Page 2 of Never Your Valentine

“Are you going out?” he asks. “Or are you hoping I’ll freeze to death so you can drink mine too?”

“Ope, sorry.” I move out of the doorway, he swoops past me, and just like that, he’s in the bakery and I’m on the sidewalk.

I unzip my coat and fan myself until I cool down. Now that I’m out of his orbit, I can think clearly. I’m new in town. I don’t know anyone. That man is probably married. Or the village idiot. Or has bad breath. Or terrible beliefs.

But I can’t quite convince myself of that. He held the door for me. He had clever comebacks. He smelled clean.

Not that I was smelling him. I wasn’t. He seemed like he could smell clean though.

Married, I decide. Move along, Annabelle.

Snowflakes are falling like powdered sugar, and I can’t waste the photo op. I attach my camera to my selfie stick and start snapping. Me holding my cocoa. My cup in front of the bakery’s sign. My footprints. The lights above the street. More selfies. I try out different expressions. Half-smile. Open-mouthed. Looking off to the side.

Which is when I notice the hot guy from the doorway staring at me through the bakery’s window. His expression is half curious, half embarrassed, but it’s the kind where he’s embarrassed for me.

I try to ignore him. I take a few more selfies, then shove my phone back into my tote bag and keep walking. It’s time to find my building.

My new home is on Elk Street in a slightly less—okay, a lot less—adorable part of town. It’s a two-story brick building on a corner lot. There are bay windows on the second floor with filigree trim. The side of the building has a parking lot for eight or ten cars, and around back, I spot a door that must be the entrance to the upstairs apartments.

I peek in the windows of the closed business downstairs. Antique-looking dish sets are displayed around the room, with long tables in the middle holding discreet price signs that I can’t quite make out.

I open FaceTime and call Kat.

“Guess where I am!” I squeal into the camera when she answers.

“You made it,” Kat says. “How is it?”

“Better than I imagined.” I flip the camera. “Look at this.”

“Is that your place?” she asks.

“Yep.” I cross the street so she can see both stories.

“The Break.” Kat reads the sign in the first-floor window. “You’re going to live above a store?”

“Yeah. Neat, isn’t it?”

“Let me see,” says a voice in the background. Jacqueline York comes into view. She’s a work friend but I didn’t think she was a friend-friend. Well, maybe she is now. Why not? Jacqueline has freshly done hair and flawless makeup. Kat does too. They look like they’re going somewhere nice. “What are you two up to tonight?” I ask.

“It’s just a casual thing,” Kat says. She sends what looks like a warning message to Jacqueline with her eyes. Kat shifts the phone and I recognize her kitchen. “I still can’t believe you moved to the Upper Peninsula in January. Who does that?”

“I do.”

“Tell Jacqueline where it is. It’s near Escanaba, right? Or is it Manistique? God, I love those small-town names.”

“Echo Creek is halfway between those two,” I say.

“Which tells me nothing,” Jacqueline whines. “I’m from Utah.”

“It’s an hour west of the bridge,” I supply.

“What bridge?”

I try not to sigh. A Michigander knows these little Up North towns like the back of her hand—literally. We all use our hands as maps, pointing out places to each other. You don’t live in Port Austin, you live in “the thumb.” Or you’ll point to the tip of your pinky finger to indicate that you’re heading to Traverse City for vacation. I suppose I’ll need my other hand for the Upper Peninsula. I hold the phone with my right hand and try it with my left. If I hold it sideways, it kind of looks like the U.P.

“You’re practically in Canada,” Jacqueline exclaims.

“I’m not, though.” I turn the camera back to my face. My cheeks are pink from the cold, standing out on my pale skin. Under the brim of my fuzzy winter hat, my blond bangs glisten with snow. I feel like an ice princess, but I try to imagine what Kat and Jacqueline are seeing. To them, it probably looks like I’m standing in a blizzard on the edge of the world.