kitchen. Can I get some help?”
The footsteps paused, and when no one answered, a weird feeling skated up my spine. In the past, we’d had run-ins with local kids playing pranks on our family. Well—me mostly.They only played pranks on me. Stupid stuff like putting a frog in my backpack at school, and once while I was working in the shop, someone slipped food coloring into all the teapots, turning everyone’s tea green.
But that was years ago, and no one in town knew I’d arrived. Which meant the intruder on the other side of the kitchen door wasn’t here to embarrass me. My heart pounded as the footsteps resumed, moving rapidly toward the kitchen.
I barely had time to react, let alone get off the flour-covered counter. Frantic, I slid my hands in front of me, blindly searching for something to use as a weapon.
“Don’t come any closer! I swear, if this is another prank—”
The door swung open as I grasped a metal object and brandished it in front of my face. The rest of my threat died on my lips.
There he stood.
Because, of course, it wasn’t my parents, or a robber, or even a heroic firefighter who’d heard the commotion and rushed over to help. Now there was a rescue I could get behind. But no. It was the only person from my past I’d hoped I wouldn’t run into.
Leo Grayson.
Did people have arch-rivals or was that just a fictional villain in the movies? Either way, in the movie of my life, Leo was the enemy.
Growing up, he’d had a perfect life: he’d been a popular ski instructor at the local resort, came from a wealthy family thatvacationed overseas, and had looks that made me suspect he modeled for a winter sports catalog in his downtime.
He still had the looks, by the way—tall and athletic from years spent on the ski slopes. Dark, tousled hair, and rough stubble that chipped away at his clean-cut persona. And those eyes—brown like gingerbread and so expressive, they pulled you in until your insides felt like warm molasses.
We all have one person who we hope ages poorly; Leo did not get the memo.
But none of that was his fault, and I could have overlooked all of it if only he hadn’t broken my heart.
“Sage?” Leo’s voice was a mix of amusement and surprise. “It’s been a long time. I can’t tell if you’re trying to bake me cookies or planning to whisk me to death?”
What?I focused on my makeshift weapon. Crap, I’d grabbed a whisk. I thought I’d met my humiliation quota as a teenager, but apparently, there was a whole other level involving kitchen utensils.
“It’s the second one,” I said, dropping the whisk onto the counter to push myself to a seated position.
Leo laughed, and the sound made my insides twist. I hated that something as normal as a laugh affected me so much.
“Are you okay?” he asked, struggling to keep a concerned expression on his face.
I wiped at my cheeks and tried to blink away the flour dust. “Do I look okay? I ripped my coat and there’s flour everywhere!”
“Hold on. You’re making it worse. Let me help.” Leo grabbed a cloth and ran it under the faucet. “May I?” he asked, holding the dish towel.
If I was smart, I’d bolt back to the house and try to forget this window caper ever happened. There was probably enough spiked eggnog in my mother’s fridge to give someone a case of amnesia. But I couldn’t stop the questions swirling in my mind.
“Fine.” I scooted back an inch when Leo flattened a palm on the counter and leaned in, keeping me from running off. Were my thoughts tattooed on my forehead?
“What are you doing in the tea shop?” I asked, trying to distract myself as he carefully wiped away the flour on my cheeks. Not that my question helped. Leo’s clean, citrusy scent was doing a number on my senses. I cleared my throat and angled my chin. “Better yet, what are you doing in Cold Spell? I thought you were living the dream at some swanky ski resort in France.”
“Stalking my socials, Bennett?”
“I’d rather get hit in the face with a snowball, Grayson.”
The corner of Leo’s mouth curved, and my throat constricted when he reached up to adjust my ski hat, brushing flour from there too. Static snapped between us. His fingers tangled gently in my hair, pushing the wayward strands off my face.
It was too hot in this kitchen. Between my double-insulated parka, my ski hat, and Leo’s proximity, I needed a blast of cold air. A snowball to the face wasn’t an exaggeration, it was an invitation.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you should leave before I call the cops.” I pushed off the counter, forcing Leo to step back. He slung his arms across his chest and cocked his head. My threat didn’t seem to have an effect.
