Home Is Where the Hate Is

Chapter 1

one

look who it is

Maya

“Harold, get your furry ass off the register,” I said, my voice laced with exhaustion.

I was far too worn out to deal with my giant orange menace of a shop cat’s usual tantrum over being ousted from his favourite spot.

Harold growled, fighting back as I prodded him with my elbow.

“We’ve got work to do.” Finally, my nudging worked, and he gave up the fight, jumping down and landing on the floor with a resounding thud.

The glare he shot me as he stalked away, his tail flicking with annoyance, said he was most likely off to plot my murder. Whatever. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Thank you,” I called to his retreating rear end while I sorted the money and placed it in the drawer. “So generous of you to let me open the store that funds your salmon paté addiction.”

As I counted the cash, got the espresso machine going, and shooed Harold out of the way every time he tried to climb back onto the register, my brain struggled to keep up. My thoughts were sluggish with the weight of lingering worry.

The storm last night hadn’t helped my usual insomnia.

Neither had Nana’s agitation. By the time she’d settled back into bed, it was well past midnight, and exhaustion dragged at my limbs.

Not even Alan Rickman’s whispered renditions of Shakespeare’s sonnets could undo the tangled knot of worry in my head.

And if Alan Rickman couldn’t fix something, it was unfixable.

When I dragged myself out of bed around three in the morning in search of caffeine, I discovered Mother Nature had other plans for me; she’d left a huge dump of snow in front of my store.

My quest for coffee was ditched in favour of shovelling sidewalks for hours so my neighbours wouldn’t have to deal with clearing the snow when they got to work.

Now, after a too-short but seriously necessary shower—coming in smelling like a taxidermied rodent stuffed with wet socks would likely have been bad for business—I was exhausted, under-caffeinated, and running late.

The triple-shot latte I’d craved after my early morning wake-up was finally almost in my grasp when the bell above the door tinkled to announce the arrival of a customer.

Shit. I hadn’t even turned all the lights on yet.

“Hey, welcome to Bishop’s,” I said without stopping my task. I needed this coffee after all that shovelling. I deserved this coffee. Hell, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t die without this coffee. Stifling a yawn as I poured the milk into my cup and topped it with foam, I added, “Be right with you.”

“Who are you?” The sharp voice, edged with suspicion, took me by surprise.

My head snapped toward the door where two men had come in while my back was turned. “Excuse me?”

I’d dealt with plenty of rude customers in the bars and restaurants I’d worked at before I moved to Carlisle Creek, but no one here had ever spoken to me like that.

This town was friendly to a fault. In fact, it had been so long since I’d dealt with a jerk that I couldn’t even think of a snappy comeback.

“I asked who you are,” the larger of the two men said, sounding more curious this time around. “And why is it so dark in here?” He reached over and flicked the switch for the overhead lighting before stepping closer to me, and—

Oh. My. Wow.

My breath hitched at the sight of him. My stomach did a confusing flip, my heart tripped over itself, and all of a sudden, I forgot how to breathe.

I sucked in several stuttering gasps as I took him in.

Perfectly worn jeans covered muscular thighs.

A pink t-shirt peeked out from beneath a fitted winter jacket.

An artfully dishevelled mop of wavy, light brown hair shone in the sunlight streaming through the front window.

He had sparkling, icy blue eyes framed by sexy dark-rimmed glasses, sharp cheekbones, and lips that were, frankly, a little obscene with their fullness. The man was a work of art.

The world floated in blissful slow motion as I admired the magnificent specimen before me until my brain flashed with sudden clarity and everything snapped into blinding focus.

Holy crap! I know that face.

Nana’s good-for-nothing grandson, Liam Bishop, had finally come back to Carlisle Creek.

The pictures Nana had shown me didn’t do him justice. He was cute when he was younger, but he was so much more attractive now. It didn’t seem fair. I mean—my god!—would you look at that face.

For crying out loud, Maya, I chastised myself. Quit ogling the man.

Except I couldn’t stop staring. He was exactly my type of eye candy. Even the butterflies in my stomach agreed. Emphatically, if their incessant fluttering was anything to go by.

Had I done something horrible in a past life? I must have. What else could explain how patently unfair it was that the first man to spark my interest in years was the one man I’d sworn to verbally castrate if he ever bothered to show his face here again?

Come on, Maya. Don’t let his looks distract you. Remember what he’s done. Remember what you promised to say if you ever met him. I couldn’t waste this chance. After all, there was no telling how long he’d be here before he disappeared again.

Sucking air into my lungs, I shoved my nervous energy down, steeled myself against the onslaught of aggravating wings in my belly, and stoked the flames of my anger. It didn’t matter how attractive he was, he still needed to be taught a lesson. And I was just the woman to teach it to him.

“Hello, miss? Are you okay?” His question interrupted my internal pep talk.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Liam Bishop.

” My voice betrayed me, coming out a squeaky rasp instead of the confident and commanding boom I’d rehearsed on the rare occasions I allowed myself to imagine what I’d say if he ever bothered to come back.

I cleared my throat and slammed my cup onto the counter, carelessly splashing coffee over the rim in my attempt to appear more intimidating.

Get it together, Maya. You’re never going to intimidate him like this.

“Look who finally remembered he has a grandmother. What happened, Liam? City life lost its shine? Or did your conscience finally catch up with you?”

He glanced around the shop as though he were wondering who I was talking to, the sandy waves of his hair bouncing with every turn of his head. My eyes rolled before I could stop them. Sexy and dumb. Why doesn’t that surprise me?

His eyebrows drew together, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m so sorry to ask this, but have we met?”

A disbelieving gasp burst from my throat.

Tell me he did not just ask that. The gall of this guy.

He thought he could come into my store and ask who I was?

At least his ridiculous question distracted me from my preoccupation with his sexy body.

Scorching fury flooded my veins, incinerating the lust I’d felt before I’d realized who I was dealing with, leaving my fingers itching to fling my coffee mug at his stupidly handsome face.

And, as if his audacity hadn’t been horrible enough, his expression of confusion had the nerve to be cute. God, I hated him. Why did he have to be so adorable?

He tilted his head, and I could almost see him sifting through every memory in his brain as he tried to place me. “Who are you again?”

Another heated scoff spilled from my lips, and he recoiled. Imagine having the balls to ask who I was when he’s the one who’d disappeared for years.

“Who am I? Who am I?” Blood rushed to my face. I’m the one who’s been taking care of your Nana, you dickhead. I’m the one who’s been her real family. “You have some nerve asking who I am after not bothering to visit for so long.”

Your dick is mine. No! I mean your ass is mine. No! Son of a bitch, Maya. Keep it together. Your ass is grass. Yes. That’s the one. Your ass is grass, Liam Bishop.

His showing up unexpectedly made what had already been a terrible day—thanks to a lack of sleep and hours spent shovelling—even worse. It would have been nice to have at least some warning. So why hadn’t Nana told me he was coming?

Unless … My body sagged as worry replaced the irritation. Had she forgotten that he was coming? Or forgotten to tell me?

I pushed that thought away, not ready to examine Nana’s memory issues while her neglectful grandson stood right in front of me. Instead, I crossed my arms, focused my emotions, and glared at him as he furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment.

His mouth worked silently, and that inexplicable heat built inside me again. He was more attractive when he wasn’t talking.

Before I could say anything else, thirty pounds of fuzzy orange destruction slammed into me. My devil cat clawed his way up my body, digging bloody footholds into my flesh as a creature at my feet gave a menacing hiss.

Harold dragged himself onto my shoulder as if he were clambering out of a pool, and launched himself off my head, using it as a springboard to reach the top of the nearest bookcase.

“Ow ow OW!” I gasped as pinpricks of pain flared to life along my side. “Son of a bitch, that hurts.” I slapped my hands down my body, searching for blood, but somehow my fingers came away clean.

“Mr. Fluffy, that was rude.” A voice cut through the fog of pain, and from the corner of my eye, I watched the man who arrived with Liam scoop up the strange creature responsible for this mess.

Harold let out an indignant growl from his new perch.

“Damn it, Harold. Your giant ass is too big to be doing shit like that. I ought to skin you and have you turned into a hat.” His hulking mass bulged over the edge of the shelf as he glared at me.

“With a scarf and gloves to match.” He stared right back as I glowered at him, his gaze unrepentant and unconcerned about my empty threat.

“First thing tomorrow, I’m buying that weight-control food the vet recommended. ”