“Now it’s gone.” I was too tired to engage in a prickly conversation with a woman I didn’t know, especially given the walk through a freezing storm I’d have to face to get home.
“I hate small towns.”
She tossed her red hair over her shoulder; melted snowflakes flew out to hit me like tiny stinging bees.
“What’s your problem, Miss …?”
“None of your business.”
“Have it your way. If you need potatoes, there should be some in the back. Might even be an onion or two. Ask Pax at the front counter. He’s covering for the owner. If you're extra nice, he might bring you over a sack.”
Her eyes blinked in bewilderment. “Nice? Why are you being nice after being so rude?”
“Because I wasn’t being rude,” I said as I walked toward the frozen section. “Just putting my nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s a small-town problem. Have a lovely day.” I said with a tone that could only be considered unfriendly.
“That was—”
“Yes, that was rude,” I interrupted, glancing over my shoulder to see her looking at me. Her jaw clenched so tight I swear I heard a molar crack.
Ten minutes later, I’d paid for my groceries and stood talking to Pax in sheer procrastination. I absolutely didn’t want to go outside. Even when the woman from the fresh produce aisle came over to pay for her food, I didn’t budge. When she fired me several withering looks that could have cooked me alive, I remained fixed in my position.
However, when she struggled at the door, I heard my mom’s voice telling me to be a gentleman. I grabbed my bags and said goodbye to Pax, then pushed open the door. She startled at my presence and juggled her shopping bags successfully. My chivalry earned me another glare.
“You’re welcome,” I parroted in a terrible impersonation of her accent.
She twisted around, no doubt intending to fire off a response, but in doing so, she slipped on the icy parking lot and lost her balance.
Without thinking, I dropped my bags and rushed over, catching her before her head would have hit the concrete.
Through clouds of frosted breath, and in the artificial glow of the streetlights, I saw the color of her eyes, and I was momentarily stunned into silence.
They were the most beautiful shade of green I’d ever seen—the exact color of the Frazier Firs the town was named after.
“Let me go.” She twisted out of my hold and scrambled to her feet.
I could hardly believe my ears. “I just saved you at the expense of my own groceries, and all you can say is ‘let me go’?”
“You’re the reason I fell in the first place.”
I let out a growl. “If somebody had minded their manners and thanked me for opening the door—”
“I never asked you to.”
“Fine. You know what? I’m done trying to be nice.” I took a shot in the dark. “I hope you don’t treat your mother this way.”
She looked as if she were about to fling another insult at me, but she paled. “What do you know about my ma?”
My assumption was correct. She was, indeed, Judy Flanagan’s daughter. While she had gotten her mother’s red hair, she missed out on her pleasant demeanor. “Only that Judy is a wonderful woman. Lord give her strength being stuck in a house with you all winter.”
“You’re a dick.”
“No, I’m Eli Cooper.”
Muttering a complaint to myself, I turned my back on her as I peered through the snow to locate my groceries. Several cans had rolled out, but most of my shopping had stayed within the confines of the bags, which were now topped with snow. Another thing I could add to the growing list of shitty things that had happened to me in the past hour.
“I don’t,” the woman called out to me over the roar of the wind.
I picked up my bags and whipped around to look at her. “You don’t what?”
“Talk to my ma like that. Clearly you know her. How—how has she been the past few months?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Seems like something her daughter should know.”
She stomped on her foot, but the packed snow ate up the sounds of her effort. “Why are you judging me?”
“I call it how I see it.” I tossed a runaway can back into my bag and readjusted the weight in my arms.
Her brows lowered and knitted together. “You small-town folk are all alike. You only see what you want to see. Next thing I know, there will be all kinds of rumors about Judy’s rotten daughter.”
“You’re something, aren’t you? You ask me not to judge you, and yet you pass judgment on me and everyone else who lives here.”
With her eyebrows knitted together, she shook her head. “Forget it. Forget I asked you anything.”
I considered what to say next. This was a no-win situation. “Tell you what,” I began, “I’ll let you know if you tell me your name.”
She crossed her arms. “Seriously? You’re going to bribe a girl in a snowstorm. I know she’s sick, but I don’t know if she’s being completely honest with me?”
“You’re not a girl. You’re a grown woman who should know the state of her mother’s health already.” I tugged my collar higher up my neck. “I only wanted to know your name, but I could visit and ask your mom instead.”
“Ugh, bloody busybody,” she grumbled. “For your information, I ask her all the time about her health, and she tells me she’s fine.”
The word bloody sounded exquisite in her accent, which seemed to have grown more pronounced the more worked up she’d gotten.
“You want to know about your mom? I’ll need a name.”
She let out a resigned breath. “Emily.”
“Emily?”
“My name. It’s Emily. Now, how has she been?”
“Not great,” I admitted. “We had a hot summer, which quickly turned into a harsh winter. We hardly got any fall at all. We don’t see her in Reilly’s anymore.”
“We?”
“Me and my brothers. We used to drive her home if she’d had one too many.”
Emily looked uncomfortably at the ground. “Thank you.”
“What was that?” I leaned in, feigning temporary deafness as I held a cupped hand up to my near-frozen ear.
“Thank you,” she burst out. “God, you’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.” I pulled the bags to my chest, hoping they’d insulate me from the cold. “You get home safely.”
She rolled her eyes, then returned to her car without another word.
“Didn’t even offer to drive me home.” I held the bags tightly and trudged slowly back.
When I arrived, I all but fell through my front door. The central heating, a miracle of modern ingenuity, warmed my frozen skin as I shed layers of clothing and put away my purchases. I didn’t have the energy to cook after my ordeal, so I made do with a microwave pizza and a bottle of beer.
I flopped on my sofa and flicked through the channels until I came across a show with an Irish actress who reminded me of the red-haired vixen from the market.
“Emily Flanagan,” I murmured.
It was time to learn everything I could about the newest, meanest girl in town.