Peppermint Stick (Boston Bucks #10)

Chapter 1 Jaylynn

Jaylynn

Snowberry Falls, Vermont

Two weeks before Christmas:

Ho. Ho. Holy crap.

I blink once. Twice. Nope, not a figment of my hot toddy fueled imagination. That’s definitely Penn Radford—NHL heartbreaker and tabloid scandal magnet—standing at the front desk of the Snowberry Inn, arguing over a room that doesn’t exist.

Should I be surprised to see him? Maybe not. We both grew up here, even if he hasn’t been back for the holidays in years. Maybe after getting suspended for decking the mall Santa—yes, he actually punched St. Nick—he's home licking his wounds.

But the real question is, why isn’t he staying with his Aunt Elaine? Sure, she’s a little out there (read: owns three ferrets and claims they’re clairvoyant), but she’s also the kind soul who raised him when his teenage mom left him on her doorstep.

How do I know all this you ask? Oh, because this is Snowberry Falls, Vermont, where everyone knows everyone’s business, and if they don’t, they make it up.

Penn shifts, the snow melting on his heavy leather jacket.

It lets out a low squeak as he leans toward Belinda, softening his features as he dials up the charm.

Classic. I watch him tune his smile, and aim it straight at Belinda.

Her face flushes as her lashes lower. She’s either eaten too many candy canes and is about to go into a sugar-induced coma, or is… falling for his charm.

Honestly, men like Penn think the world owes them extra whipped cream just for showing up. Cocky, smoking hot, treat me like I’m a joke…ugh, let’s just say been there. Done that. Got the emotional baggage to prove it.

A huff crawls out of my throat before I can reel it in, and wouldn’t you know it, his gaze snaps to mine. And damn. Those clear blue eyes lock on, and just like that, two thoughts hit me faster than a snowball to the face.

I could help fix his image.

He could help fix my career.

Okay, three thoughts. Because there’s also my ex to consider.

He’s coming home for the holiday with his new fiancée—a well-known influencer who doesn’t even need makeup to be beautiful.

No, I’m not jealous. Much. Wouldn’t it be awesome to show my ex that I’m not the same girl he humiliated in high school?

That I grew up to be more than the bubbly head of the Winter Spirit committee?

That I was going places, making something of myself?

At least for a little while I was…

Nevertheless, as a wild, glittery, slightly unhinged idea takes hold, I set my drink down, the mug landing with a quiet thunk on the table in front of the crackling fire.

I rise, my heart pounding like a drumline at the Santa parade, as I smooth my flannel "Sleigh, All Day" pajama top, and square my shoulders.

Do you really think this can work, Jaylynn?

Yes, because A, he’s desperate, and B, I have a plan.

A half-baked, peppermint-scented plan.

But a plan, nonetheless.

I walk toward Penn—who, and I hate to admit it, looks like a walking GQ holiday edition—as he turns his focus back in on Belinda.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do for you,” she tells him. “We’re completely full for the holidays. We had a cancellation earlier, but it was just rebooked ten minutes ago. If only you’d been here sooner.”

“You don’t have, like… a floor I could sleep on? A closet? Hell, I’d take a sleigh in the parking lot as long as it doesn’t meow.”

“Meow?” Belinda asks as I too try to puzzle that out.

He shakes his head and sneezes into his sleeve. “It’s a long story.”

I hear the strain in his voice, the tiredness, and for a moment I feel sorry for him.

Until I remember that horrible day I was humiliated back in high school, and he, like the rest of my graduating class, stood by and watched.

Oh, and yeah, he punched a mall Santa back in Boston.

Who the heck punches Santa? A Christmas Grinch, that’s who.

“You just allergic or are you afraid of cats?”

Penn turns to me, and up close, holy holly, those blue eyes could melt a snowbank. No wonder the guy has a bunny harem. “Allergic yes, and I wouldn’t say afraid…more like traumatized.”

I cock my head. “I sense a story.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to tell me, then Belinda pipes in softly, “Is everything okay with your Aunt Elaine? I ran into her last week at the pet store and she seemed…” Belinda gives Penn a wobbly, almost sympathetic smile as she tries to come up with the right word, Finally, she settles with, “The same.”

Meaning—still out of her festive little mind.

He exhales sharply, and there it is, that flicker of something unspoken. A heaviness behind the laugh. Something’s going on at home, something deeper than his aunt just being her usual… unconventional self. And just like that, my heart does that annoying pinch again.

Because for all Penn’s swagger and smirking charm, he’s never had it easy.

No real family to speak of, outside of Aunt Elaine, the ‘uncles’ she’s hooked up with, and her merry band of feral ferrets.

And no one should be alone during the holidays.

Not even a guy who once stood by while I was publicly annihilated at the tree lighting.

Still. Doesn’t everyone deserve to feel like they belong?

I have a few loved ones I could lend him. Temporarily. Or maybe permanently. Uncle Jack has been a bit too touchy feely lately.

“Let’s just say,” he starts flatly, “Elaine turned my old bedroom into a cat sanctuary. I was there for five minutes. Got mauled, bitten, and I think…” He lowers his voice, eyes darting around as if the walls might be listening, “…I think one is possessed.”

“Possessed?” Belinda chokes back a laugh, biting her lip as if she’s trying to stay professional.

Penn’s throat works around the word like it doesn’t sit right. “I think Muffin—”

“Muffin?” I blurt, grinning. There’s just something about this broad-shouldered NHL enforcer whispering about a cat named Muffin that breaks me. “Are we still talking about a cat here?”

“Yeah. The tabby.” He stares at me like I’m the odd one, which is rich coming from a guy who thinks a rescue cat is possessed.

“Anyway,” he continues, and leans in like we’re trading ghost stories around the campfire, “I think it’s possessed by the spirit of Aunt Elaine’s late husband, Earl.”

He mock-shudders, and the seriousness in his voice just makes it funnier.

“Oh?” I arch a brow. “Tell me, is Muffin wearing flannel now?”

His eyes narrow, all humor gone from those baby blues. Maybe I’m tired. Or maybe it’s his scent—clean, cold air and cedar—or the way the firelight flickers across his cheekbones, but I stare back, unable to look away, even if ‘crazy’ clearly runs in his family.

“No. But he’s been watching curling reruns. The only person I ever knew who liked curling was Earl.”

“Well then, obviously, it’s Earl.” I nod solemnly.

Just then, Penn’s head snaps toward a darkened hallway. “What was that?” he whispers.

I follow his gaze and search the hall. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You don’t think Muffin followed me here, do you?”

“I mean, I didn’t notice a flannel-wearing cat tailing you through the door.”

The phone rings behind us, and Belinda turns to answer it, leaving us staring at one another.

“I told you it wasn’t wearing flannel…” he mutters, shaking his head like I’m the one being ridiculous. Yeah, I’m the ridiculous one. He thinks a cat is possessed by his late uncle Earl. Then, his voice softens. “You remember Earl, don’t you?”

I nod, my throat tightening a little. “Elaine’s sixth and final husband. He came into the picture around your junior year, right?”

“Yeah. He hated me.”

“I remember that.” What I don’t say is how I remember Penn coming to school with stress in his eyes and extra weight on his shoulders. How I knew Earl never thought the money Elaine spent on Penn’s hockey had any value. It only had worth when it came in the form of a six-pack.

“So, with the cats and the ghost of Earl judging my life choices through Muffin’s eyes… I can’t stay there.”

“Poor thing,” I murmur. My tone is light, teasing.

But something inside me aches a little. I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the cozy chaos of the inn, where guests in scarves and puffy coats bustle past, mugs of cocoa in hand.

“And now you’re homeless. During the most magical time of year.

” I arch a brow. “What would Santa say?”

He grits his teeth and eyes me carefully, like he’s scanning for signs. Trying to gauge whether the incident made it all the way to Snowberry Falls.

Spoiler—it did.

The twitch in his jaw tells me he knows it too.

“Clearly,” he mutters, “You’ve heard that the last Santa I saw ended up face-down on a pile of reindeer and lollipops while a crowd of traumatized kids screamed in horror. So yeah… I’m not exactly eager to hear what jolly old St. Nick has to say to me right now.”

I press a hand to my chest. “Ah, yes. The punch heard 'round the North Pole. Penn Radford. AKA Radman, the madman. The Enforcer. The man, the myth, the mitts.”

He cocks his head, something sparking behind his guarded expression. “Let me guess… big fan of viral scandals?”

“Not exactly.” I frown and glance down, that familiar ache back in my stomach. “Been the headline of one myself.”

That quiets him.

For a second, we’re both just standing in the warm flicker of firelight and peppermint-scented shame. I steal a glance at him, the sting of old wounds and public meltdowns binding us in unexpected solidarity.

Maybe he had his reasons for decking Santa.

Just like I have mine—for what I’m about to do.

I tilt my head and against all reason, pride, or lingering common sense, I blurt it out. “I’ve got a room.”

He blinks. “Great. Congratulations. Couldn’t be happier for you.”