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Chapter One

EVERLY

“Everly, you're looking a little pink there, honey. Don’t forget your sunscreen!” Mrs. Baptiste calls out from the booth next to mine. The scent of cinnamon, sugar, and hot oil wafts past me as she expertly flips the funnel cakes over with a long-handled skimmer.

I wipe my damp forehead with the back of my hand and smile. “Thanks, Mrs. B. I'll reapply in a few minutes.”

“Don’t forget to take a bag home with you.

I have funnels comin’ out of my ears…” She turns to serve a family crowding her counter.

Everyone else devours funnel cakes like they're heaven-sent.

I ate too many at twelve and spent the night hugging the toilet.

But my brother will demolish whatever Mrs. B sends home; the man's never met free food he didn't love.

Afternoon sun beats down on the Sweetheart County Fair and beads of sweat soak through my tank top. Not exactly the glamorous summer job I'd pictured when my cousin Mila asked me to run the cotton candy booth, but the pay's decent and I need every dollar for my final semester.

“One strawberry cotton candy,” I say, handing it to a little girl with pigtails. “And one lavender rose…” Her mother hands me five dollars, and I make change from the vintage apron tied around my waist.

Mila's Meals, the meal delivery service in Snowflake Falls that my cousin started three years ago, has been successful enough that she decided to branch out with this experimental cotton candy stand. And somehow, I got roped into being the face of it.

“You have the perfect look and the perfect personality,” Mila had insisted when she offered me the summer job.

What she meant was that I'm one of the few people she knows who doesn't mind talking to strangers all day.

What she tactfully didn't mention was that I needed the distraction. This summer’s been rough.

I've already fallen into a rhythm. Spin the sugar, wind it onto the cone, hand it over with a smile, repeat. There’s something strangely satisfying about creating something sweet and fluffy that makes kids' faces light up. Plus, my cousin’s company has a reputation for quality, and I don't want to let her down.

The fairground is a patchwork of colorful tents, rides silhouetted against the blue sky, and streams of people wandering between them.

Just beyond my cotton candy stand sits Elena Howl's mystical tent, draped in purple fabric with silver stars.

She's been there since the fair opened three days ago, offering tarot readings.

“Slow?” Elena calls over, emerging from the tent. She's at least eighty, with a mane of silver hair she wears loose down her back, long neon-painted nails, and flowing robes.

“For the next ten minutes, until the rodeo lets out.”

I tug my tank top down under the frilly pink apron. My curves have always made me self-conscious, especially after my ex's parting gift: a detailed critique of my ‘problem areas.’ Like I was his personal failed renovation project.

Movement near the test-your-strength game catches my eye.

A man stands in the shadow of the Ferris wheel; tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a cowboy hat and jeans.

Forty-something. The kind of tan earned through work, not vacations.

He watches with perfect stillness, apart from the crowd but unbothered by it.

Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze. A fizz runs down my spine, straight to my core. The noise of the fair fades away and I hold my breath; it’s like we're the only two people here. Finally, he breaks the connection, and my breath whooshes out as I exhale.

“The mountain man emerges,” Elena murmurs beside me. She has a habit of appearing silently out of nowhere, like a cat.

I jump. “What?”

“Bruno Castelli,” she says, nodding toward the man. “Cowboy turned mountain man. He lives up in the mountains. Rarely comes to town, even less to social gatherings like this.”

“You know him?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I rearrange the cotton candy cones with unsteady fingers.

“Everyone knows of him,” Elena replies. “But few know him. He was quite the rodeo champion in his day back in Texas.”

I glance back, but he's gone, swallowed by the crowd. “Why does he keep to himself?”

“Life leaves marks on us all, dear. Some scars are more visible than others...” Elena gives me one of her enigmatic smiles, waving her hand as she walks back to her tent.

I grab a bottle of water and take a long drink, bending down to put it under the countertop. When I straighten, a shadow blocks out the sun.

Wow.

Six-foot-four inches of gorgeous, rugged masculinity stands in front of me.

His cowboy hat casts a shadow over silver-streaked, dark hair that appears finger-combed.

Outdoor tan. Shoulders broad enough to shelter me from the weather.

Forearms corded with thick muscle and a long-healed scar snaking up from his elbow.

But it's his eyes that get to me. Dark brown, almost black, and so intense that I want to hide and strip buck-ass naked at the same time.

I jolt back to reality. Heat floods my cheeks.

“How can I serve you?” My voice cracks.

Does he want cotton candy? This guy looks like he survives on steak, with a shot of whiskey for breakfast. He raises one dark eyebrow and my core jolts.

I attempt to compose myself. “I mean… what can I get for you, Mr. Castelli?”

“Bruno,” he corrects, his voice a low rumble that does things to my insides. “Mighty pleased you know who I am. And I think you know what I want."

The way he says it, with that heated look in his eyes, makes me wonder if we're still talking about cotton candy.

“I do?” I push a stray lock of hair back from my forehead. “How about the whiskey-ginger flavor? You don’t seem like a matcha green tea kind of guy…”

He laughs, a rich sound that rumbles through my chest, and tips his hat.

I grin like a fool and start spinning sugar. He leans against my counter close enough that his cologne hits me: woodsy, masculine, making me want to bury my nose in his neck.

“Big day today,” he says conversationally as I spin the sugar. “Horse trials start this afternoon.”

“Oh, are you competing?” I ask. I’ve never been comfortable around horses, not after being thrown from one as a kid.

“Mmm. Got a pretty big bet ridin’ on it.” His eyes never leave my face. I finish winding the cotton candy and hold it out to him. Our fingers brush as I hand it over, and that brief contact sears all the way down to my toes.

“What kind of bet?”

Bruno's smile turns predatory, and my breath catches in my throat.

“The kind where winner takes all. And I always win, Everly.”

The way he says my name, like he's savoring it, sends bolts of electricity up and down my spine. Before I can respond, he's tipped his hat again and walked away.

Halfway across the fairground, realization hits.

I never told him my name.