Page 7 of Sugar & Shadows

The animal had me locked in its sights now. Shit. In the back of my mind, logic kicked in. This was a dangerous situation. But I was too fired up to care. “Stay away from me. You fuck with me, and I’ll hunt you down and turn you into a rug.”

She continued watching me.

Blinked a few times.

Then stood on her hind legs.

My stomach plummeted. Oh shit. Yelling at her may have been a mistake.

Rather than come after me, though, she dropped back down and wandered away, knocking into a stack of empty kegs beside the dumpster.

One tipped. Then another. A third rolled across the parking lot, gathering speed before slamming into the side of a red Jeep.

A heavy thud echoed off the building. It was followed by a loud hiss filling the night air.

Gabe groaned. “My tire.” He rushed toward the Jeep and crouched next to the dented rim and rapidly flattening tire.

“The damn bear blew my tire.”

A ridiculous rush of amusement bubbled up inside me. I tried to hold it in.

I really did.

But the laughter burst out of me despite my efforts.

This was officially the weirdest day of my life.

I waved at the retreating bear. “I forgive you for the shoe,” I called.

Behind us, half the town of Maplewood had filed out of the bar and were watching. Some of them were filming.

Fantastic.

Refusing to cower, I hobbled to my car with one heel intact, climbed in, and drove away. As I pulled out, Gabe Harding was still standing in the parking lot, frowning at his flat tire, covered in maple pork taco.

Chapter 2

Sabrina

My mother had bought a tiny cape on the outskirts of downtown ten years ago, and even now, it was her pride and joy. The structure was bright yellow with whimsical touches, cottage-style accents, and lots of framed photos and art. It was uniquely her.

After decades of scrimping and saving and putting herself last. She finally had a home she adored. It was not my style, but being here always made me feel warm and loved.

Except this morning.

My mother may have been my best friend in this world, but after her attempted matchmaking, I was going to have serious words her.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I cursed the twin bed I was sprawled out on. I really should have gotten my specialty pillows out of storage before driving up here.

Once I’d hauled myself up, I checked my reflection in the mirror—a lovely filagree oval hanging above a dresser painted powder blue. Definitely one of my mom’s DIY projects.

“You’re not the good guy,” I said. “You’re a bad bitch who gets shit done.” It was the mantra I’d repeated every morning for most of my adult life.

As I wandered into the kitchen, I pulled my hair back. I’d just begun my search for a coffee mug when the doorbell rang.

I glowered at it. What it in the Leave it to Beaver nonsense was this shit? It was seven thirty a-fucking-m. Who thought stopping by this early was appropriate?

I shuffled to one side so I could get a look out the window beside the door.