Troping Through the Snow by Alexa Riley

“Yeah he stares. The only other person he ever acknowledges is my brother, who forces it on him. Not once does Clause come to town and not stop at the bakery to sit and watch you for a few hours. He could easily take his drink and food and leave, but he doesn’t. Which is telling since he doesn’t want to ever be in town.”

“Really?” I perk up knowing that.

“Yes, really. You think I don’t notice a man staring down my best friend?”

“You didn’t know Jack was in love with you,” I point out.

“I’m really getting sick of the logic stuff. What has the lumberjack done to you?” Tins huffs as I open the door to my place.

“I’ve got some mail here for you.” I point to the coffee table where I dropped it earlier.

I head to my room to pack a bag. I wish I had sexier underwear, but for tonight I’ll take what I’ve got. For all I know, we might only hang out. That kiss, though. If we have one of those while we’re alone, I think things will escalate quickly.

“Hey, what’s this?” Tins waltzes into my bedroom holding up a piece of paper. “You’re keeping so many secrets from me.” She waves it around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take the paper from her hand. “Oh.” I can’t believe he did this. I’m not mad. I actually think it’s sweet. “Clause mentioned us going to Westchester this weekend for the crafts fair. I guess there is a cake baking contest, and he thought I should enter. He must have entered me himself.”

“Clause goes to craft fairs? I thought he chopped wood and did murder.” I roll my eyes at her.

“He’s mentioned he often goes to Westchester.”

“That two-timing motherfucker. He’s hanging out in Westchester all the time and not Troping. Get me a nutcracker.”

I grab her elbow to stop her from leaving. “Stop being a nut.”

“I’m not being a nut, I'm going to crack some.” I snort a laugh. “Is that an overnight bag?”

“It is.” I change my clothes. I’m sure I still smell like sugar, but I always do.

“So you’re staying the night with him again? On purpose this time?” She lifts a brow.

“Maybe, I don’t know. I’m taking the bag, and we’ll see what happens.” I hope I spend the night. The bakery was actually fine when I got here this morning. It made me realize that my staff is capable. I just have some control issues when it comes to the bakery. I did love how we woke up this morning until it went to hell. I want to do it again but without Tins banging on the door.

“So you two are, like, together, together?”

“I don’t know.” I want to know. It’s too bad that I’m not brave enough to ask him what we are. I’m sure as hell not going to tell Tins about the blackmail.





CHAPTER 10





CLAUSE





When Frostie walks out of the bakery, she’s holding a couple of boxes and a bag. “I’ll take those,” I say as I open the passenger side door for her and then help her up in my truck. I put everything else in the back seat and make sure it won’t spill over as I get it and turn the truck toward the neighborhood with all the lights.

“So where are you taking me?”

“I hear you like the lights at Canterberry.” She gasps so loud that it startles me, and I slow down to make sure she’s all right. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s only my favorite. How did you know?”

“An overdramatic sheriff might have given me a tip.”

“Wonder who that could be.” She smirks and then bounces in her seat. “I didn’t get to go last year because the store was too busy. Have you been there?”

“No, tell me about it. Why is it your favorite?” I absolutely love seeing the light in her eyes and the excitement she has as she starts the story.

“From what I’ve heard, it was way back in the fifties that families in the neighborhood would get together and make decorations for the trees that lined the streets. The whole area is only one road in the shape of a horseshoe. So you go in and drive around the bend and then exit. I think maybe it's around five miles long. Anyway, each year they would add more and more and then eventually lights and all kinds of stuff. The tradition then became that they created these giant round ornaments that hang from all the trees. There’s so many that the fire department volunteers to come out on the first day of November and hang them up. It’s incredible.”

“So it’s a large display of giant balls?” I ask, and Frostie snorts.

“Round ornaments,” she repeats, and I reach out to take her hand.

“Tomato, tomahto.” I squeeze her fingers, and she squeezes mine back. “I’ll see all the balls you want if it makes you happy.”

“I’ll remember you said that.” She giggles again, and I could get used to that sound.

I can tell when we get close because there’s a small line of cars waiting to turn in. But we talk as we drive through, and it’s truly something I’ve never seen before. Overhead like a canopy, the lights glow, and it makes it feel like we’ve somehow been transported back in time. The homes are still the same on the outside as they were in the fifties, and the people here have embraced the kitsch.