Page 15 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)
CLAIRE
Logan had been right. Paul, the hardware store owner, hired me on the spot. It was an easy yes for him and, honestly, for me too.
“Claire, Claire, can you help me with these, please…pleeease…” Annette, Paul’s sixteen-year-old daughter, begged as she tugged at a box that looked way too big for her frame.
I was just about to finish my shift, but the delivery truck showed up with what felt like a hundred crates of paint, screws, tools, and everything else you’d expect in a hardware store. Hell, I’d stay. I didn’t really care if I worked a little overtime.
“Of course. Come on, let me tackle that monster,” I said, nodding toward the biggest box.
I’d been here a few weeks now, and honestly, I was enjoying it more than I expected.
Annette was a firecracker, always spilling gossip but with the kind of heart you couldn’t help but love.
She never hesitated to sing my praises in front of her dad, especially when I stuck around for those extra hours.
And she was quick to show me the ropes, giving me the rundown on how things worked in the store and filling me in on the quirks of Buffaloberry Hill.
I had to give her credit; she made me feel like I belonged.
Another perk? The employee discount. I’d already loaded up on things to spruce up The Willow. Logan had given me free rein to do whatever I wanted, short of demolishing the place. And every now and then, Paul would throw in something for free. Small-town generosity.
“So,” Annette started, sidling up to me. She finger-brushed her cropped hair, styled with a hint of tomboy edge that paid tribute to Roxette’s Marie Fredriksson. No modern singer, in her mind, could pull it off like Marie had. “You done with that cottage yet?”
I wiped my brow. “Yeah, it’s done.”
“Cool. So you stuck with yellow?” she asked, grinning. When I’d first mentioned my color choice, she’d joked that I’d turn the place into a beehive.
“Yeah, I did. It’s all bright and sunny now. It’s a little wild, but it suits the place.”
I’d swapped out those awful dark brown curtains for light sunflower-yellow ones.
The walls in the living room had gotten a fresh coat of soft cream, and I’d added some yellow accents—throw pillows, a couple of vases, even the kitchen towels.
I’d also found this old, beat-up chair in the basement, and I brought it back to life with a fresh coat of veneer and a new baby-blue plaid cushion.
And the backyard? Daisies and roses flourished.
Annette’s eyes twinkled. “Did you know…well, I didn’t want to freak you out before, but…that place is haunted?”
I burst out laughing. “Haunted? The only ghosts I’ve seen are the ones in the basement. You know, the cobweb kind.”
Annette giggled, but then her expression grew serious. “No, really. The whole town’s been talking about that place for ages. Some say someone died there. Others think it was a meeting spot for a cult way back when.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A cult? Well, if I start hearing chanting, I’ll be sure to send up a flare. Or maybe I’ll burn some sage and see how they like that.”
Annette snorted with laughter. As we got back to work, she casually asked, “By the way, when’s your birthday?”
The question caught me off guard.
“Relax, I wasn’t digging for a year, just the date,” she clarified, noticing my reaction.
“I don’t usually share my birthday,” I replied, a bit more defensive than I intended.
Her gaze shifted with interest. “Well, I was thinking about getting you something. But no birthday, no present,” she said.
I sidestepped the conversation. “Hey, you know that animal shelter over by the edge of town?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Who owns it?”
“Mr. Gunn,” she replied.
“He a good guy?”
She shrugged. “Well, he’s got a good heart. Otherwise, why open a shelter, right? But let’s just say his grumpy side doesn’t exactly help get those kitties and doggies adopted.”
“Does he have anyone helping him? Volunteers?”
Annette shook her head. “Not for long, anyway. I don’t know if he’s got anyone now. Look, I love animals just as much as the next person, but the guy’s rough. I get wanting to be around animals more than people—I totally do—but like, you still need people. Ya feel me?”
I nodded, a plan slowly starting to take shape in my head. I hadn’t been back to the shelter since that day, but maybe I could set myself a little challenge—see if I could turn a grumpy old man who loved animals into one who could maybe tolerate people too.
Then, another thought hit me. Something I’d been curious about but never asked. “Hey, Annette, you know a boy around fifteen? Kinda shy, always biking around town?”
“Yeah, there’s probably thirty of them here.”
I wracked my brain for a more distinct memory of the boy I’d seen at The Willow, but any description I gave her would probably narrow it down to, what, twenty?
I waved her off. “Never mind.”
She was about to press the question when her brow furrowed as if her super-hearing had picked up something outside the stockroom through the open back door. She tugged at my sleeve and pointed toward the entrance just as the glass doors slid open.
Shit…
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding Rancher from that rainy night.
The guy I’d tried to write into my revamped romance novel from years ago, but instead, he kept sneaking into my dreams.
I forced a nonchalant expression despite the way my pulse quickened. “Who’s that?” I feigned ignorance.
“Elia Lucas,” Annette replied, her voice dropping a bit.
“How’d you know it was him?” I asked, playing along.
“I recognized the sound of his truck.”
I gave her a teasing look. “Seriously? You got a thing for him or something?”
Annette’s face scrunched up like she’d swallowed a lemon. “Hell no. He’s old enough to be my father.” Then she paused, reconsidering. “Well, I guess if he had me when he was twelve, maybe…”
I chuckled. “He’s a good-looking guy though.”
Annette shot me a sly grin. “ You have a thing!”
I rolled my eyes, hoping to brush it off. “Nope. Not my type, sorry.” The more I pretended, the more a fluttery unease settled low in my belly, like the kind of feeling you get when you know you’re telling yourself a lie.
Elia was browsing the aisles. Damn it. He hadn’t changed a bit. If anything, he was even more put-together. He wore a gray shirt, the kind that looked soft with wear. The sleeves were rolled up casually, showing off his strong, sun-kissed forearms.
“Not your type, huh?” Annette wasn’t buying it. She nudged me with her elbow. “Then why are you studying him so hard?”
“Maybe because good-looking men are rare around here,” I said, keeping it casual, using the moment to take him in a little longer.
Especially that scruff on his jaw, a few days past clean-shaven, like he didn’t have time for the little things, but you could tell he still took care of himself.
His leather belt, beaten up but reliable, held everything together, and it was like it had been through as much as he had but was still holding strong.
Everything about him screamed capable and steady, like he could fix anything and look damn good doing it.
“He comes in pretty often,” Annette said, her gaze still on Elia. “His farm’s on the edge of town. He could’ve gone to the next town for supplies—it’s closer—but he’s loyal to Buffaloberry.”
“That right?”
“Though I haven’t seen him on your shifts. Maybe he’s been avoiding you.”
I tried to laugh, but my gaze lingered on him a bit too long.
Seizing the moment, I turned to fire a jab at my cheeky coworker.
“If you don’t have a thing for him, why’d you drag me over here like a teenager in love?
And now look at us, hiding behind the shelves like we’re in the world’s most awkward meet-cute. ”
Annette giggled, ducking behind a stack of paint cans. “He’s just…I don’t know. People say he keeps to himself. There are rumors, you know?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Rumors?”
“Yeah, some people say his family just up and left one day. Others say…well, there could’ve been foul play. He might not be the man you think he is.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “Oh, so what’s the theory now? He’s a werewolf?”
Annette burst out laughing, her voice carrying through the store, almost catching Elia’s attention. We ducked behind the shelf just in time, both of us stifling our giggles as we scrambled back to work.
“Well,” Annette said, still trying to catch her breath, “he’s never caused any trouble, that’s for sure. I think he just buries himself in work.”
As Annette and I went back to restocking the shelves, my mind drifted back to Elia. Sooner or later, I’d bump into him again. It was inevitable in a place this small. The question was, what the hell was I going to say when I did?