were going to fly everywhere if he...
The box hit the bottom of his cart and big, fat berries exploded up out of it, rolling in a hundred directions across the tile floor. People started shouting and dancing around. The little girl who’d been screaming for ice cream a few minutes ago was now gleefully jumping up and down, popping blueberries with her feet like she was making wine. A grumbling murmur rolled through the produce section as people tried to figure out where the berries were coming from.
Hot Produce Guy, oblivious to the chaos he’d created, was clearly having a very bad day, and Nora quickly devised a plan to help him. After all, she was a planner. That was what she did. She tossed her store flyer into his cart, covering the incriminating half-empty container. He looked up sharply, but she lifted a finger to her lips before he spoke. He followed her eyes toward the angry mob looking for a culprit and winced when the little girl leaped on a fat rolling berry.
Nora gave him a wink and gestured with her head. He followed her without a word. They didn’t stop their carts until they were safely in the bakery section. When he turned to face her, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, but she was used to that. Some days it seemed everyone on the planet was taller than she was.
“So what was the problem with the angry holiday zombies back there?”
That voice. Gravelly, deep and seriously sexy. Forget his looks, it had been that rough voice spitting out swear words a minute ago that made her breath hitch. That was why she’d rescued him. She shook off her rare case of insta-lust and did her best to look unaffected.
“Someone’s blueberries were causing pandemonium. And you seemed to be having a bad enough day without facing a zombie attack right before Thanksgiving.”
His face reddened. “Calling this a bad day is an understatement.”
“The holidays can be tough. Is there anything I can help with?”
He looked at her in surprise, then shook his head. “My son just told me...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He did something so stupid I can’t even think straight.” He looked up at the ceiling and heaved a sigh, blinking a few times before looking back at her. His blue eyes softened for a moment so brief she thought she might have imagined it.
“How old is your son?”
“Old enough to know better.”
“I have a teenage daughter, so I can relate. Sometimes we just have to let them learn from their own mistakes. Even when it drives us crazy.”
She thought about how furious she’d been when Becky came home a year ago with that dreadful tattoo on her forearm after spending the summer in Gallant Lake. Nora had nearly had a stroke right there in the airport. It was just a tiny heart-shaped padlock, but still. A tattoo! On her daughter’s perfect alabaster skin! What would people think if they saw it? What if it affected her career? And why a padlock of all things?
“Yeah, well, that sentiment might look nice on a greeting card, but here in the real world that’s not how it works.” The vulnerability was definitely gone from his eyes now. He was angry. With her. “It’s my job to make sure my kids are...” He stuttered and took a breath. “I mean, my kid. I have to make him understand what needs to be done. Whether he likes it or not.”
He gripped the cart so tightly his knuckles were white. Nora prided herself on being able to solve problems, but she was out of her depth dealing with rage this intense. It was time to extricate herself from this conversation with a complete stranger.
“Well...I...I should be going.” She couldn’t help making one last attempt to cheer him up. Becky always called her Little Suzy Sunshine. Nora was never sure if it was a compliment or not. “You know, someday you and your son will look back at this and laugh.” He started to disagree, but she held up her hand. “Our children will always be our children, no matter how old they get.”
“Really? More greeting-card platitudes? I hope you didn’t raise your daughter to believe all that ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’ nonsense. News flash—some children aren’t always our children. Sometimes they...” His mouth was set in a hard line. “Never mind. I don’t know why I’m still standing here talking to you.”
People didn’t usually get under her skin so easily, but this guy had Nora’s temper up in mere minutes. “I’m pretty sure you were going to thank me for helping you.”
He stared at her long enough to make her skin warm.
“I know your type. You’re a fixer. You could have minded your own business and everything would have been just fine. But you’re one of those that can’t help butting in. Well, now you can butt out. I sure as hell don’t need your sugar-coated advice today.”
He gave his cart a hard shove, sending more blueberries bouncing out of the container in his wake. Nora’s hand fluttered up to rest over her heart as he left. She tried never to curse, even to herself, but there was no other way to say it—Hot Produce Guy was an asshole. She glanced around in guilt, as if someone might have heard her unkind thoughts. Then she regrouped. Becky would be in Gallant Lake tonight. And they were going to have another talk about removing that horrid tattoo.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, Nora was stomping down the sidewalks of Gallant Lake. Alone. While she’d been shopping and dealing with Grumpy Hot Produce Guy, plans had changed. Becky wouldn’t be arriving until Thanksgiving Day now, instead of tonight. And she’d informed Nora by text. This day was not going at all the way she’d planned it.
Amanda finally chased her out of the house. “Your pacing and muttering is driving me crazy, Nora. Take my car and go into the village so you can do your pacing where I can’t see you. Have you ever been to Caffeine Cathy’s Coffee Café? Go check it out and keep yourself busy.”
Nora came to a halt in front of the ugliest building in the village. Painted in garish orange, pink and blue, Caffeine Cathy’s was a sharp contrast to the more conservatively decorated shops along Main Street. The harsh colors were out of place in postcard-pretty Gallant Lake. As if confirming her thoughts, she noticed a large For Sale by Owner sign in the window. The café might be ugly, but the aroma was heavenly, and there seemed to be steady traffic in and out the door.
The interior of the coffee shop was just as eclectic as the exterior. Wide, unfinished planks covered the floor, and the walls were original red brick, covered with artwork for sale. Mismatched tables and chairs, painted in a kaleidoscope of colors, were scattered around the long, narrow space. The counter was across the back, and Nora joined the line of customers.
One painting caught her eye as she waited. It was a beautiful image of a tall galleon sailing calm waters at night, with stars twinkling above. But the ship was heading straight for a high waterfall that led to a waiting sea monster wrapped in flames. Disaster loomed, and no one on that ship had a clue. What an odd thing to paint. Why didn’t the ship have a lookout? How could the serene sea be leading to such a violent end? She turned away, feeling uncomfortable and knowing that was probably exactly what the artist intended.
“Come on, Helen, this place is a joke.” An older couple was standing behind her. The man ignored his wife’s shushing, and if anything, he got even louder. His accent said New Jersey. “We could have gone to Ma’s for Thanksgiving, but no, you insisted we come to this godforsaken place in the boondocks. And they call this a coffee shop? I’d give my left arm for a Dunkin’ right now.”
“Herbie, be quiet!” Helen, wrapped in an aging fur coat that had seen better days, smacked her husband’s ribs hard enough to make Nora wince. “The grandkids woulda’ been bored outta’ their minds at your mother’s. The resort has an indoor pool, and the ski slopes at Hunter are open this weekend, which is the only reason Joey and Mary agreed to come here with their families. So shut up and enjoy yourself.”
Trying to save poor Herbie from any more spousal abuse, Nora chimed in. “You’re staying at the Gallant Lake Resort? I know the owners, and I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful weekend there with your family. But if you get restless, there’s