Page 41 of Never Your Valentine

“I’m so pissed right now, Sophie. I’m going to explode.”

“Take it out on the snow.” She’s already moved two shovelfuls. “Digging helps.”

She’s right, of course. Standing here cursing and crying doesn’t get the job done. I start in the front, hoping we can clear enough snow for me to drive out. It’s hard, heavy work, and after six shovelfuls, I still can’t see my windshield.

I tell Sophie what happened last night. How Luther and I matched on Hinge—which I’m deleting today—and how Grant tried to intimidate him, and how it almost instantly worked, which was very odd at the time but now makes sense. “Because Luther knew this would be his next move,” I say, gesturing to my poor Escape. “But I don’t understand why he targeted my car and not Grant’s.”

Sophie grunts and takes another shovelful of snow. “Because men like that always punch down.”

“Asshole,” I say.

“This is incredible.” Grant’s on the sidewalk, zipping his coat and tugging on gloves.

I lean on my shovel and glare at him.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” He cranes his neck to look up and down the street. “Usually we wait days for a plow to get to Elk Street, and you got him here in twelve hours.”

I grip the handle of my shovel like I’m ringing someone’s neck. “Don’t talk to me unless you’re here to help.”

“Is this the part where I get to say I told you so?” he asks.

“Don’t be a jerk.” I fling a scoop of snow toward him. “I’m having a very bad day.”

“I know. Let me take care of this.” He gently takes my shovel, waits for me to step back, and starts scooping snow off the car’s front bumper. “And Sophie? You can call off the girl gang. I already talked to June, and you can tell Lia not to come. I’ve got this.”

“By yourself?” I screech. “My car will be here until spring.”

“Nah. Felix has a scoop on the front of his truck.”

Sophie’s head snaps up at the mention of Felix. “Welp, since you and your idiot brother have this under control…”

“Do they, though?” I ask Sophie.

She holds her shovel over her shoulder and takes the other one from Grant. “Annabelle would love to buy you a coffee as a thank you for taking care of this. Wouldn’t you, Annabelle?”

“No way. It’s his fault in the first place that⁠—”

“I’d love a coffee,” Grant interrupts. “Thanks.”

“Let’s go.” Sophie links an arm through mine and pulls me toward her car, ignoring my protests. “We’ll meet you at The Lovey Dove,” Sophie calls to Grant before bundling me in and closing the door.

I fume as Sophie drives us five blocks to the bakery. But once we’re inside, the warmth thaws me a little. The line is long but it moves quickly. Soon we’re settled at a table with sweet lattes and buttery croissants.

“In the future, you should ask your friends before accepting any dates,” Sophie tells me. “You’re lucky Grant was there.”

“Yeah, so lucky that my car is currently buried under Mount Butthurt.” But as much as I’d love to blame Grant, I’m the idiot who made the date with an unvetted man. I look out at Cedar Street, its charm faded under weak winter sun. I guess I still have a lot to learn about small town living.

Twenty minutes later, Grant sails into the bakery, cheeks rosy, eyes bright. He throws himself into the seat across from me and shrugs out of his coat. “Done.”

“Thank you. And thank Felix.”

“I also took some pictures to send to the county,” Grant says. “Looks like our friend Luther will be out of a job again.”

I gasp. “Won’t that make him madder?”

“Nah. For a guy like that, getting fired feels normal.”

Sophie nudges me and tilts her head toward the counter. “What?” I ask.