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“Merry?” Sam nodded. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend. At least, I don’t think she does.”
“But you said she was unavailable.”
“She’s not really your type, is she?”
“That’s never stopped me.”
Clark snorted. “I believe it, but she’d also my boss’s daughter. I don’t need you coming in here, screwing your way through all the local women until you piss everyone off and there’s a line of angry husbands and fathers ready to run me out of town.”
“This is not the 1950s. If a woman wants to roll around in the sheets with me, who am I to tell her no.”
“Just make sure none of those women have the last name Winters. And that you don’t bring any of them back to my guest sheets.”
“I wouldn’t bring a one-night stand back with a kid here. You think I’m a complete asshole?”
Clark pulled the sandwich fixings out of the fridge with a sigh. “No, I don’t. I just want to be clear.”
“You’re wound awfully tight. I think you need to get laid more than I do.”
Clark didn’t respond, preferring not to discuss the topic when his son could come walking out anytime. “You still haven’t told me the real reason you’re back here. Not that I don’t want you here, but I know it’s more than you missing us.”
“It’s not even worth talking about. I’m just happy to be back in the fold. Maybe with me around we can get you out and get a life.”
“I have a life.”
“You have a purpose, but you aren’t living. Look at me. A wandering artist with dozens of broken hearts trailing behind him. A lonely soul, just searching for the one woman to complete him—”
“You should have been an actor. You’ve got the whole melodramatic angle down,” Clark cut in.
Sam shrugged, a sheepish grin on his lips. “Maybe. But seriously. How about next weekend we find a sitter for Jace and hit the bar. A couple beers, maybe meet some women. What do you say? Wanna be my wingman?”
It had been a long time since Clark had been out simply to have fun. Mingle with other adults.
And if KnottyGirl25 ever messaged him back, he could plan their meet up for the same night. Once his brother found a woman to go home with, he’d ditch Clark without a backwards glance.
“Just call me Goose, Maverick.”
Chapter 10
Merry
Merry sat on one side of the booth in Lord of the Fries Diner, listening to Ryan Welsh bitch about vendors for the festival. The punny restaurant had been a staple in the town since the eighties, the walls decorated in artwork related to the classic book Lord of the Flies. The menu had a cartoon french fry on the front wearing a top hat, tail coat, and a monocle over his left eye. As cheesy as the décor was, the food was outstanding.
It was a little after ten in the morning on Wednesday and she’d taken the day off to catch up with a friend from college who was passing through. Unfortunately, the friend had called from her hotel room in Boise with a horrible case of food poisoning and canceled. Since the day was already hers, Merry had popped a couple of aspirin to dull the pain of her stitches and decided to do a little Christmas preparation shopping. All that had been delayed when she’d agreed to meet Ryan to talk about his concerns, but the conversation was putting a damper on her day.
That was unfair. She liked Ryan. He was the only boyfriend she didn’t regret, because he hadn’t been awful. He’d been very sweet, actually. They’d become friends freshman year of high school after meeting in Home Economics class and had dated a couple of months, until he’d come out as gay. They’d remained friends up until they graduated and went off to college. It surprised Merry he’d come back to Mistletoe as he’d always complained about the cold, but like hers, his family was tight-knit and amazing.
As part of the festival committee, he’d offered to handle vendors, but he’d called her three times since Sunday and when he’d found out she wasn’t working today, asked her to meet him here to chat. Only it had turned into more of a rant than a friendly conversation.
“Mrs. Carlson doesn’t want her craft booth next to the bookstore’s booth, because they display nasty books.” He said the last with a high-pitch falsetto, followed by a scoff. “I want to tell her she doesn’t have to look if she’s offended by shirtless men, but dear God, she could probably learn a thing or two from those books. Like some relaxation techniques because the woman is wound tighter than a top and she’s about to blow.”
Merry picked up her coffee, cradling it between her fingers as she took in Ryan’s perfectly sculpted brows shooting up and down with every word. When Ryan got excited, every facial feature got into the action, including his vibrant blue eyes, and she usually loved watching him talk.
Today, though, she just wanted to eat, shop, and not think about her lengthy to-do list and the emotional whirlpool that had become her brain. Not referee adults with ridiculous demands.
“So move her to another spot. What’s the issue?”
“The issue is I’ve organized the booths according to their category. Books, crafts, and other goods are in one section. Food and beverage in another. And half the vendors have a beef with someone else. I swear, I never knew how dramatic people could be over the littlest thing, like who bought the last flat of canning jars! This isn’t Little House on the Freaking Prairie! If you want a jar of jam, buy it! You don’t have to boil it yourself, Nellie.”
