Chapter 14 Talbot
TALBOT
Misty, Austen, this whole situation is killing me. I’m digging a hole in the snow, and it’s eventually going to cave in on me, but I can’t seem to figure out another way to finish this job.
It’s scary how much I wanted to slit Austen’s throat right there in front of Misty. Who the fuck does he think he is talking to my—
My what? Misty’s not my anything. She’s a roadblock I have to destroy to reach my goal.
There was another dump of snow in the mountains last night. I should be there on the fresh powder.
This is why I don’t do these types of undercover jobs. I’m not Hudson.
I survey Misty’s family. Her mom’s giving me that look that says, I know you’re a bad boy, and I don’t want that for my daughter.
Sorry. I relax into a smile.
“I’m just peeved that Misty didn’t let me spend the night. Even after I promised to cook breakfast for her.”
A good boyfriend says things like peeved, right?
“You made these?” says one of the rookies Ryan West has living in his house because of course he’s cool like that. “These hash browns are soo good.” He shovels them into his mouth. “You should give Misty the recipe. I mean… uh…” His brain short-circuits as Misty stands there with a platter.
“More eggs?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says meekly, slumping down in his seat.
“I can’t believe you forced him to cook, Misty.” Brielle carefully cuts up the single piece of bacon on her plate. “I would never make my Austen do that, right, baby? I take care of you; you work so hard.”
“Talbot is an adult responsible for his own choices.” Misty is tense.
“That’s why she has such a hard time attracting men.” GrandPam pats her mouth with a cloth napkin because Misty refused to let me put out paper towels and was insulted when I suggested it.
“Honestly, when I was up for three days straight in a firefight back in the war, all I dreamed about was having a big house like this—lots of kids running around, big family meals, cooking with a wife and kids. You know, just normal wholesome stuff, right, Misty?” I’m really laying it on thick. My teeth hurt with the sweetness of it.
“Misty, I thought you were making poached eggs.” Austen pushes his plate away. “I don’t want scrambled.”
“Oh, I thought you wanted hard-boiled.”
“Make your own fucking eggs, Langley.” I twirl my knife around my fingers.
The rookies, along with Mason, snicker.
Austen bucks at them, and they laugh nervously.
“Boys,” Ryan barks.
“It’s fine.” Misty twists her apron. “Poached eggs are hard.”
“Really?” I lean forward. “When I work brunch shift, I make those suckers eyes closed, hungover.”
Misty’s jaw is clenched as she doles homemade French toast sticks onto Lucy’s plate. The serving fork scrapes on the platter. It’s an annoying sound, irritatingly similar to nails on a chalkboard.
Austen throws down his utensils. “Stop it. You know I hate that sound,” he barks at Misty.
Immediately, I press my knife into the plate and scrape. The sound pierces the air. I lock eyes with Austen as I drag my knife across the ceramic plate. Then I pop the cut of bacon in my mouth.
“Bacon’s perfect, Misty. I’m going to take the rest of the cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”
“You don’t have to come,” Misty hisses at me for the hundredth time as we walk down Main Street.
Downtown Maplewood Falls looks like Santa Claus got hungover and barfed Christmas everywhere—wreaths on the lampposts, decorations in all the storefronts, even the trash cans look like little elf houses.
All the quaint buildings are lit up like gingerbread houses.
It’s revolting.
The flower shop didn’t just deck the halls—it’s like an overgrown Christmas weed patch.
“You really want these people to do your sister’s wedding?” I whisper at Misty. “You really must hate her.”
“Go stand over there.”
There are plants everywhere: poinsettias, miniature Christmas trees, bonsai citrus trees in a nod to the Victorian holidays, tiny holly trees decorated with lights and ornaments.
“Psst!” I nudge Brielle with my shoulder. “Do you think any of these are poisonous?”
Brielle squares her shoulders and tosses her hair. “You better not be flirting with me.” She waggles her left hand in my face. The engagement ring glints.
“That’s not me flirting. If I was flirting, I’d ask you if you thought any of these plants would make my dick extra big.” I smirk.
Don’t worry, guys, I’m not going to make it look like Misty offed Austen. She’s the client, after all. But the heartbroken hockey captain whose fiancée cheats on him with someone else and causes him to make an emotional but questionable choice? Sounds like a plausible cause of death to me.
“So, tell me, Brielle, what do you and Austen like to do for fun? Skydiving? Car racing? Hiking in dangerous and remote locations? I’m thinking we all should double-date.”
Brielle scoffs. “All he wants to do is hang out with the boys, watch his investments, and golf.”
“Hmm.” Golf, I can work with. People get knocked out with balls to the head all the time. Mix in a little alcohol? Who can be blamed? Except that it’s snowing and the temperature is in the teens and no one is golfing.
It is perfect snowboarding weather, though. “I’m shocked he even came flower shopping today, to be honest. He must really love you.”
“He barely pays attention to me. All he does is complain.” Brielle scowls.
“Oh no. Are there underlying health issues?”
“You mean, like, with his dick?” Her hand briefly trails down the zipper of my jeans.
I meant, like, heart issues that could be triggered by a loud noise, but sure, whatever. “Uh-oh. Is Boston’s golden boy not putting out?”
Brielle gives Austen a dirty look.
“Or he only knows two moves, huh? In and out?”
“You should talk. I bet Misty just lays there like a lump.”
I lean into Brielle. “She’s actually said his name while I was nailing her from behind in my truck, which, now that I’ve talked to you, is doubly insulting because I bet he didn’t even have the common courtesy to do a reach-around.”
That’s gotten Brielle interested. She sucks in an angry breath. “I knew Misty was still into him.”
“And it looks like he’s still a little into her.” I nod.
Austen and Misty are under the mistletoe. He’s way too close to her, and they’re whispering angrily.
“You ever want to make him pay, I’m all for revenge.” My eyes flick down to the deep V of her fake tits.
Misty’s ignoring Austen now. She looks hurt.
The flower shop owner is trying to tell her something, but Misty ignores her, still staring at me with that wounded expression until finally, she goes to look at the roses.
“Stay the hell away from my girl,” Austen growls at me.
“I’m sure to some people that might be intimidating.” I look down at the hockey player. “But they’d need to be shorter than you.”
“Fuck you. I don’t trust you.”
“Man, that sucks, because I’m actually thinking about proposing to Misty. Does she like poinsettias? Looks like they’re running a sale. Oh no, it’s only for these sickly-looking ones.”
For a second, I think he’s about to punch me.
As satisfying as a fight would be, that’s not what I want. Famous hockey player killed in Christmas flower shop brawl. Too messy.
“Wait, sorry.” I smirk at him. “My bad, you were talking about Brielle. Yeah, you should watch out for that one. She’s got ‘cheater’ written all over her. But don’t take my word for it. Poll the room. See what the boys think. Misty!” I bark.
She jumps and dumps the roses on the counter.
“I think we’re actually going to do a thousand of those poinsettias, the Tiny Tim ones. Charge him.” I point to Austen. “Let’s go, Gumdrop. I’m starving. I’m your boyfriend, and you have to feed me.”
“On the house.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Misty snaps at Granny Keagan as she ties an apron around her waist.
“You dragged that poor man shopping with you,” Granny Keagan argues. “And now you’re making him dog sit.”
Cocoa whines in the dog backpack I have strapped to my front.
A cute girl in a white fur hat giggles at me and reaches out to pet Cocoa. I wink at the girl, and she giggles again. “I like your dog.”
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” The girl gushes.
Misty turns to the young woman. “You don’t want to get involved with him. Trust me.”
“Come for the Sleighride Seafood Pasta and stay for the cockblocking.” I stick a twenty in the snowman cookie jar on the counter, and Misty hands me a metal Santa yard ornament with the number fourteen on it. “I’ll bring your food out to you.” She’s scowling.
I snap a photo of the receipt. The only good thing about an extended contract? Per diem.
Eyes narrowed, I watch Misty as she navigates through the crowd of café tables, seating tourists and locals coming in to take a break from the Christmas market. She greets people by name and excitedly hugs three little girls in their peewee-league hockey jerseys.
“You look sexy in that apron, Gumdrop. Wear it tonight.” I wink at Misty as she comes by with my coffee. “Hell yeah, are there gummy Santas in this?”
“You don’t have to drink it.”
“Are you kidding me?” I grab the mug. “I freaking love gummies. Takes me back to my childhood.”
“I thought you were in foster care.”
“Yeah, when I was, like, a teenager.” I don’t blink as she glares at me.
Misty scoots out a chair across from me and sets Cocoa on it.
“Does the health department know what’s going on here?”
“We’re a dog-friendly restaurant.”
“Aaaannnnddd…”
“And Granny Keagan is sleeping with the health inspector,” she grumbles.
“There it is.”
“Nutmeg?” she asks surlily.
“Depends. Is it freshly grated?”
Wordlessly, she pulls out an actual Nut of Meg from her apron pocket along with a tiny silver grater.
“Huh.”
“You’re so much more attractive when you’re not running your mouth.”
“Did you hear that, Cocoa Puff? Your mommy thinks I’m hot. I knew you didn’t really want to break up with me. You want to fuck me, Gumdrop. It’s okay, I’ll be prostitute and hitman. You want one last turn in the sleigh before I send Austen to the North Pole.”
“We are not dating. We are not even fake dating, and we’re certainly not sleeping together.”
“We can fake sleep together. You look like a girl who’s had to fake an orgasm before.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demands.
“You can’t tell me that Austen is the best fuck you’ve ever had.” My eyes narrow. “Wait, or is he the only one you ever had?”
“I’m not completely sheltered.”
“That nutmeg in your pocket says otherwise,” I call after her.
My table is in the corner, and I can stretch my legs out with my back to the wall. Cocoa laps at her warm milk as I watch the people. It’s not Colorado, but it’s cozy and smells like Christmas—not corporate Christmas that smells like plastic and fake snow, but real Christmas. Homey Christmas.
Misty slides a large bowl of pasta in front of me along with a basket of crusty bread. Cocoa gets plain noodles with a side of bacon.
The pasta has little drizzles of green pesto and fluffy white burrata cheese on bright-red tomato sauce dotted with clams, shrimp, and other seafood.
I’m not the only person who’s got a big bowl of Sleighride Seafood Pasta at their table.
Seems like it’s the signature dish at the Tinsel & Toast café.
I take a mouthful of the saucy pasta. “Goddamn.” The flavors explode in my mouth. “Holy St. Nick, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” I pull the bowl closer to me. The dog is looking way too interested in my food. “Fuck getting with your sister. I need to fuck then marry whoever made this.”
“You’re looking at her, and you’re not doing… that, or marrying me.”
I dig a clam out of the shell and scarf it down. “You kidding me? You deserve to have your ass eaten out for hours just for this sauce alone. Although this burrata is maybe a little overworked.”
“It was very expensive.”
“It’s not hard to make, Gumdrop.”
“I don’t need you to mansplain cheese to me.”
“Mhmm, the texture of this cheese says otherwise.”
“If I have sex with you, will you call off the”—she leans over the table—“you-know-what?”
“Um, no. Your ass is nice, but it’s not that nice.
” I swat her hip then stuff another bite of the pasta in my mouth.
“But…” I swipe the crusty bread in the sauce.
“Here’s what I can do. You’re obviously hard up for cash—living in your childhood bedroom, scullerymaiding for free, being your sister’s unpaid assistant.
I’ll break up Austen and Brielle for you before I send him to the Grinch’s garbage dump.
It will be really messy. Humiliating, even.
You can have your revenge. I get to fuck Brielle in the Harbor Hawks locker room… ”
Tears well in Misty’s eyes.
I drop the piece of bread.
“You do want to sleep with my stepsister after all.”