Page 1 of The Perfect Heart

Chapter 1

Nash

“’NIGHT, NASH.”

I looked up from trying to force the key into the stubborn lock that kept the stacked tables, chairs, and heat lamps from mysteriously walking away to see one of my servers waving. I waved back at the young woman, nodding at her friend who waited down the sidewalk.

“See ya tomorrow, Angie. Take care on the way home.”

“Will do.”

Angie pulled her faux-fur-lined hood over her head, stuffed her hands into the pockets of her parka, and joined her friend. I could hear their low conversation as they trudged down the empty sidewalk, past the dark storefronts, their boots crunching over the snow.

With a final curse under my breath, letting out white puffs into the air, the key finally slipped into the lock, which I twisted with a satisfying click before straightening to stretch my back.

The streetlights and strings of light outlining the buildings along Front Street were the only light source this late at night. Closing time for my bar was long after the other stores, restaurants, and breweries had closed. But I enjoyed the quiet and peace after a day full of people who came for the architecture, the lights, the snow, the food, and the curio shops.

Checking to ensure the lock was secure, I dropped the key back into my pocket and walked back inside, glancing up at the wooden sign over the door with the name Tipsy Tiki in incongruous, scrolled lettering. Here in Leavenworth, Washington, every store and restaurant was required to have a sign out front that matched the town’s Bavarian village theme.

I had grown up here, and when I had bought an old bar on its way out to make it my own, my slightly perverse nature had come up with the tropical name to go here in snowy, alpine Leavenworth. People got a good laugh, especially the tourists, but for the most part, no one cared. I didn’t even serve tropical cocktails—no more than anyone else, anyway—just the regular assortment of mostly local wine and beers. The menu was solidly bar food, though it was good bar food, if I did say so myself.

The name was my personal joke, and I grinned as I returned inside.

Angie had wiped down most of the bar, but I could see a few spots on the wood, highly polished and smooth from years of use, from decades of patrons leaning their arms on the surface, season after season. I bent to grab a polishing cloth and heard the door creak open, along with the faint ding from the alarm panel in my office.

I stopped—hadn’t I locked the door behind me? But when I thought back, I couldn’t remember. I’d been too focused on enjoying my joke.

“We’re closed—” I started, straightening with the cloth in hand, “but we open at noon tomorrow for—”

The rest of the sentence evaporated from my mind, lost the second my gaze fell on the figure outlined by the streetlights outside.

It was a woman, tall and slim and entirely, startingly familiar. The entire picture was enough to wipe words from my mind completely.

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?” she asked, pointing back to the door. Her tone said she was joking, but it had an edge of uncertainty like she was expecting me to throw her out.

I took a breath to talk, but the words still wouldn’t come, and the expression on the woman’s face slipped more into uncertainty. I imagined that if I didn’t say anything, she would decide for herself and leave. That thought, thankfully, jump-started my brain.

“Halle?”

A little bit, anyway. It wasn’t the most intelligent way to start a conversation with someone you hadn’t seen in years.

But she didn’t seem to mind, a smile growing on her face—that bright, beautiful smile I had missed so much.

“Hey, Nash.” The door swung shut behind her, and she started across the room.

I was out behind the bar the next heartbeat, meeting her halfway, just stopping myself from engulfing her in an enormous bear hug.

We stood like that for a long moment, taking each other in. I was still trying to get over the fact that she was here, in the flesh, and this wasn’t some bizarre dream.

The woman before me was the same woman I remembered in high school—willowy, long legs, and dark hair cascading in waves around her shoulders and down her back. Chocolate brown eyes watched me in turn, the same warmth and amused sparkle in her chocolate brown eyes, a flicker of amusement always dancing around one corner of her smile.

“Halle Morris. Or I guess it’s Jones now.”

Her smile faltered for a heartbeat, so fast I wasn’t sure I had seen it, before brightening again.

“Nash Jacobs.”

Just the sound of my name from her lips sent another shock of time displacement through me.