Page 48 of Hotshot

That’s cuz I know what I’m talking about. Be cool.

I sent him an animated ice cube gif.Any other tips? Town specialties, things to do, people to avoid?

Ivan makes a mean latte at Rise and Grind. Everything at the diner is delicious, especially the burgers and poutine. Say hi to JC and Nolan. If you’re interested, there’s good hiking near the lake. Meet the coaches if you can…Vinnie, Riley, Court, Ronnie. There’s a movie theater in Pinecrest, sledding in Fallbrook if there’s still snow, and you should check out the bookstore. Just don’t be weird around MK. People to avoid: my grandmother.

My cheeks hurt from smiling now.Wow, you wrote me a book. Don’t pro hockey players work for a living?

Ha. Ha. I’m at the gym. Just got out of the shower.

Oh! What are you wearing?

A towel, perv. You?

I looked down at my ensemble. Jeans, a sweater, and a jacket.

I’m not sure where to go with that.

Me either.I chuckled.

Later. Watch out for Grams. She will eat you alive.

On that note, I stepped out of the truck, tipped my chin in greeting to a passerby, and strode purposefully toward Henderson’s Bakery.

The bell above the door chimed and a pretty middle-aged woman with bobbed blond hair and a sunny smile glanced up from the pastries she was arranging in a pink box.

“Good afternoon. What can I get for you?”

I wasn’t a huge sweet eater, but damn, this place smelled amazing. I perused the selection of cookies, cupcakes, fruits tarts, and breads, lingering on the chocolate éclairs.

A core memory resurfaced out of the blue:I was four years old, standing in a bakery with my face pressed against the glass, my mom’s hand on my shoulder, telling me I could choose one thing. Anything I wanted. I chose an éclair.

“Uh…” I snapped back to reality and homed in on the cookies shaped like maple leaves, drizzled with icing. “I heard the maple cookies are fantastic.”

The woman nodded graciously. “They’re our signature specialty, first made by my husband’s great great-great grandparents a hundred or so years ago. Other than adding icing options, we’ve stuck to the original recipe, so yes…they’re worth a try for sure.”

“Great. I’ll take two, please. And…an éclair.”

“You got it.” She grabbed a small box and a pair of tongs for the éclairs. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m Hank Cunningham.”

“Penny Henderson. Nice to meet you,” she said warmly. “Welcome to Elmwood.”

“Thank you. I haven’t had a chance to really settle in yet, but it seems like a great little town and I?—”

“Ah, I should have known you were a kiss-ass.” A gravelly voiced old woman with a halo of white hair shuffled in just then, untying an oversized apron with gnarled, shaky fingers.

“Annie!” Penny gasped in dismay, sputtering as she slid the pastry box across the counter. “I’m so sorry. I?—”

“Oh, relax, Pen. This is the mill guy from Wood Hollow. He’s layin’ it on thick so we don’t boot his booty outta town.”

I grinned. “You must be Annie Mellon.”

“I am.”

Penny gave a nervous laugh. “Annie doesn’t mean any harm. Please don’t take offense.”

“Don’t tell him that. I want him to take offense,” Annie corrected, reaching for a pink coat on a wall hook near the entrance. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll be outside. I need a smoke.”