CHAPTER FOUR
EZRA
When Griffen called to see if I wanted to join him and Gramps on their weekly grocery trip, I jumped at the chance to get out of the office. The numbers on the computer screen were blurring together, and the comfort I usually found from burying myself in work was as elusive as a lodge vacancy on Valentine’s Day—one of our busiest holidays, thanks to Suitor’s Crossing’s legend of heart sparks .
From a marketing standpoint, the fantasy of meeting your soulmate, or heart spark , at one of the town’s romantic spots like the famous Suitor’s Crossing Bridge or strolling our idyllic Main Street is a goldmine. It’s great for business when tourists are eager to book a stay at Hearthstone Lodge with hopes of falling in love or affirming an established relationship.
In my opinion, however, it’s a bunch of candy-coated bullshit.
The founding family that started the heart spark myth had enough business sense to spin the tale into a campaign for Suitor’s Crossing. Refusing to let the town fade into obscurity like the many others that cropped up in the late 1800s during the state’s few gold rushes.
I don’t begrudge their savviness; I’m just too practical to fall for hearts and butterflies propaganda.
The same can’t be said for the majority of town locals, including my sister.
“Something on your mind?” Gramps bumps my shoulder with his frailer one as we turn down the cereal aisle.
“Just work,” I lie. It’s not like me to zone out or dwell on something as trivial as heart sparks , but I know who to blame for the lapse: my meddling sister and a curvy songwriter. A quick internet search revealed exactly who Lauren Billingsley is and why she’s hiding from the paparazzi.
Because of her asshole ex-boyfriend.
The realization that she's single shouldn't be branded into my brain, but I can't shake the unwanted thought.
“That’s the only thing ever on your mind,” Griffen says, dropping a box of Cheerios into the cart. “Between the lodge and your billion dollar hedge fund, it’s no wonder Kennedy’s cooked up her ridiculous scheme.”
“Hang on. What scheme?”
Gramps and Griffen share a look before determinedly avoiding the question and wheeling into the next aisle full of frozen foods. A couple stands behind a frosted over freezer door, their conversation becoming clearer the closer we get.
“You’re the fat chick from that show my girlfriend makes me watch every Wednesday,” the man says. “No wonder he hooked up with that other girl. She’s fucking hot, and you’re stuffing your face with junk.”
What the fuck?
A familiar beauty hits me square in the chest as I round the freezer door, prepared to lay into this jackass for speaking to a woman like that. But to discover he’s talking to Lauren that way?
Fuck that shit.
“What did you say to her?” Instinctively, my arm circles her waist to place a protective hand on her soft belly. I read about the drama that went down on the reality show she participated in. About the lousy ex who cheated on her with a fellow housemate.
Righteous anger for her had swirled in my gut, but this douche wants to act like it’s Lauren’s fault?
“Who the hell are you?” His eyes dart behind me where I’m sure Gramps and Griffen have my back.
“Ezra Caldwell.” Spend any time in Suitor’s Crossing and you’ll hear about the Caldwells and Hearthstone Lodge. I don’t usually name drop, but there’s no denying the satisfaction that hums in my veins the moment he recognizes who I am. “You owe this woman an apology.”
He scoffs and tosses a container of ice cream in his cart with a clang. “For what? Telling the truth?”
“For being a misogynistic jerk who thinks it's okay to insult a woman in the middle of a goddamned grocery store.” My temper rises, though I keep my tone at a respectable volume.
Glancing back at my family, I catch their surprised expressions.
Okay, mostly respectable.
“Ezra…” Lauren covers my hand on her stomach with her own. “I can handle this. I don't want a scene.”
As if realizing he's got the makings of a solid payday in front of him, the man whips out his phone and snaps a picture before smirking. “Maybe Hunter had another reason to leave your fat ass. Maybe you were screwing around on him.”
For the first time in my life, I black out.
That's the only reasonable explanation for why the gloating bastard is knocked out cold on the scuffed tile, and my fist hurts like a motherfucker.
“Holy shit.” Griffen pounds my back with pride while Gramps walks over to nudge the man on the ground with the toe of his boot.
“One punch,” Gramps drawls. “Didn't know you had it in you, kid. You were always the fight with your words rather than fists type. But he definitely deserved what he got.”
“I can't believe… Y-you…” Lauren stutters in shock as I bend to grab the man's phone and quickly delete the photo he took. Even going so far as to permanently delete it from his trash. He won't receive a dime from the tabloids now.
“Breathe,” I murmur, ushering her away from the scene of the crime, Gramps and Griffen hot on my heels.
I feel sorry for whoever finds the guy lying prone next to the Ben I’m too busy.
Kennedy knows this.
Hell, my entire family is aware.
Which will make tonight’s weekly get-together a fucking minefield of pointed questions, knowing smirks, and trying like hell to avoid letting Lauren get caught in the crossfire. Because I doubt she’s eager to date. She’s fresh out of a relationship.
Sure, I’d treat her a thousand times better than her bastard ex, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not getting together. Kennedy and heart sparks be damned.