Page 39 of Small Town, Big Storm

But, after all that Cedar Hollow has done for me, I’m a bit defensive of my hometown.

Still, I don’t like the way his eyes changed, anger blending with hurt before he buried both emotions beneath a veneer of calm as we finished our walk down Main Street.

Now we’re back in the apartment and we’re all eating dinner around my worn kitchen table, and he’s the Storm from before—he’s spent the last hour teasing Holly as they cooked, being patient with her as they rolled out the pasta, as they whipped up the homemade sauce from scratch, and doing it all with an easy aplomb that I can’t help but be jealous of.

Not to mention the garlic bread.

“This is heaven,” I murmur as I devour yet another piece.

It’s my fourth, and I’ve already had two bowls of pasta.

And picked at my salad.

Because let’s be frank here, it’s not about the healthy greens, not about the fiber and vitamins and antioxidants, nor even about the delicious salad dressing.

(Something Storm also created from scratch.)

It’s the pasta and the sumptuous sauce—with that yummy Italian sausage that even Holly has decided she likes.

And the bread.

Okay.So really, it’s about the carbs.

Storm smiles and takes a bite of pasta.

But it’s not a real smile.

It’s as though the voices from the grocery store are chasing him again, their whispers filling the air and sending his shoulders tighter and tighter andtighter.

Until he’ll snap.

Or close down so hard there won’t be any glimpse of the man he is inside.

Just ice shrouding the thunderstorm within.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says.

“I like it too!”Holly exclaims, a red ring of sauce around her mouth.

“I’m glad you do,” he tells her and that ice cracks for a second as he lifts a napkin and wipes at her mouth.

And maybe the ice insidemecracks a little too.

Or maybe, it’s never stood a chance against this man.

I stifle a sigh as he sets the napkin on the table.

“Especially since you helped make it,” he adds.

“Yup,” she says.“I sure did.”She picks up her now empty bowl and dances it over to the sink.“And I can’t wait to make it again!”She sets the bowl inside.“Now can we have ice cream?”

I groan.“I don’t know if I have room for ice cream just yet.”Probably because I’ve devoured my body weight in delicious, garlicky carbs.“Do you want to pick a game?”I say before she can protest.“I’ll do the dishes.Afterward, we can play, and then afterthatwe can have ice cream.”

She considers that.“Can Storm stay for the games and ice cream?”

I shrug, trying for casual even though this whole evening feels anything but.“If he wants to.”

Storm’s eyes come to mine and I see lightning flashing behind all that ice, but then he blinks and the tempest is gone, his words light when he says, “Oh, I’m definitely staying for ice cream.”A wink to Holly.“After all, we’ve got to prove to your mom that bubblegum is the best, right?”