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“You don’t have to tell me it’s Christmastime. Christmas parade kicks off the Gingerbread Festival.” Her father winked at her. “Which means Josie and I will be up to our elbows in the stuff for the next week.”
“Can’t wait.” Josie smiled. “Bonding while baking is a family tradition.” She made the terrible mistake of looking Hunter’s way. Hunter, who was watching her. His crooked grin and cocked eyebrow stirred up a series of memories. A flash of him smiling at her while they floated down the river. Another of them lying on a blanket under the stars. Him teaching her to drive stick shift. Making love for the first time. Not thoughts I need to have right now. Her heart lodged itself in her throat.
“Family traditions are good.” Fisher grinned. “Even better if it puts food on the table, right? A man’s got to eat.”
“Which characters?” her father asked, turning to Eli.
Eli shrugged. “Thirty-four, probably. Since some of us have calves.”
“Thirty-four?” She tore her gaze from Hunter.
“It was Dad’s calf, right?” Eli asked.
Josie nodded, rattled. “Yes, his state champion calf.” Her gaze settled on Eli. He looked a lot like Hunter when they’d first met. Her heart hurt. “What can I do to help?”
“Well, we’re gonna build the float. But they—we—were wondering...” Eli was clearly uncomfortable. “Would you ride on it?”
She shook her head. “Um, I hate the spotlight, Eli.”
“It’s just a parade.” Eli’s eyes were scornful. “In Stonewall Crossing.”
“Come on, Josie,” her father said. “You wrote books about this place, the town and people.”
Fisher elbowed her. “You are a celebrity here, kind of.”
“And it’s for the kids,” her dad added.
She held her hands up. “Really, Dad? You’re going to play the for-the-kids card?”
Hunter laughed, sending a wave of awareness along her neck. “Nothing to add, H-Hunter?” She stumbled over his name. It was stupid. Not like she could call him Mr. Boone. It’s a name, for crying out loud. Saying it shouldn’t affect her, or send the slightest shiver down her spine.
His gaze traveled over her face before peering into her eyes. “You might make some good memorie
s before you go back. Something for a new book.”
She couldn’t look away. And she really needed to look away. He might not be grappling with memories, with need and want, but she sure as hell was.
“Come on, Josie. Live a little,” Fisher added.
She should say no, but Hunter had found her weakness. A new book... Wouldn’t that be something? Not that anyone knew she was in the midst of the longest creative drought of her career. That’s why she was considering the teaching position in New Mexico. She wanted to feel inspired again.
Maybe working on the float could help. At this point, it couldn’t hurt. Her career, anyway.
“So?” Eli’s question ended her tortured introspection.
“Yes.” She smiled at Eli as she spoke. “Thanks, Eli. I mean, it’s nice to feel special for my stories.” Don’t ask. Don’t ask. But she did. “Did you ever read them?” Thinking about Amy reading her stories to Eli made her stomach twist.
Eli looked at his dad. “Dad used to read me 34 and Floppy Feet all the time.”
Fisher snorted. “Hey, hey, now. I’ve read the cow one—”
“It’s called 34,” Hunter answered.
“Right, 34.” Fisher nodded at his brother. “A time or two, Eli.”
Eli grinned at his uncle.
Josie risked another glance at Hunter, but he was staring into the fire with a small smile on his face.
