Page 6 of Small Town, Big Storm

My ears prick up, tuning out the dozens of other conversations in the bar and dialing in to the only one that interests me.

And the only one I should be avoiding.

It’s just…I figured Storm would be long gone the moment his dad was in the ground.

Or maybehoped.

“Yup,” Tommy says taking a deep draw on his soda.“I sure did hear that.”

“Surprised every window in this town didn’t rattle with all the thunder he bellowed out,” Roger mutters.

My stomach twists and I’m so distracted, I end up giving one of my best friends, Clementine Murphy, a double shot of whiskey.

She won’t mind.

But my bottom line will if I continue giving away free alcohol.

I add a few dashes of bitters and my patented (not really, but still yummy) maple simple syrup, then make short work of finishing her drink, dropping in ice and topping it with a thin slice of orange.

“That for me?”Clem asks.

I nod and set a coaster in front of her.

“Thanks,” she says then gets a familiar glint in her eye.“Are you still coming to the planning meeting next week?”

The Home Ice Classic is coming up, and the charity hockey game is the town’s biggest fundraiser of the year, providing the capital for many of the youth programs in Cedar Hollow.

It’s important, and as thus, takes a lot of volunteer manpower to put together.

It’s me—I’m the volunteer.

(Or one of many Clem has roped in, anyway).

“Of course I’ll be there.”I set her drink on the coaster.

“Good.”An approving nod before she picks it up and sips…then winces.“Oof.Trying to soften me up so I con you into less work?”

The game—and many of the programs that run out of the Pioneer Museum—are her babies.And Clem can be obsessively protective about them…much to the chagrin of my many voluntold—er,volunteer—duties.

“Maybe I am,” I hedge, not copping to the fact that instead of being worried about the hard work that comes with planning her events, I’m fixated on a certain broody hockey star who left an indelible mark on my life…and whose presence has chased me in my dreams for far too many years.

Of course she sees right through me.

Her hand finds mine, squeezes.“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Brown eyes locking onto mine and I brace—Clem is nothing is but stubborn when she wants answers.

But she doesn’t appear to want them tonight.

She just squeezes my hand again, picks up her glass and murmurs, “I’m here if you need me.”Then she goes to join Clover, Blossom, and Daisy at a table in the corner.Laughter rings out from my besties, and my lips twitch, but I don’t get to focus on whatever debased conversation they’re likely having.

Because the door to the bar swings open and…

Hewalks in.

Everyone goes quiet—or maybe it’s just that everything inside me is silenced as our eyes connect across the room…