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Grace’s eyes jerked up, then widened when they landed on the owner of the voice. Living in New York, she wasn’t a stranger to attractive men. They were a dime a dozen in the city that never slept, and she’d traveled to enough world-famous beaches to be practically immune to the male form.
But the man using one hand to stir his coffee at the counter and the other to wag a finger at her table neighbor wasn’t simply an attractive man. He had the kind of presence that sucked the air out of the room, almost making it feel smaller in response to the way he held himself.
It was… alarming.
“You know I’m not one to cause trouble,” Ida said, her words almost sounding like they were coming from far away as Grace continued to stare.
The man wore a police uniform with a bulky jacket over his broad frame, and his clean-shaven face wore a mega-watt smile for Ida. But then his gaze swung to Grace, and he winked.
He actually, honest-to-goodness winked.
“I’m just letting this newcomer know her tiny suitcase won’t suit her very well once she falls in love with this town and decides to stay,” Ida said, her voice casual despite the ridiculousness of her words.
In fact, Grace had the urge to laugh at the assumption that seemed to lurk beneath Ida’s words. Like Grace’s future was a foregone conclusion. Or even worse, like the woman was warning her that once a person entered Snow Hill, the cheery residents wouldn’tletthem leave.
Exactly what kind of Christmasy cult had she stumbled into for this article, anyway? And was Officer Christmas Magic their leader?
The police officer snickered quietly, his eyes swinging to Grace and holding her gaze over the rim of his to-go cup as he took a sip. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
“Wh—What?” She stammered, unable to make sense of his words thanks to the way his blue eyes were holding hers hostage.
“The… enthusiasm around here,” he clarified, jerking his chin toward Ida without breaking eye contact. “You’ll get used to it. I have.”
Grace nodded, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. If she’d had the use of her mouth—the same mouth that hung open in what was surely a very unattractive way—she would’ve asked him where he was from.
That was what he’d meant, right? That he was a transplant? And if so, did that mean he’d once been a visitor who’d found himself unable to leave?
Instead, she remained silent, and his brows flicked together in confusion before he turned back to Ida and gestured to the door. “Time to get to work. Be good.”
“Always am,” Ida replied with a smirk.
And then the apparently very saucy older woman went right back to knitting her scarf like nothing had happened.
Grace continued to gape as the man’s hulking form meandered through the crowd and out of sight. But this time… her sole focus was on Ida. How could she resume her knitting as if she weren’t seated next to a stranger who’d just made an epic fool out of herself? And in front of a cop who looked like he belonged on a police department calendar, no less?
“Told you,” Ida said in a hushed, sing-song tone, not looking up from her scarf-in-progress.
Grace frowned. “Told me what?”
“Told you Snow Hill would make you a lifer.”
Blinking, Grace closed her mouth with a snap and looked away. She was ready to disagree. She was ready to tell her mischievous new friend that she was no closer to becoming a “Snow Hill lifer” than she had been five minutes ago.
She was a nomad, like her parents before her. No town—and certainly no man, regardless of how handsome he was—could ever change that. If she hadn’t put down roots when her first love had begged her to, surely that meant she didn’t have it in her, right?
But then her ability to speak escaped her once again, and she couldn’t shut down any of Ida’s assumptions. She had a perfect view of Officer Christmas Magic as he strode down the street, his gear belt swaying with his hips in that viral-video kinda way that mesmerized women everywhere.
Maybe he’d been onto something when he’d warned Ida to be good. Only, it wasn’t her knitting needles that felt like a deadly weapon to Grace. It was the quiet confidence that poured out of the woman as she hummed a Christmas tune, sure as could be that when it came to falling for Snow Hill… Grace was a goner.
CHAPTER2
Tommy
Tommystrode out of the locker room, adjusting his vest. The scent of coffee and paperwork greeted him, but the giggles and buzz of conversation from the bullpen had him grinning. Kindergarteners from the local school had taken over, proudly presenting the sign they made for the department.
"We made this for you and your friends!" one girl exclaimed, tugging on his sleeve.
Tommy crouched down, examining the brightly painted turkey. "You guys made this for us?" he asked, blown away by their artistry.
