Page 2 of My Sweetart Holidate

“Don’t bother.” Battered bakery box clenched in his grip, the man turns on his heel and stalks toward the lodge. As if all of this is the lodge’s fault.

“It was an accident,” I holler after him.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even check stride. I stupidly watch every deliberate step until he disappears inside the lodge. And no, I wasnotchecking out his ass. Besides, even if I was, a fine booty wouldn’t make up for his rude behavior.

“At least he’s not my blind date,” I mutter. I consider myself a cheery, optimistic type of woman. There’s no way I’ve been matched with a grouchy jerk like that.

Feeling a shred of hope at that, I survey the disaster spread across my hood. A raven lands on the opposite side and steals a cookie.

“Have at it, buddy. They’re all yours.” My phone pings from my coat pocket. “No cell service my ass.”

I pull it free and shiver just a little, bare fingers reminding me that it’s February. Though it’s warmer in the mountains than at home, twenty above is still too chilly to stand out in the cold indefinitely without gloves or a hat.

I glance at the screen and groan. I don’t need to see the whole message to know where this is going. Blind date attempt number thirty-two. “Why did I ever teach Great-Aunt Doris to text?”

The raven squawks at me before stealing another cookie and flying off. It narrowly misses a heart-shaped balloon that’s started to sag with the cold temperatures.

“You’re out of options, Charlie,” I mumble to myself. “This weekendhasto work.”

As long as I can avoid Grumpy Gus, Imighthave a shot at happiness.

2

Kash

The full moon casts an eerie glow over the Caribou Creek Lodge as I round the final bend and coast up its driveway. I glance at the ominous orb in the clear night sky, centered above the highest gable like a fucking omen from a horror movie, and mutter a string of curses under my breath. I hear Grandma Olive’s voice in my head.

The craziest things happen during a full moon. I once saw Bigfoot himself during a full moon. Also got knocked up during one. That’s how your mom came to—

I shake my head, desperately needing to shoo away the loveable but crazy voice.I donotwant to picture Grandma Olive in the back of Gramps’ old Ford truck, the pair of them going at it like rabbits.

A sigh presses up under my breastbone, memories so hard they cut. Gramps and me, working on that truck. Grandma Olive won’t sell it either, even though it hasn’t run since the day Gramps passed away almost a decade ago. Sometimes I catch her sitting in it, staring out the windshield with a faraway smile.

Damn full moon.

If it weren’t for the wild blonde who nearly ran me over this afternoon, I wouldn’t even be here. Wouldn’t know therewasa full moon. I’d be home with my feet kicked up in front of a roaring fireplace. Cold beer in my hand. Sports highlights lulling me to sleep right there in the recliner. My reward for working a long string of twelve-hour days.

The sigh groans up my throat with two weeks of exhaustion. Let’s be honest. There’s no way in hell that heart-shaped cookies fromBaked by Andieare going to make or break my sister’s big event. Not on its first night. But I’ve never been able to say no to Maggie when her eyes are all big and shiny with unshed tears. As she went on and on about how special the locally made desserts were, all I could do was hope those damn tears didn’t fall. Might as well tighten a vise grip around my heart. It’d hurt less than seeing her on the verge of sobbing.

I glance around the full parking lot, searching for signs of the woman who’d destroyed all but three of the super-special, apparently critical-to-Maggie’s-success, frosted sugar cookies. I had to beg Andie to rush this batch today—not a small favor on a busy Valentine’s Day weekend when her display cases were nothing more than crumbs.

She’s not here.

A momentary pang of what pretends to be disappointment hits me. She might’ve been oblivious and a bit annoying —she wasn’t on her phone my ass!— but I secretly enjoyed her feisty attitude. Her curvy figure wasn’t hard on the eyes either.Get your shit together, Kash. Not happening. If she’s staying at the lodge, there’s likely only one of two reasons: she’s on a romantic getaway with some boyfriend probably hoping for a proposal or she’s part of my sister’s matchmaking event.

Neither one has anything to do with me.

I hurry inside, irritated to be out in the cold when I could be warmed by a fire.

It causes me physical pain to endure those damn balloons again. They’ve been moved inside the lobby, mildly revived from their struggle with the cooler winter temperatures earlier this afternoon. A pink polka dotted one dares to sashay its way toward me like some half-tipsy, desperate woman in need of a date for a wedding. Both hands firmly gripped on the cookies —damned if I’m losing another box— I sidestep the flirty bit of mylar and growl something uncomplimentary.

“You made it!” Maggie sprints up to me, appearing in the deserted lobby like a magic trick.

“Promised I would.” As she takes the box and sets it down on a nearby table, a yawn threatens to escape me. I swallow it back. I’m exhausted, almost dead on my feet, and eager to get back to my cabin. To be tucked away in the woods, far away from this romantic shitshow and the holiday I’ve come to loathe. It’s not Maggie’s event that makes me feel this way, but what it represents.

Love is a sad, sorry joke if you ask me. And I’ve more than earned a few days of peace and quiet.

“You’re the best.” Maggie wraps me in a hug, squeezing for a few seconds longer than is normal, even for her over-affectionate self.

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