Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
When I take a seat at the table that’s much too small for my huge frame, I can finally take my time and get a good look at her. Today she’s got two little buns in her hair and a bandana tied around them. With her Christmas overalls, she looks like she belongs on the top of a cupcake and not selling them.
Now is the worst part of coming to Frostie’s. It’s sitting here and watching her smile at literally every single person that comes in and knowing she doesn’t have one of them for me. Why do I do this to myself? It’s pure hell seeing how happy she is and knowing that no matter what, I won’t ever get that reaction from her. Because I’m just a grumpy asshole that lives alone in the woods on the edge of town.
I’m not a people person, and that’s her whole personality. She remembers names and birthdays of her customers and has little inside jokes. She even sets special treats aside for certain people, and I have to sit here and endure hours of it because today I’ve got a purpose.
Sometimes I’ll come in and watch for a little while before I sulk home and kick rocks. Not today, though. After what I saw, I’ve got a reason to stay behind and talk to Frostie, and she’s going to want to hear me out.
It’s a while later when the rest of the staff have gone and Frostie is clearing up. She’s glanced over at me a few times and been around my table like she’s silently telling me it’s time to go, but I wait her out.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to close up.”
“Good, I’d like a word,” I say, and for the first time, Frostie’s eyes meet mine.
“Um, okay?” She says it like a question and flips the sign on the door from open to closed. “What can I do for you?”
“Clause,” I say and lean back in my chair. “My name is Clause.”
“I know.” She’s quiet when she says it, but now I’m wondering, if she knew it, why didn’t she say it like every other person in this town she talks to?
“I’ll get to the point.”
“You seem like the kind of man that doesn’t beat around the bush.”
Now I’m thinking about her bush and what I’d like to do to it. Focus, Clause. “I saw you.”
“You saw me?” she asks as she leans against the chair on the other side of my table and tucks her hands into her overalls. “Here?”
“No, in Westchester.”
I watch as her smile slowly falters, and then she shakes it off. “Oh, I was just running a few errands for my cousin that lives out there.”
“Is that the story you’re telling?”
“It’s not a story,” she snaps and then realizes what she’s done. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Deciding that I’m not going to get anywhere like this, I stand up from the small chair and bring myself to my full height. She has to tilt her head all the way back to look up at me, but all I do is take out my wallet and drop a few bills on the table, along with a card.
“Thirty boxes of store-bought cake mix tell a different story.” She gasps as I walk to the door and stop right before pushing it open. “When you feel like talking, there’s my number.”
Walking out into the snowy late afternoon, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope.
Chapter Three
FROSTIE
I watch as Clause stalks out of my bakery. The way he walks reminds me of a predator; each step is taken with precision. He looks like at any moment he could pounce, and I hadn’t been wrong. That’s what he did to me today, and I hadn’t seen it coming.
It’s not until he’s out of my sight that I rush over and lock the door. How the hell did he see me buying the cake mix? I had a wig on, and the man is a giant. The better question is, how did I not see him? What was he even doing over in Westchester?
He probably has a girlfriend over there or something. If there is a girlfriend over there, I bet she wouldn’t be too happy that her man is handing out his phone number. Then again, he could have a bunch of women for all I know because we know nothing about him.
The one thing we do know is he doesn’t date anyone from Troping. Maybe it’s a don’t-shit-where-you-eat kind of thing. The women around here respond to Clause in one of two ways. They swoon, which he doesn’t appear to notice, or they stay the hell out of his way.
I stay the hell out of his way, but only because I’m inwardly swooning. They don’t make men like him except in the pages of my romance books. He’s a tatted-up lumberjack, and I have more than once dreamed about tracing his tattoos with my tongue because I’m a dork. I always wonder how much of his body is covered in them. I can only see a few peeking out of his shirt and sleeves. Do they go across his back and chest? How far down his chest?