The Christmas Wedding Swap. Allyson Charles
opened another. “I won’t be here that long.”
A tingling sensation swept up the back of her neck and across her face, and she squirmed. Okay, she’d officially bombed. It was time to call it. The humiliation was more than she could take on an empty stomach. She’d go to The Pantry, regroup, and get some lunch. A slice of her meatloaf with creamy mashed potatoes could make the hurt from any rejection fade.
“You sure must like these,” he said.
It took Allison a moment to realize he was talking about the twenty pounds of Jordan almonds he was shoveling into her bags.
Was he judging her? Rejection she could handle. But mockery pushed all her buttons. It didn’t help that she’d been at a disadvantage with motorcycle man from the get-go. Or that she was still riled up from losing Caty Cowgirl. Her embarrassment was quickly swept away in a tide of anger.
Shoving the last box of candles into her other bag, she pushed to her feet. She jerked away from the hand he put under her elbow to help her to stand. “They’re favors for a wedding, not my own personal stash.” She knew she was on the far end of curvy, but did he actually think she’d eat all of them? “Thanks for your help. I’ve got it from here.” She grabbed the bag of almonds.
“Okay.”
Slipping his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, he gave her that look again, that quick up and down that assessed her appearance and found her wanting. She shifted in her sneakers. She wasn’t used to feeling out of place. Normally, she was comfortable in her own skin no matter what she was wearing. She owned a coffee shop, a house, and a shotgun full of rock salt to protect it all. She was a self-made woman, damn it.
But standing in front of the sexy biker looking like a homeless person made her feel about ten inches tall, a feeling usually reserved for family events when her overachieving sisters with their perfect families and perfect lives made hers pale in comparison.
“Congratulations,” he said. He rocked back on his heels, the leather of his boots creaking. “On your wedding.”
Allison blinked. It wasn’t for her wedding, but as maid of honor for her friend’s big day, she’d taken on a lot of the planning details—a lot. But sexy biker thought that there was a man out there who wanted to marry her. She was going to go with that.
“Thanks. And thanks again for your help.” Shoulders back and head high, Allison skirted around the icy patch and marched down the sidewalk to her car. She opened the door, tossed her bags in, and slid behind the wheel. Only once she was seated inside did she let her shoulders slump.
Stick a fork in her; she was done. She didn’t care what deal had been made with her sister. She wasn’t going through that humiliation again. Camilla was the analytical sister, but Allison was sneaky. She’d find a loophole in their agreement, because one thing was very clear.
She needed to stop flirting with the men of Pineville before she scared them all away.
Chapter Two
Luke Hamilton stared at the black and chrome of his Harley like it was a dying friend. After the mechanic had told him it would be at least a week until the part he needed would arrive, Luke had tuned the man out. It would take a day or two after the part got there to fix the damned thing. What in the hell was he going to do for a couple of weeks in Pineville, Michigan? When he’d driven through the town he had thought it quaint, charming even. A slice of Americana from a bygone year. But when his bike had spluttered, wheezed, and flat-lined in front of the old courthouse, the small-town charm had clogged his throat.
“…probably gonna run you, oh, twenty-five hundred.” The mechanic ran a rag over a gear. A streak of grease stained the patch on his blue pinstriped coveralls, making the name “Fred” look like “Fled.”
“Wait. Twenty-five hundred? Dollars?” Luke spluttered. That pulled his attention back quick.
“Sure as hell ain’t donuts. And that’s if we can get the part through Bertie. If we have to find another supplier, well…” Fred shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic gesture that didn’t look sorry at all. Of course, Fred didn’t have to pay the exorbitant amount. But if it’d get him out of Pleasantville, Luke would pay it. He didn’t have much choice. The tow truck driver who had taken him to Gas and Stuff the day before had told him it was the only shop in town that worked on motorcycles.
He rubbed his palm against his right eye, trying to ease the stabbing pain that had become an altogether too frequent visitor since his life had turned to crap. Twenty-five hundred bucks. He sighed. What the hell? That was a bill he could actually afford. “Okay, order the parts. And I’ll pay for any rush you can put on it.”
Fred tucked his rag into his back pocket. “Will do. And I’ll probably get my loaner back in a day or two if you need it.”
“Thanks.” Luke strode through the large garage door, zipping his jacket up against the biting wind. He didn’t know why he would need to rent a car in Pineville. The downtown was small enough to walk in twenty minutes. He’d found lodgings just a couple of blocks off Main Street, a lot with six small cabins. His unit had a kitchenette, a TV, a single bed, and not much else. But it felt more private than the other motel in town. And privacy was what he needed. He’d been able to pay cash for the week, a precaution that might have been wasted. Luke didn’t know if process servers could access credit card records, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. His restaurant, his livelihood, was at stake.
An entire week in Pineville. Maybe more. Sighing, he hiked up the street and turned left when he hit the main drag. His steps sputtered to a stop. Yesterday, the town had been a work in progress, stores changing out their front windows from the oranges and browns of autumn to a blaze of reds and greens. Now it looked like Christmas had vomited all over the small downtown.
He was used to nice Christmas displays. The big department stores of Chicago had their windows. Hell, he even had his staff decorate a little tree in the corner of his restaurant and hang twinkle lights over the exposed rafters. But downtown Pineville was like a Christmas theme park.
Behind his reflection in the window next to him, a metal tree stood in as a makeshift hanger for delicate bits of lace and satin. His mouth dropped open. An array of panties, a mix of red, green, and white; polka dots and stripes; some with bows on the front; and one sexy red thong with a big bow hanging down the back were draped from the metal arms, making them the weirdest ornaments Luke had ever seen. A Santa hat topped the tree where a star should be. Luke stepped back and craned his neck to look at the flowery pink writing above the window: Satin & Lace. He’d never seen that in a Chicago window.
The next storefront was a whirlwind of wintry whites and icy blues and pinks. Icicles and stars hung from the ceiling, the breeze from a shopper pushing through the front door causing them to sway. A little girl wearing a blue princess dress and an elf hat had her little fingers pressed to the window, eyes wide, trying to take it all in. He stepped around her parents, the couple so fused to each other’s sides as to make one block.
Christ, even the lamp poles were wound with thick vines of green garland. Wreaths adorned with large red bows hung from each one. Christmas was all well and good, but this was a bit much.
With time to waste and a desire to escape the Norman Rockwell image, Luke quickened his pace and made for the coffee shop across the street. The front windows were painted with snowmen and reindeer and who the hell knew what else. He rolled his eyes and pushed through the door. He released a deep breath when he saw the interior was fairly normal. A small tree of ornaments stood on the counter by the register, but aside from that and the front windows, The Pantry was Christmas-free.
He made his way across the black-and-white-tiled floor to an empty seat at the counter. Sliding onto the red stool, he plucked a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser in front of him. He sniffed the air, and his shoulders unclenched a bit. At least he wouldn’t be deprived of good food that week. The main restaurant and the areas he could see behind the counter all looked clean, and the waitresses were tidy in black slacks and cream-colored smocks.
Except