Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“I don’t believe in miracles,” he says.
“How sad for you,” I say.
“Your pity isn’t required, Miss Hadley.”
“It’s not pity, it’s empathy, and it is required, Mr. Ratcliffe. Without it, I would already be calling the sheriff’s department to file a report. I’m friends with Alice, who works dispatch. She’d have someone out to take my statement in twenty minutes or less, even in a sleet storm.”
He scowls and mutters something beneath his breath.
I cup a hand to my ear. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Diabolical. I said you’re diabolical.”
I grin hard enough to make my cheeks hurt. “Aw, thank you! I feel so seen. Most people don’t realize I’m diabolical until they’ve known me for years. It’s the baby face. They see the chubby cheeks and big brown eyes and assume I don’t have a hidden agenda. But they’re wrong and you’re right. I am diabolical, and I intend to prove it by making you tote all the baking ingredients down to the kitchen while I hold the flashlight. The lights are out on the ground floor and the stairwell for some reason, but they’re still working in the basement, as is the oven. Lucky you and lucky me and lucky pups who will enjoy freshly baked treats on Santa’s lap tomorrow afternoon.” I prop my free hand on my hip. “Now! The box of groceries is in my trunk. I’m parked on the right by the side entrance, which you would know if you’d taken time to properly case the joint. I’d recommend doing that next time you plan a heist. And laying off the booze. Some things—like grand larceny—should only be attempted while sober.”
His lips twitch the slightest bit. “I doubt the Captain’s leg is grand larceny worthy.”
“Grand larceny in Vermont is anything over a thousand dollars,” I counter. “And an irreplaceable, custom made, two-hundred-plus-year-old artifact gifted to the town by its founder, is worth at least that much. You’re mine for the night, bucko. Might as well relax and let it happen.”
“Diabolical,” he mutters, a new respect in his gaze that makes my stomach flip.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s finally stopped scowling that has my tummy in full butterfly mode. With his silky brown hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes, Luke is gorgeous, even when he’s grouchy. But with his lips curved and amusement in his deep, rumbly voice he’s…
Well, he’s also diabolical, but in a totally different way.
A way I should probably be wary of, considering my history with tall, dark, and grouchy men.
But for some reason, I’m not wary. I’m looking forward to his company in the kitchen and a chance to find out if that sweet, knight-in-shining armor of a boy I once knew is still in there somewhere, buried beneath the suit and bad holiday attitude.
“I’ll have to call my brother,” he finally says, admitting defeat. “Let him know I’ll be late.”
“There’s a phone in the kitchen. Now, get going. Or we’ll be here all night.”
“As you wish, Holly Jo,” he says, starting toward the door, clearly having no idea he just let the cat out of the bag.
He remembers my middle name!
And I’m betting he remembers a whole lot more than that…
But why pretend he doesn’t? Is he that desperate to hold his happy childhood memories at a distance? And if so…why?
Better question: Can I heal his emotional wounds before midnight? Or am I going to need more time—and potentially prolonged exposure to puppies—to turn Luke’s frown upside down?
I don’t know, but I intend to find out or my name isn’t Holly Josephine Hadley, the Diabolical, First of her Name, a woman who’s always secretly wondered what happened to the boy who got away.
Chapter Three
LUKE
I’m a criminal.
What’s worse? I’m a bad one.
I’ve never been bad at anything in my life. I excel in my chosen endeavors, or I don’t choose to endeavor them.
So, what the hell am I doing here, fresh from a failed robbery and attempting to follow a recipe for the first time in my life?
I have no idea, but by the time I’ve downed my first cup of coffee and a large glass of water, reality has hit with a vengeance, leaving me with a belly full of shame I do my best to drown with another cup of joe.
“Did you add the salt?” Holly asks, squinting at the recipe as she positions the blender in the large silver bowl.
I shake my head numbly from side to side. “I can’t remember.”
Her gaze shifts my way. “You can’t?”
I shake my head again. “No, I can’t. I didn’t realize I was supposed to keep track.”
“You didn’t realize you were supposed to keep track of what ingredients you put into the bowl?”
“No, I told you, I’m not much of a cook. In that I never cook. Ever.”
Her eyes widen. “Never?”
“Never. I have a personal chef. And on days when Alessandro is off, I order takeout. Or use the microwave if I’m feeling adventurous.”