Kiss Me in Sweetwater Springs Read online

  Kiss Me in Sweetwater Springs

  A Sweetwater Springs Short Story

  Annie Rains

  New York Boston

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Annie Rains

  Preview of Snowfall on Cedar Trail copyright © 2019 by Annie Rains

  Cover design and illustration by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Ebook Edition: August 2019

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  ISBN: 978-1-5387-6479-4 (ebook)

  E3-20190702-DANF-ORI

  E3-20190613-DANF-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  A Preview of SNOWFALL ON CEDAR TRAIL

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  Chapter One

  Lacy Shaw looked around the Sweetwater Springs Library for the culprit of the noise, a “shhh” waiting on the tip of her tongue. There were several people reading quietly at the tables along the wall. A few patrons were wandering the aisles of books.

  The high-pitched giggle broke through the silence again.

  Lacy stood and walked out from behind her counter, going in the direction of the sound. She wasn’t a stickler for quiet, but the giggling had been going on for at least ten minutes now, and a few of the college students studying in the far corner kept getting distracted and looking up. They’d come here to focus, and Lacy wanted them to keep coming.

  She stopped when she was standing at the end of one of the nonfiction aisles where two little girls were seated on the floor with a large book about animals in their lap. The shhh finally tumbled off her lips. The sound made her feel even more like the stuffy librarian she tried not to be.

  The girls looked up, their little smiles wilting.

  Lacy stepped closer to see what was so funny about animals and saw a large picture of a donkey with the heading “Asses” at the top of the page. A small giggle tumbled off Lacy’s lips as well. She quickly regained control of herself and offered a stern expression. “Girls, we need to be quiet in the library. People come here to read and study.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Abigail Fields, the girl with long, white-blond curls, said. They came in often with their nanny, Mrs. Townsend, who usually fell asleep in the back corner of the room. The woman was somewhere in her eighties and probably wasn’t the best choice to be taking care of two energetic little girls.

  “I have to write a paper on my favorite animal,” Abigail said.

  Lacy made a show of looking at the page. “And it’s a donkey?”

  “That’s not what that says,” Willow, Abigail’s younger sister, said. “It says…”

  “Whoa!” Lacy held up a hand. “I can read, but let’s not say that word out loud, okay? Why don’t you two take that book to a table and look at it quietly,” she suggested.

  The little girls got up, the older one lugging the large book with both hands.

  Lacy watched them for a moment and then turned and headed back to her counter. She walked more slowly as she stared at the back of a man waiting for her. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that hugged muscles she didn’t even have a name for. There was probably an anatomy book here that did. She wouldn’t mind locating it and taking her time labeling each muscle, one by one.

  She’d seen the man before at the local café, she realized, but never in here. And every time he’d walked into the café, she’d noticed him. He, of course, had never noticed her. He was too gorgeous and cool. There was also the fact that Lacy usually sat in the back corner reading a book or people-watching from behind her coffee cup.

  What is he doing here?

  The man shifted as he leaned against her counter, his messenger bag swinging softly at his lower hip. Then he glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze. He had blue crystalline eyes, inky black hair, and a heart-stopping smile that made her look away shyly—a nervous remnant of her high school years when the cool kids like him had picked on her because of the heavy back brace she wore.

  The brace was gone. No one was going to laugh at her anymore, and even if they did, she was confident enough not to find the closest closet to cry in these days.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you Lacy Shaw, the librarian here?”

  She forced her feet to keep walking forward. “I am. And you are?”

  He turned and held out a hand. “Paris.” He suspended his hand in midair, waiting for her to take it. When she hesitated, his gaze flicked from her face to her hand and then back again.

  She blinked, collected herself, and took his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lacy Shaw.”

  Paris’s dark brows dipped farther.

  “Right,” she giggled nervously. “You didn’t need me to introduce myself. You just asked if that’s who I was. Do you, um, need help with something? Finding a book maybe?”

  “I’m actually here for the class,” he said.

  “The computer skills class?” She walked around the counter to stand behind her computer. “The course instructor hasn’t arrived yet.” She looked at the Apple Watch on her wrist. “It’s still a little early though. You’re not late until you’re less than five minutes early. That’s what my mom always says.”

  Lacy had been wanting to offer a computer skills class here for months. There was a roomful of laptops in the back just begging for people to use them. She’d gotten the computer skills teacher’s name from one of her regular patrons here, and she’d practically begged Mr. Montgomery over the phone to take the job.

  “The class runs from today to next Thursday. It’s aimed toward people sixty-five and over,” she told the man standing across from her, briefly meeting his eyes and then looking away. “But you’re welcome to attend, of course.” Although she doubted he’d fit in. He appeared to be in his early thirties, wore dark clothes, and looked like his idea of fun might be adding a tattoo to the impressive collection on his arms.

  Paris cleared his throat. “Unless I�
�m mistaken, I am the instructor,” he said. “Paris Montgomery at your service.”

  “Oh.” She gave him another assessing look. She’d been expecting someone…different. Alice Hampton had been the one to recommend Paris. She was a sweet old lady who had sung the praises of the man who’d rented the room above her garage last year. Lacy never would’ve envisioned the likes of this man staying with Mrs. Hampton. “Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you for agreeing to offer some of your time to our senior citizens. A lot of them have expressed excitement over the class.”

  Paris gave a cursory glance around the room. “It’s no problem. I’m self-employed, and as I told you on the phone, I had time between projects.”

  “You’re a graphic designer, right?” she asked, remembering what Alice had told her. “You created the designs for the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Guilty. And for a few other businesses in Sweetwater Springs.”

  Lacy remembered how much she’d loved the designs when she’d seen them. “I’ve been thinking about getting something done for the library,” she found herself saying.

  “Yeah? I’d be happy to talk it over with you when you’re ready. I’m sure we can come up with something simple yet classy. Modern. Inviting.”

  “Inviting. Yes!” she agreed in a spurt of enthusiasm before quickly feeling embarrassed. But that was her whole goal for the library this year. She wanted the community to love coming in as much as she did. As a child growing up, the library had been her haven, especially during those years of being bullied. The smell of books had come to mean freedom to her. The sound of pages turning was music to her ears.

  “Well, I guess I better go set up for class.” Paris angled his body toward the computer room. “Five minutes early is bordering on late, right?” he asked, repeating her words and making her smile.

  He was cool, gorgeous, and charming—a dangerous combination.

  * * *

  Paris still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this proposition. It paid very little, and he doubted it would help with his graphic design business. The librarian had been so insistent on the phone that it’d been hard to say no to her. Was that the same woman who’d blushed and had a hard time making eye contact with him just now? She looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure where or when they’d ever crossed paths.

  He walked into the computer room in the back of the library and looked around at the laptops set up. How hard could it be to teach a group of older adults to turn on a computer, utilize the search engine, or set up an email account? It was only two weeks. He could handle that.

  “You’re the teacher?” a man’s voice asked behind him.

  Paris whirled to face him. The older man wore a ball cap and a plaid button-down shirt. In a way, he looked familiar. “Yes, sir. Are you here for the class?”

  The man frowned. “Why else would I ask if you were the teacher?”

  Paris ignored the attitude and gestured to the empty room. “You have your pick of seats right now, sir,” Paris told him. Then he directed his attention to a few more seniors who strolled in behind the older man. Paris recognized a couple of them. Greta Merchant used a cane, but he knew she walked just fine. The cane was for show, and Paris had seen her beat it against someone’s foot a couple of times. She waved and took a seat next to the frowning man.

  “Paris!” Alice Hampton said, walking into the room.

  He greeted her with a hug. After coming to town last winter and staying at the Sweetwater B&B for a week, he’d rented a room from Alice for a while. Now he had his own place, a little cabin that sat across the river.

  All in all, he was happy these days, which is more than he could say when he lived in Florida. After his divorce, the Sunshine State had felt gloomy. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling, and then he’d remembered being a foster kid here in Sweetwater Springs, North Carolina. A charity event for bikers had given him an excuse to come back for a visit, and he’d never left. Not yet, at least.

  “I told all my friends about this class,” Alice said. “You’re going to have a full and captive audience with us.”

  Nerves buzzed to life in his stomach. He didn’t mind public speaking, but he hoped most were happy to be here, unlike the frowner in the corner.

  More students piled in and took their seats, and then the timid librarian came to the door. She nibbled on her lower lip, her gaze skittering everywhere but to meet his directly. “Do you need anything?”

  Paris shook his head. “No, we have plenty of computers. We’ll just get acquainted with them and go from there.”

  She looked up at him now, a blush rising over her high cheekbones. She had light brown hair spilling out of a messy bun and curling softly around her jawline. She had a pretty face, made more beautiful by her rich brown eyes and rose-colored mouth. “Well, you know where I am if you do need something.” She looked at the group. “Enjoy!”

  “You hired a looker!” Greta Merchant hollered at Lacy. “And for that, there’ll be cookies in your future, Ms. Lacy! I’ll bring a plate next class!”

  The blush on Lacy’s cheeks deepened as her gaze jumped to meet his momentarily. “Well, I won’t turn down your cookies, Ms. Greta,” she said.

  Paris watched her for a moment as she waved and headed back to her post.

  “The ink in those tattoos going to your brain?” the frowner called to him. “It’s time to get started. I don’t have all day, you know.”

  Paris pulled his gaze from the librarian and faced the man. “Neither do I. Let’s learn something new, shall we?”

  An hour later, Paris had taught the class of eleven to turn on and turn off the laptops. It’d taken an excruciating amount of time to teach everyone to open a browser and use a search engine. Overall, it’d gone well, and the hour had flown by.

  “Great job,” Alice said to him approvingly. She patted a motherly hand on his back that made him feel warm and appreciated. That feeling quickly dissipated as the frowner headed out the door.

  “I already knew most of what you taught,” he said.

  Who was this person, and why was he so grouchy?

  “Well, then you probably didn’t need this class,” Paris pointed out politely. “Actually, you probably could’ve taught it yourself.”

  The frowner harrumphed. “Next time teach something.”

  Paris nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “Your best is the only acceptable thing,” the man said before walking out.

  Paris froze for a moment, reaching for the memory that the frowner had just stirred. Your best is the only acceptable thing. His foster dad here in Sweetwater Springs used to say that to him. That man had been nothing but encouraging. He’d taught Paris more about life in six months than anyone ever had before or since.

  Paris hadn’t even caught his student’s name, and there was no roster for this computer skills class. People had walked in and attended without any kind of formal record.

  Paris watched the frowner walk with slow, shuffled steps. He was old, and his back was rounded. A hat sat on his head, casting a shadow on his leathered face. All Paris had really seen of him was his deep, disapproving frown. It’d been nearly two decades since Paris had laid eyes on Mr. Jenson, but he remembered his former foster dad being taller. Then again, Paris had been just a child.

  When Paris had returned to Sweetwater Springs last year, he’d decided to call. Mrs. Jenson had been the one to answer. She’d told him she didn’t remember a boy named PJ, which is the name Paris had gone by back then. “Please, please, leave us alone! Don’t call here again!” she’d pleaded on the line, much to Paris’s horror. “Just leave us alone.”

  The memory made Paris’s chest ache as he watched the older man turn the corner of the library and disappear. He resisted the urge to follow him and see if it really was Mr. Jenson. But the Jensons had given Paris so much growing up that he was willing to do whatever he could to repay their kindness—even if it meant staying away.

  * * *

 
Lacy was checking out books for the Fields girls and their nanny when Paris walked by. She watched him leave. If you flipped to the word suave in the dictionary, his picture was probably there.

  “I plan to bring the girls to your summer reader group in a couple weeks,” Mrs. Townsend said.

  Of course she did. That would be a convenient nap time for her.

  “I always love to see the girls.” Lacy smiled down at the children. Their father, Granger Fields, and his family owned Merry Mountain Farms in town where Lacy always got her blue spruce for the holidays.

  Lacy waved as the little girls collected their bags of books and skipped out with Mrs. Townsend following behind them.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Lacy worked on ongoing programs and plans for the summer and fall. At six p.m., she turned off the lights to the building and headed into the parking lot.

  She was involved with the Ladies’ Day Out group, a gaggle of women who regularly got together to hang out and have fun. Tonight, they were meeting at Lacy’s house to discuss a book that she’d chosen for everyone to read. They were in no way a book club, but since it was her turn to decide what they did, Lacy had turned it into one this time.

  Excitement brimmed as she drove home. When she pulled up to her small one-bedroom house on Pine Cone Lane, she noticed two of her sisters’ cars already parked in the driveway. Birdie and Rose had texted her during the day to see what they could do to help. Seeing the lights on inside Lacy’s home, they’d evidently ignored Lacy’s claims that she didn’t need anything and had used her hideaway key under the flowerpot.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Lacy called as she headed through the front door.

  Birdie, her older sister by one year, turned to face her. “Hey, sis. Rose and I were just cleaning up for you.”

  “Great.” Lacy set her purse down. “Now I don’t have to.”

  “What is this?” Rose asked, stepping up beside Birdie. Rose was one year younger than Lacy. Their mom had been very busy those first three years of marriage.