Page 2 of Nice to Meet Boo (Seasons of Sizzle #4)

TWO

GRANT

The angel’s hand is small, warm, and soft in mine.

My gut twists, and I release it quickly. As if I was clutching a hot poker.

I don’t do hand-holding.

I don’t do parties.

Well normally not. Obviously, I’m here tonight. But the guy currently paying my salary told me I had to make an appearance at the town’s big Halloween party.

I build things, fix what’s broken, and avoid situations that come with countdowns and clipboards.

I was close—so close—to fulfilling my duty and getting the hell out of here. But there’s something about her. Something about this angel, that makes me follow her to the stage.

“Team name?” the emcee asks, his pumpkin bow tie cocked like a dare.

Stacey—someone’s written her name on a sticker in loopy letters—tilts her head, halo catching the light.

“Sinners in the Hands of an Angry… Barkeep.”

From behind the taps, Cyrus grunts without looking up. “Watch it.”

The emcee laughs, stamps our sheet. “Round one is Saints across the street, shop windows glow like jack-o’-lanterns—bakery, hardware, used books, a craft store bursting yarn.

She points as we walk, wings bouncing, voice bright.

“That’s Gretchen’s. The maple bars there are to die for. Next to it is Tilda’s Thrift. She’ll find a casserole dish just like the one your grandma had and talk your ear off. The bookstore cat is named Chairman Meow. He pretty much runs the town.”

“You know everyone,” I say.

“That’s small-town living.” She flashes me a smile, then adds, quieter, “I grew up here. I moved away for a few years, but came back this summer.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Love,” she says. Then: “And before you can ask, I came back for self-preservation. Rent in Seattle was astronomical and I wanted to be closer to my dad and brother.” She lifts a shoulder. “What are you doing in town?”

I nod up the block. “Rehabbing the old feed store. We’re putting in a café on the ground floor and apartments upstairs.”

Her face lights up. “That’s amazing. I love that building.”

“It’s a great spot. Good bones. Shit electrical wiring.”

“Oh my God, the lighting through the windows,” she says, eyes brightening. “The morning sun floods in from the east. It could be gorgeous once it’s fixed up.”

“Do you know this much about all of the old buildings in town or just this one?”

“What can I say? If there were a ‘Future of Main Street’ committee, I’d chair it and force everyone to dream big with me.” She grins. “I like imagining what things could be.”

That lands in the middle of my chest and makes a careful kind of sense. I build futures out of studs and screws. She builds them out of ideas.

It’s not a bad combination.

But, it’s also an impossible one to even consider. We just met. And I’m only passing through while she has roots. Deep ones.

“What’s first on that list?” I ask, hoping to change the subject to something safer.

“Feather first,” she says. “We could pluck my wings, but that feels illegal.”

“Breaking the Angel union bylaws?” I ask.

“Exactly.” She points ahead. “I know! The pet store.”

Grabbing my hand, she pulls me through the door.

The doorbell jingles and a bird screeches in response.

“Hey, Stacey,” the clerk says. “Holy chic. You look amazing. You’re going to the Halloween party, I take it?”

“Exactly. We’re on a scavenger hunt. Can I buy one feather?”

She produces a cat wand with a fluffy plume. “Two bucks. And you can take it home to your cat later.”

I pay. Stacey plus one of the feathers from the wand and tucks it into the V at her neckline, where it does an excellent job of stealing my attention.

Once we’re outside, she looks at the next item on the list.

“Ribbon.” She’s all business again, steering us into Buttons her eyes meet mine like we’ve been doing this for years.

“Thanks for playing,” she says.

“Maybe I wanted to,” I answer, honest to a fault.

We hover there, pulled tight by something stupid and electric. It would take a half-inch lean to close the distance.

“Two minutes to round two!” the emcee bellows.

She laughs, breathy. “Bless him and curse him.”

“Mostly curse,” I say.

“Couples Trivia next,” she says, collecting herself. “Three fast facts. Go.”

“Grant,” I say. “Contractor. Black coffee.”

“Stacey. Recently back in town. I hoard notebooks.”

That piques my interest. “Do you write?”

“I make lists,” she says, then sheepishly admits, “and write. Not… professionally. Yet.” She shakes it off. “One more each.”

“I prefer mountains to beaches. I can live without TV. I won’t live without a good hammer.”

“Same on mountains, wrong on TV, and I once ate an entire sheet cake in three days,” she says, scandalized by herself. “Research. Day three is a no.”

I’m still laughing when the emcee starts the round. We shoulder in with the other teams.

Stacey turns suddenly and clocks me with a wing. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”

I steady the bent feather, and her hand lands on my chest, warm through my shirt. The room narrows again, like a camera pulling focus.

“Grant,” she says, and I’m about to answer with my mouth when—

“Round three in five!” The emcee might as well blast a fire extinguisher.

She exhales, eyes bright. “The next game is a thirty-second meet-cute. Funny or hot?”

“Hot,” I hear myself say.

Color blooms high on her cheeks. She nods once. “Hot it is.”

She slides her fingers back through mine. “Ready, Devil?”

Ready is not usually in my vocabulary. “Lead on, Angel.”