CHAPTER 1
Arwyn
M y drafty sewing room had nothing on the biting wind of an early January day on Main Street in Palmer City. My brain froze with each new step. Why had I chosen to walk when I could have driven?
Oh, right. My chosen word for this year was “engage.”
What had I been thinking?
Engage with nature, I could do.
Maybe.
People were another story.
The rhythm of my footfalls matched my breath, forming puffy clouds with each word I muttered just loud enough for myself to hear.
One.
More.
Step.
You.
Can.
Do.
It.
I said it over and over, passing business after business after business, their windows still framed in Christmas lights and featuring holiday displays. I crossed Prospect Road with a longing look up the block toward the bookstore on the left and the general store on the right. A new book was always a treat, and sweet Janey and her husband, Simon, would send me off with a bag of sweets, but knowing me, with people I actually liked to people with, I’d stick around chatting and then be late for my appointment.
I plodded up the block, stopping just short of the Coffee Loft. Its line stretched out the door to its neighbor, Shanna’s Soda Shoppe—my home away from home.
It was early afternoon, so the place was virtually empty. I settled myself onto the ’50s-era vinyl and chrome barstool and reached underneath the counter to hang my purse on the shiny silver hook. Most of the town’s children were back to school after Christmas break. Toddlers were napping, the retired crowd had long since consumed their lunch, and anyone who didn’t have to be out in the biting cold was smart enough to stay inside.
Which was exactly where I’d be if Tasha Biddington hadn’t insisted on meeting me here. Though she had a thriving meal-catering business now, she still filled in from time to time at the Coffee Loft next door, which was where she was today. It was a game day for the Denver Edge, and Tasha’s brother-in-law had to get his magical coffee or something. NHL players in a small-town coffee shop caused quite a stir, and Tasha, her sister, Penny, and their cousin Gabby—also married to an Edge player—helped out before they headed to the game.
Normally, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the place on a game day, but Tasha was so happy with the vintage gown I’d restyled for her wedding last summer that she wanted me to custom-make a Regency gown for her sister to wear at the Biddingtons’ annual Valentine gala, so we needed to get started, like, yesterday. In this part of the state, the gala was second only to Denver’s Once Upon a Dream Ball, and I’d give my eyeteeth to attend either. For now, I’d have to be content creating the gowns. But someday…
Well, a girl could dream.
I pulled off my soft leather kid gloves and set them on the counter. The clock above the soda fountain was just shy of the hour. I scanned the empty space and sighed contentedly, proud of my Gilmore Girls -obsessed friend for her accomplishments here. This place could be right out of Stars Hollow—or Disney World—with its pastel-striped papered walls, metal accents, and candy wall. I’d designed the staff uniforms, modeled after the Dapper Dans and Main Street USA trolley singers’ costumes.
Taylor Doose would be envious, no doubt.
Back when it was an ice cream shop owned by her parents and called Sundae School, it had been a second home to me. Shanna was several years older than me and was the closest thing I had to a big sister. She hadn’t been interested in sewing at all, preferring to work in the ice cream shop alongside her dad. When they’d been short-staffed, I’d fill in, but my heart was always in the sewing shop upstairs.
Helping Shanna and her family transform one generation’s family business to the next’s dream was the least I could do after spending every day after school here for as long as I could remember. Shanna’s mom refused to charge my dad for the babysitting, saying she should be paying him for my delightful company and assistance with her part-time tailoring business in their upstairs apartment.
Shanna emerged from the kitchen, adjusting the bowler hat on her head. Her expression brightened when she saw me. “Arwyn Baughn! You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
I shrugged and smiled, subconsciously checking the fit of her puff-sleeved dress. “I’m a lady of mystery,” I teased. “You never know where I might show up.”
Shanna snorted. “More like I never know if you’ll show up, Miss Queen of Canceling Plans.”
My hand flew to my heart in mock offense, and I fluttered my eyelashes. “Moi? Cancel?”
“Well, not when it’s important. You never once canceled on my girls. They miss you now that they’re both in school.”
“I miss them, too. Being an au pair suited me.”
Shanna snorted again. “You even have a way of making nannying sound glamorous. Besides, you’re from here, and you always went home each night, so technically you can’t be an au pair.”
I rewarded her with an exaggerated pinched face.
She grinned and didn’t miss a beat. “But back to the fact that you’re here, sitting on my shiny new stool. Didn’t you say you’d be setting Wednesday afternoons aside for cleaning wedding gowns?”
“They are,” I said, my thoughts briefly going to Wynnie’s Wedding Dress Library, a gown rental side business I’d curated in my climate-controlled garage. It was a sub-business of Wynsome Designs, my made-to-order historical costume line. “But Tasha said she’d help me next Wednesday if I met her here today.” I’d taken in three new dresses over the holidays, and they needed to be cleaned and mended and sorted.
“Sounds like a plan.” She tipped her chin up. “Your usual?”
“You know it.”
As she made my Straw-Berry Dreamy soda, the door chimed. I swiveled in my stool, expecting to see Tasha, but instead, two little girls giggled their way in, poufy sparkly princess dresses swishing under their peacoats. Two auburn braids and a single blond plait peeked out from underneath pom-pommed tams, similar to the one on my own head.
“Girls! No running!” The woman who accompanied them had a French accent, which caught my attention.
“Sorry, Auntie!” they chorused in perfect English, racing straight toward the stools to the right of me.
I lifted my gaze to their frazzled aunt, offering a sympathetic smile before I turned back to Shanna. She set my soda onto a branded cork coaster and moved down the counter to welcome her new customers.
The bell over the door chimed again, and this time it was Tasha.
“Mrs. Ridgie!” The blond ran toward her, the redhead close at her heels. “Can you babysit us when Auntie Sofi goes back to Canada?”
Our eyes connected briefly. Mrs. Ridgie? Tasha’s husband, Monty, was the mascot for the Edge, the NHL team in Denver.
“Isla! Amelie! So great to see you.” She bent down. “Remember, Ridgie’s identity is a big secret.” She looked over at me and smiled, looking happy and healthy, her baby bump just starting to show.
“Oh!” Isla turned to me, distress on her delicate features. “I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay. Wynnie over there is my friend. She knows the secret.”
“He shouldn’t take his head off if he wants it to be a secret,” the redhead observed. “He should kiss you with the bear head on .”
Tasha laughed. “I’ll let him know, Amelie.” She stood. “Sofi! How lovely to run into you here!”
“Vraiment charmant. How lovely indeed!”
Tasha finally reached the counter and made the introductions. “Sofi, Amelie, Isla, these are my friends Arwyn Baughn and the owner of the Soda Shoppe, Shanna Lane. Wynnie, Sofi is Zaki Marsch’s sister, and these are his girls.”
I stiffened at the mention of him .
Zaki.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Are you girls wearing Elsa and Anna dresses?”
“Yes!” Amelie confirmed. “Frozen is our favorite!”
“I love it, too,” I replied.
“See, Sof, I told you she’d be perfect. Wynnie, aside from Penny’s Regency gown, I—we—have another ask. Zaki is taking the twins to a con in a couple weeks, and he needs a costume.”
“And all the Kristoff costumes are bad!” Amelie frowned. “None are real .”
I narrowed my gaze, pretty sure of the ask that was coming.
Tasha grinned wider. “Remember last summer, when Zaki helped you and Monty remove my train at the wedding? And that super cute crossbody you made for me with all the pockets so I could carry my safe food and snacks off the ship to the island excursions on our honeymoon cruise? What kind of a friend would I be, when asked if I knew anyone that could help, if I didn’t remind him that he knew the best costume designer in the world?”
“The world? Really?” I held her gaze.
Being Tasha, she was unfazed. “Anyway, Zaki’s on his way to the Coffee Loft with Xavier and Jason for Xavier’s lucky pregame toffee coffee, and I thought you could talk.”
I looked at the girls, staring up at me with big, wide, hopeful puppy eyes. They seemed pretty normal. And not in the slightest overly excitable like their father.
The first time I’d met Zaki Marsch, he’d burst into the Coffee Loft like a whirlwind with his teammates, swiped a hat off one player’s head and tossed it to another. Instead of reaching its intended target, it hit my cinnamon bun, knocking it out of my hand. The bun tumbled down the bodice of my gown and landed in my lap. I still remembered the sticky glaze ruining the delicate lace and beading. He’d been mortified, apologizing in rapid-fire sentences while his teammate Xavier—now Penny’s husband—struggled to hold back laughter.
Zaki paid for the dry cleaning and a replacement bun—and sent a box of them to my house the next day—but that didn’t stop him from making a joke of it and calling me Wynna-bun.
And it didn’t stop me from making it my personal mission to avoid him.
I hadn’t been able to look at a cinnamon roll since without thinking of him.
Zaki was loud, unpredictable, and utterly not the type of person I would befriend.
And now, apparently, I was supposed to work with him?
And Tasha—one of my very few friends—knew how I felt about him. She’d lured me here under false pretenses.
But—I needed the money. After materials, a custom-designed Kristoff costume could yield a few hundred dollars’ profit.
“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
“Yay!” The girls bounced, clapping in excitement. They asked what I was drinking and ordered the same. While we waited for Shanna to make their sodas, they shared that they were five and a half, loved Frozen, ballet, and hockey, and they were living with their daddy now because their mommy lived in Canada and had to have a big surgery.
When they received their drinks, I slid off my stool and begrudgingly followed Tasha next door to the Coffee Loft. It smelled like its usual mix of espresso, cinnamon, and whatever syrup Penny used to concoct Xavier’s lucky “Toffee Coffee.” It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, the smell should have been comforting, like a cozy blanket after a long day. But for me, sitting here at Tasha’s insistence, it felt like a trap.
I adjusted my faux ermine collar, tugging it higher around my neck and sinking my chin into its softness, as if it could somehow shield me from whatever was about to happen. The warm glow of the shop’s lights reflected off the shiny brass buttons on my lavender winter coat, a semihistorical throwback to the Victorian era. Normally, dressing like this made me feel calm, grounded. But today? Today I felt like I’d walked into an unfriendly classroom of popular middle school girls.
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” I muttered to Tasha, who was sipping a hot pumpkin spice decaf with a self-satisfied grin.
“You need the work, Wynnie. And you’re perfect for this,” she said, setting her mug down. “It’s fate.”
“It’s not fate,” I replied. “It’s you and Monty scheming.” I glared at the man sitting next to her. He crooned gibberish to the nine-month-old in his arms, their niece, Melody. The baby completely ignored her mother, who sat between us.
“Same thing,” Tasha quipped. Before I could argue further, the door chimed and Xavier entered. Melody squealed at the sight of her father and stretched her arms out toward her dad.
As Monty handed the baby to Xavier, the door opened again.
Zaki Marsch. No. 87.
The only reason I remembered his number was because it was the same number as my house.
Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
Zaki, a picture of effortless confidence, strode in like he owned the place, flashing a smile and fist-bumping the guys.
He looked … different. Still ridiculously tall and broad-shouldered, the Edge’s alternate captain had an air of maturity about him. Formerly blond and clean-shaven, he now sported a trim, auburn beard, the same shade as the short curls poking out from his pom-pommed team beanie, which did not complement his calf-length wool overcoat.
Sans the beanie, he could have been cast as an extra for a Titanic film.
Arwyn Baughn. Stop ogling. He doesn’t look that good.
He lifted his chin and caught my gaze. I quickly looked away, regretting he’d caught me staring.
I wasn’t curious at all why he’d stopped dying his hair blond and had grown a dashing short beard.
Tasha smirked.
Did I say dashing out loud?
Oh no.
“Wynna-bun,” he said, drawing out the nickname like it was some kind of inside joke. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I straightened in my chair, trying not to glare or be distracted by his smooth voice and trace of a British accent. “You knew I’d be here.”
“I’d heard,” he admitted, plopping into the chair next to me like we were old friends. “But I had doubts you’d show up.”
“She almost bolted,” Tasha tattled.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Zaki said, leaning back and stretching his arm over the back of my chair. I sat up straighter. “We’ve got important business to discuss.”
“You mean your Kristoff costume?” I said coolly, keeping my tone as professional as possible.
“Exactly.” He grinned. “The twins are obsessed with Frozen , and I can’t let them down. It’s a children’s con, Wynna-bun—this is serious stuff, and my girls want their dad to dress up.”
I opened my notebook, trying to ignore the warmth in my cheeks. “Okay. Let’s start with materials. Do you want?—”
“Daddy!”
He grinned, flashing too-perfect teeth for a hockey player, and turned toward the door. “Ah. My experts have arrived!”
His daughters ran in, clutching half-finished Straw-Berry Dreamy sodas in their mittened hands. Sofi waved cheerfully and ushered the twins to us.
The little girls squealed in unison, abandoning their sodas to their aunt’s fast hands to launch themselves at him.
“Daddy!” they cried again, each grabbing a leg.
“Hey, munchkins!” he said, standing and scooping them up effortlessly, one on each arm. They giggled as he spun them around before setting them down. Then his eyes landed on me, and that grin turned mischievous.
Monty sauntered over. He’d gotten the baby back from Xavier, and he had trouble written all over his face. “Marshy.”
“Ridgie.”
I suppressed a laugh at their orchestrated stare-off.
Monty rolled his eyes at Zaki’s use of the mascot’s name, but it was good-natured. The two had been caught up in a prank war for most of the last year. In public, they kept up the icy rivalry as the team’s top pranksters. In private, they were friends. Tasha told me at their wedding last summer that he’d stopped responding to Monty’s pranks, so Monty kept escalating.
A sudden wave of dread hit me. I got that feeling sometimes, and my gut has never been wrong.
“Hey, Pen.” Monty turned toward his sister-in-law. “Doesn’t Marshy still need a nanny? Wynnie’s a pro with kids.”
There it was. My gut was right on. Again.
I shuddered.
Zaki’s eyes went wide, and he shot an uncertain glance at Sofi. “Yeah, so, uh, Sofi’s going back to school next week,” he said. “And the girls need a nanny.”
“You’d be perfect, ” Tasha said quickly. “You’ve been a nanny, you speak French, and the girls already like you.”
“They don’t even know me,” I reminded her.
“They will!” Monty insisted cheerfully. “You’ve got all the qualifications.”
I looked over at Penny, who hadn’t said much and had even less to say now, as she was suddenly very interested in her mug of tea. “You knew about this?”
“She thinks it’s a great idea,” Tasha said, not meeting my eyes.
Zaki leaned forward. “It’s not forever. Just until the end of the season.”
I hesitated, my mind racing. On one hand, the idea of working for Zaki was overwhelming. He was loud, unpredictable, and frankly, a trifle intimidating. But on the other hand … the money would be a lifesaver. And the twins seemed like great kids.
As if on cue, Isla tugged on my sleeve. “Do you like ballet?” she asked, her big brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“I do,” I said softly. “Do you?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “We want to learn to dance like swans!”
“Like Swan Lake ?” I asked, smiling despite myself.
“Uh-huh! Daddy says he can be a swan too, but he’s not very good at ballet. He’s not graceful in slippers!” She giggled.
Zaki groaned, then snorted. “Thanks, Isles. Throw me under the bus, why don’t you?”
Amelie climbed onto the chair beside me, holding her soda with both hands. “You speak French?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Oui,” I replied. “Tu parles francais aussi?”
Her face lit up. “Oui!”
“She’s fluent,” Tasha said, nudging Zaki. “See? Perfect.”
I looked back at Zaki, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. For once, he wasn’t grinning or cracking a joke. He just looked … hopeful.
“Okay,” I said finally, surprising even myself. “I’ll think about it.”
The twins cheered, and Monty flashed a triumphant smile as he bounced Melody in his arms. Zaki’s grin returned, causing my heart to beat faster and overriding my brain, which wanted to continue loathing him. For a brief moment, I wondered if I’d just made a mistake. But when Amelie climbed into my lap to compare the shade of her red hair to mine, chattering excitedly about swans and ballet, I realized maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Can you come to our house tomorrow afternoon?” Zaki asked. “You can see the place, and we can talk about the costume.”
I nodded. “I’ll need to measure you.”
Monty smirked, and I sent him a death glare.
The guys hung out for a few more moments while Penny snuck behind the counter to make them their coffees. After they left, Tasha walked me outside.
“I still don’t know why you think this is a good idea,” I said, turning to Tasha.
“Because you’re amazing,” Tasha said patiently. “You’ve been a nanny before, you’re fluent in French like the twins, and you can sew while they’re at school. Plus, you need the money for your house repairs.”
I flinched at the mention of my house. It had been my father’s pride and joy, an old Victorian tucked on the edge of town, full of charm and problems . The roof needed work, the heating was unreliable, and every time it rained, I prayed the basement wouldn’t flood. I’d been scraping by with freelance costume commissions, but it just wasn’t enough to keep an old house—and my sanity—afloat.
“Still,” I protested weakly. “He’s…”
“Ridiculously handsome?” Tasha offered, grinning.
“I was going to say ‘a walking hurricane,’” I muttered.
“Same thing,” she replied with a shrug.