Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,81

need of comfort food.

My mama never made home-cooked soup, but the stuff in the can worked for me when I was little, and it’ll work for me now. It’s a bit more expensive here in the convenience shop, but it’s Sunday so the grocery store’s closed down. Most everything’s closed down, including my bakery.

I’m sure people will be talking about me coming out like this, the extensive rumor mill being one of the main drawbacks of small-town life. Mama’s phone will probably be ringing before I even get home. Marcy may look like she’s an innocent old lady, but all of the people in this town live to gossip.

But they can all get bent. I just need my soup and some cough medicine, and I’ll be on my way.

I sigh at the simple thought. I need way more than soup. I need to get back to work.

I can hardly afford the part-time help from April and Nicole, two high school girls I’m paying to work the registers and help me in the evening. Everything else I’m doing on my own, and it’s really taking its toll on me. Plus I’ve had to close the bakery for the last week since I’ve been sick.

It’s hard work running your own business; there’s so much more to it than I originally anticipated. I can’t keep doing this on my own for much longer. And with one of the ovens broken, and none of the commercial grade mixers working, I’m struggling to meet product demands.

I close my eyes and push those negative thoughts away. I’m doing everything I can. It’s going to work out. It has to. I just need that damn loan from the bank.

I push that thought down, too. I can’t think about it now, or I’ll be sick for an entirely different reason.

Right now, I just need the chicken noodle soup I'm holding in my hand, and my penguin PJs.

I’m not paying much attention when I hear the bells chime above the door and Marcy squeaks a slightly flirtatious, “Hi there,” at whoever walked in. Marcy may be old, but she’s not dead.

I stifle a huff of a laugh at my own little joke. At least there’s a hint of a real smile on my lips now.

I turn around carelessly, ready to go to the counter where the meds are lined up in front of the register so I can grab the cough syrup and check out. I look up and start to yawn as I try to take a step forward, but my mouth slams shut and my feet stay bolted to the floor.

My heart does a flip and flutters in my chest as I catch a glimpse of Hunter.

Like… Hunter Hunter. My lungs stop moving and I quickly hide behind the aisle, nearly knocking bags of chips off the shelf. My heart hammers, and I have to blink a few times. He’s here. He’s back. My throat closes with intense emotion. He can’t be back.

I barely peek around the corner, very much aware of how awful I look.

It’s him. He’s not a boy anymore. He’s come back from overseas as a man.

And a badass one at that. I heard he’s a sharpshooter now. Or was. I wouldn’t know, since I did my best to stay far away from anyone who uttered his name. I had to.

Now he’s home. I can’t believe it. I seriously cannot believe my eyes. If he was home, someone would have told me.

It’s a small town, and people talk. They sure as hell talked when he broke my heart and left me. But I’ve been sick and stuck inside for days while I recover from this bug.

I try to calm my racing heart and breathe easy, taking in the sight of his simple white tee shirt that’s snug over his broad shoulders and corded muscles. He’s always been tall, but his ripped muscles give him even more of a dominating presence. He has the same handsome face with a touch of stubble that has my fingers itching to touch him.

His hair is short on the sides and a little longer on top. I could spear my fingers through the top and just barely grab onto it. It’s loosely styled so it looks a little messy, like he just rolled out of bed looking like a sex god.

I search his body for every little change. And there’s a lot to look at. His muscles, his tattoos, his scars.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I remember