VOLUME TWO: TIL THERE WAS YOUR"I can't believe I let you talk me into this insanity." Cayla Black bitched into her white wine spritzer. Denver knew it was the only drink the active, single mom ever ordered, and she was looking at it like she wished it were something stronger. "Are you backing out?" Kennedy Reynolds' voice held a rare note of panic. His best bartender wasn't prone to panic, and Denver paused in the noisy task of racking glassware before the dinner rush to listen in more closely. "Oh, I can do it. I didn't say I couldn't do it," Cayla insisted, as though the suggestion that she couldn't mocked her event planner pride. "You just need to be fully aware that your race to the altar is giving me wrinkles. You see this line right here?" She pointed to some nonexistent blemish on her forehead. "I got that convincing Jolene Lowrey to make her prize-winning red velvet cake for your wedding. You're just lucky she has as much fondness for Xander's extremely fine backside as y
Some kind of bells chimed as Denver tugged open the door of Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams. He glanced up automatically, noting the assortment of wind chimes suspended from a grid attached to the high, tin ceiling - glass, copper, bamboo, wood, other metals. Something for everyone. He shut the door and listened to the quiet tones of drums and flutes that floated out from speakers hidden around the room. Something dreamy and Celtic that suited the tone of the shop. The space was long and narrow, with wide-plank floors he suspected were original to the building. Displays made something of a maze of wares from the front to the back. It reminded him of the lone trip he'd taken to Ikea - herding you through the entire store before you got to the back and the register. Except this was clever, cozy, and warm, rather than a coldly calculated retail corral of gleaming fixtures, filled with a herd of shoppers. Homey instead of Hell on Earth. It helped that there was nobody else here.Denver wandere
"Pretend you have manners, okay? We're trying to impress these ladies."Oscar plopped his butt down on Misty's front stoop and, tongue lolling, tipped his head back to look at Denver, as if to say, See, I got this. One ear flopped over his eye, making him look a lot more like trouble than a canine gentleman. With a little prayer that the mutt remembered his training, Denver held out the gift bag. Oscar clamped the handle between his teeth and turned back to the door, his baseball bat of a tail wagging so hard, it swept the front stoop. Man, he hoped this wasn't a mistake. He'd wanted to make a good impression. His grandmama had hailed from Georgia, and, during the formative years she'd helped his father raise him, she'd impressed upon Denver proper company etiquette. It wasn't something he'd been called on much to use in his line of work, certainly wasn't something he or Dad had worried about after her passing. But Denver had heard her voice in his head, telling him he'd best not sh
"Well, I guess the lunch rush is over." Norm Barber, the short-order cook at Elvira's, perched one bony hip on a stool in the corner of the tavern kitchen. Denver eyed the half-load of dishes stacked in the commercial dishwasher. "Wasn't much of a rush.""Ain't nobody wants to get out in this slop." The older man wiped down the stainless steel counters in reach of his seat. "This rain doesn't stop soon, we'll all be keepin' our eyes out for animals marching two-by-two."Indeed, the summer thunderstorm had apparently decided to camp out over this chunk of the mountains all day. Denver hoped it would blow out before time to prep for the dinner service. Oscar would go stir crazy without having a chance for a walk or a game of fetch. "Doubt it'll come to that. But why don't you go on and knock off early? Nobody's coming in this last half hour before the kitchen closes."Norm slid off the stool, already tugging at the tie of his apron. "Won't say no to that. I heard they're setting u
I'm fine, but I have a bit of a situation.Tension cranked Denver's shoulders tight as he ordered Oscar into the backseat of the truck. He'd come home for a fast game of fetch when the storm died down, but it would have to wait. The dog leapt in, rubber ball clamped between his teeth, as if he sensed now was not the time to dally. It wasn't. Denver hadn't asked if Misty was injured or what kind of shape the van was in. She'd said she was fine. But his brain readily filled in a multitude of horrors as he drove because he knew better than many that "fine" often wasn't.I'm fine, but there's something weird on some of my tests. That had been what his dad said. He hadn't been fine. Not even close. Denver knew this wasn't the same thing, but he couldn't seem to stop the churn of anxiety in his gut. The leather on the steering wheel creaked beneath the clench of his fingers. What the hell was wrong with him?The van sat half on, half off the road, tipped a bit from the flat, but upright
"I had a to-go order." Across the counter, Crystal Blue, proprietress of Crystal's Diner and current pain in Denver's ass, pursed her lips. "I'm not handing over those sandwiches until you confirm or deny the rumors.""Holding takeout hostage in the name of gossip is a low move, even for you, Crystal.""What is the big deal, Denver? Everybody knows you and Misty have been spending loads of time together this past month. And don't even try to tell me it's just for the sake of Kennedy and Xander's wedding. I want to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. Are you and Misty Pennebaker together?" She fisted her hands on ample hips and stared him down. When Denver just stared back, Crystal stamped her foot. "Is she your girlfriend?""If I say yes, will you give me my sandwiches, while they're still hot?""As long as it's not a lie.""Then yes." Not that they'd talked about it since he'd stumbled out of her house in the wee hours a couple days ago, but Misty didn't strike him as so
Denver opted to do the final assembly of the arbor on-site at the barn of the inn. That way, he could do everything himself and not have to actually talk to anyone. Talking was the last thing he felt like doing. After six years in this town, keeping his head down and out of the local gossip, he'd managed to put himself right, square in the middle. He'd resorted to glaring his employees into silence and otherwise avoided everyone else by sticking to his tiny office in the back, catching up on the books. He thanked God for the fact that he owned a tavern, otherwise he'd have been forced to actually go to the local market and face the masses or starve. In his current mood, starving was the more appealing option.He backed his truck up to the barn doors and quietly dropped the tailgate. There were multiple cars in the gravel lot, among them Kennedy's. But he knew her sisters had made it into town, so he was hoping she stayed tied up with them long enough for him to get in and out. His pla
"I, Kennedy, take thee, Alexander, to be my husband - "From several rows back, Denver bounced his leg. He was a man on a mission, and he just needed this ceremony over so he could get to it. He didn't know a lot about weddings, but he'd been sure that the florist's job was done once the flowers were dropped off. Apparently not. Despite the fact that he'd arrived early - with several gallons of his spiked lemonade for the reception - he hadn't managed five minutes to talk to Misty. He hadn't even managed to get close enough for five words. When he'd left her at Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams the other night, he'd felt better having made his apologies. In telling her the truth, he'd finally been able to set aside the noxious emotional brew that had been eating at him for a week. But as he'd come home to Oscar, who'd stopped wagging almost as soon as he realized Moxie and Misty hadn't been with him, a whole different level of shitty had rolled in to fill that void. He missed Misty. He mis