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“This might be a lost cause.” I huff out a breath. There’s no point in getting Mac over here and under a mistletoe if he doesn't want me touching him. This dating thing is hard. We aren't even dating yet, and it’s still hard!
The wood isn’t salvageable. At least not to make another mailbox. I knew that would happen, and it’s why I planned to take a quick trip to the hardware store to get more wood sometime today. I’d made the crack in the mailbox in the middle of the night, thinking that would be okay because there was no mail on Sunday. I figured I’d have time to pick up the wood and then break it this afternoon, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
That’s why I had to run from Mac when I got my hands on the box. If he’d come with me, he would have seen I didn't have the wood and would’ve told me he’d deal with it later.
I leave the mailbox on my workshop desk before I head inside to grab my keys. I stop at my computer and scan over any new orders that might have come in. I make a list of some of the other items I can pick up for a few of them.
I had no idea when I started putting my stuff onto this Etsy shop how much it would explode. I’d started the account because I love creating things with my hands or taking something that many would think should be tossed away and bringing it right back to life. I didn't need 40 end tables so I had to do something. I was a big believer that one man's trash could be cleaned up, resurfaced and turned into another man’s treasure.
My eyes stop on an email from a man named Nicholas. Something makes me click on it. I read it three times, because I can’t understand why a toy company wants to have a meeting with me. I’ve done personalized children’s gifts before but never anything on a grand scale. One of my favorite things to make are the wooden puzzles of kids' names. The bath bombs are fun too. I love hiding little trinkets inside. So fun!
I fire back an email saying I’m open for a meeting. They’ve caught my curiosity. What’s the worst thing that could happen?
I should know better than to ever ask that question.
3
MAC
Where is she going? I watch from my front window as she backs out of her drive, her bumper coming perilously close to where my mailbox used to stand. Hell, if I hadn’t busted it, she might’ve hit it. That would’ve been interesting. Maybe if she did that, I could’ve talked her into coming over and helping me fix it.
That chance is gone, just like she is. I dart down the center hallway, almost knock Sylvester off his favorite cat tree, and grab my keys. The garage is frigid as I start my car, but I don’t give the engine a chance to warm up.
Where can she be headed? It’s freezing outside, and more snow will be here soon. She works from home, so what could possibly be leading her into town? Frozen Falls is usually a calm, boring sort of town, but lately there’ve been some issues with strangers in town making trouble. I can’t let her go alone, not when there are unsavory characters lurking about.
I follow far behind her, though I always keep her in view. She pulls into the hardware store and jumps out.
Parking a few rows over, I watch her bounce into the store. Her ass still looks unbelievable, and when a man holds the door for her and checks her out as she goes in, I grip my steering wheel so tight it groans.
Getting out, I slide my shades on and stomp to the entrance. The jackass is still standing there letting the heat out and staring at my crafty angel’s perfect rear.
“Beat it,” I growl.
He turns to me with a sour look, then has to step back to look all the way up at me. Whatever he wanted to snap back at me with dies on his tongue as he nods and hurries away. He probably needs to check his pants. Good.
Easing into the store, I let the door close and move over into the feed aisle. On the way, I knock over a bag of birdseed, but manage to catch it before it hits the floor. I put it back on the display, take a deep breath, then move into the aisle and just stand there. It’s the safest thing, really. Jocelyn doesn’t need any feed, so I should be able to hang out without being too obvious. This is a perfect plan, so I—
“Mac!”
I spin and knock over a hay bale and several bags of oats stacked on top.
“Whoa.” Jocelyn jumps back as I catch the bags and use my leg to keep the hay bale in place.
Then I replace the stack and straighten them.
“Oh my God. That has to be over a hundred pounds of oats!” Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me. Color creeps into her cheeks, and her lips part a little.
I bet I look like some Frankenstein monster throwing heavy things around. She must be terrified.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is breathy.
I realize I’m still wearing my stupid sunglasses. Dammit. I swipe them off my face. “Hi, Jocelyn, I was just here for some—”
“Cat food? I love it when Sylvester stares out the front window at me. He seems like the sweetest little guy.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, cat food. Right.” I reach over and grab a 50-pound bag and toss it over my shoulder. “Yep.”
