Page 25 of Prime Time Romance

For whatever reason, that one stings a bit.

“So you want me to just hang around the bar all day?”

She nods. “Pretty much.”

“What are you going to do?”

She eyes what looks to be a fudge shop across the street. “I’m going to look around as well. See if I can find any of the other main characters. They may know something we don’t.”

I don’t love this plan. But I also don’t have a better one.

“Fine. But how do I find you? I don’t have my phone.”

Brynn looks down at her pocketless lululemon leggings. “Neither do I. How about I come to find you later at the Bronze?”

Before I can tell her that I don’t like the sound of any of this, she runs across the street and disappears into the fudge shop.

Okay, fine.

Pretend to be this Fletch guy.

He’s a bartender. I’m a bartender.

He’s the black sheep of his family. At least if I screw up, it’s expected.

8

Brynn

Ye Ole Fudge Shop reminds me of my Granny Smothers’s house.

It smells like vanilla and baking cookies, and there’s a disproportionate number of glass jars filled with hard candies placed atop paper doilies.

The little old lady behind the counter even looks like my granny when she glances up as I walk in and asks in the sweetest old-lady voice, “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, dear?”

I don’t know the polite way to ask her if she’s seen the first male to ever give me an orgasm—albeit with the help of his Tiger Beat centerfold poster and my electric toothbrush. Instead, I shake my head and smile back.

“No thanks. Just browsing.”

Then I quickly duck behind a display of saltwater taffy.

There was a moment earlier when our escape plan failed for the second time and I was suddenly plagued with thoughts like: What if we are trapped here forever? And how will my mom know what happened to me? What about my job? Who will pay my mortgage? Thank god Matt and I never did go through with our plans to get a dog.

But then I saw him.

It was just a brief glimpse. A flash of summer blond as he crossed the street and opened the door of the fudge shop. It felt as if time stopped, and the only thing left moving was my beating heart, shouting him, him, him. It was then I knew, with every fiber of my being, that I was supposed to be in Carson’s Cove, and Spencer Woods was the reason.

Now, as I push aside two boxes of gingersnaps to sneak a peek of the next aisle over, I’ve calmed down a little bit. Then he strolls into view, and my heart starts beating so hard that I wonder if he can hear it.

He’s so close. I could easily reach out and stroke the flannel of his button-down.

Instead, I stalk him like a creep.

His back is half-turned. He’s reaching for a bag of artisan pancake mix, and as he does, the hem of his T-shirt lifts just enough to expose a small strip of skin above his khakis. It’s one shade away from paper white, with a small trail of dark-brown hair, and I have to grip the shelf in front of me to avoid melting into a puddle on the fudge shop floor.

“Who are we spying on?” The heat of breath in my ear makes me startle so badly that I knock the boxes of gingersnaps with my hand, causing them to crash into the neighboring aisle.

Luce Cho, my mystery whisperer, stands with her arms crossed over her cropped tee and an amused smile on her lips.