The Sweetheart List
Chapter 1
Harper Shaw was a single snack-getting-stuck-in-a-vending-machine away from an anxiety attack. But hey, that was what happened when you decided nothing in your life sparked joy. You wiped your slate clean like an Etch A Sketch and started over.
A heavy sigh came from the shotgun position of her car.
“I know, I know.” Harper leaned forward a little, squinting into the dark night, broken up only by the white slashes of snow coming down. “We’ve been on the road for twelve hours and you’re hungry and bored. I get it, believe me. Who knew it could snow in Tahoe in July? But hey, it’s pretty, right?”
No response from the peanut gallery, so she reached into the passenger seat for her skinny popcorn, pulling the huge, one-pound bag into her lap to munch on. “The point is, we agreed to stop being Eeyore. It never gets us anywhere or anything but heartbroken and shoved aside. We’re done with that. We’re only looking at the silver linings now. Positive thinking. Gotta dream it to live it and all that crap.” Sure, she was exhausted and frazzled on the inside, but she meant it. She’d just turned thirty and a corner on her life path. If it didn’t bring her joy, then forgetaboutit. And speaking of joy, she found some driving over the majestic summit, taking in the staggeringly high peaks that were nothing but inky outlines against the stormy night sky.
She was pretty sure her beat-up sneaks weren’t going to stand up to this storm, and she didn’t have any sort of warm boots. She reached for her phone to access her notes and start a new list before she remembered—she no longer made lists.
They hadn’t brought her joy. They, along with her ex-almost-fiancé, Daniel, had brought only pressure, unrealistic expectations, and heartbreak.
But she still had Ham. Aka Hambone, her 125-pound, five-year-old perpetual puppy Bernese Mountain rescue. The perfect male, he was loyal, sweet, and always kind. His only fault was that he got carsick—like, really carsick—unless he had his huge head out the window. This meant Harper was currently freezing, even with her heater blasting.
Most of her belongings were in a moving pod that would arrive next week. But the things that mattered most to her were in this car. Ham, of course. Her mom’s recipes—one of only two things she had of the woman she’d loved more than anything. She also had her own beloved and essential baking tools, including her mixer and food processor, not to mention her jar of homegrown, irreplaceable sourdough starter and a tin of her chocolate and mint chip cookies, both out of this world, if she said so herself. She planned to use them to bribe people into wanting to be friends with her, because she could really use some. Or even one.
And then there was the small building she’d rented to open her own bakery. Scary, but as she had zero regrets, also incredibly thrilling. She’d happily walked away from her stressful job at the busiest bakery in all of San Diego, then also walked from things she’d considered her responsibilities, like helping her ex-almost-fiancé through law school or making sure her dad was happy, as she’d promised her mom she’d do. But since Daniel had graduated and dumped her, and her dad had remarried and moved on, she was free.
And looking forward to living life as she wanted—without obligations or anything that preyed on or drained her emotions.
Not that anything could drain them at the moment. Nope, her emotional gas tank was currently on E for Empty.
She looked out at the dark night. She knew the route to the lake, but she needed help from here, so she unmuted her GPS.
“Crikey!” an Australian male voice immediately yelled, startling her so badly the bag of popcorn went flying in the air like the snow on the other side of the windshield.
“Turn left at Sunrise Cove in one hundred feet, mate.”
Past Harper had been amused by the accent, but Current Harper’s nerves were shot and now her popcorn was all over the car.
Ham was tap-dancing on the seat, craning his neck to catch each piece.
“Do not hork up popcorn in my car or you’ll walk the rest of the way.” A hollow, empty threat, because Ham was family. Plus, they were almost there, and excitement had her heart pounding.
What she remembered most about Tahoe was camping with her mom on the lake, and also Sunrise Cove, a small mountain town perched on the north shore near the head of the Truckee River. The memories of the beautiful, woodsy lake and a walkable downtown community with all sorts of shops and places to eat lived in her heart.
“Turn left, mate! And then left again into your final destination, hidey-ho!”
She made the first turn, and her car slid a little, eliciting a startled squeak from her and a surprised “gak” from Ham when the seat belt he wore tightened around him, halting his forward progress. He resettled with what she was pretty sure was an eye roll.
Ham was no stranger to sitting shotgun with her.
She slowed way down for the second left, but it still wasn’t enough. Her tires didn’t grip on the ice, and she slid into the parking lot and right up against one of the huge bushes lining the lot.
Her car came to a sharp stop, but not her pounding heart. She put a hand to her chest and gulped for air as she turned to Ham. “You okay?”
Ham was doing his happy tap-dancing again. He had a piece of popcorn stuck to his forehead and was wagging his tail, because in his mind, stopping meant food.
Food was Ham’s entire reason for existing.
“Okay, okay,” she said, removing the popcorn from his face and then gently pushing him back so she could take stock. She was fine, Ham was fine. Everything was fine.
Well, maybe not everything. Her driver’s-side door was jammed up against some seriously Amazonian-size bushes that didn’t give when she tried to open her door. Damn.
When she’d stopped for gas on the summit half an hour ago, the attendant had taken one look at her two-wheel drive and told her she would need to buy chains or risk getting turned back away by California Highway Patrol. She’d asked him to put the chains on, but he’d wanted an arm and leg for the service, so she’d decided against them since they weren’t required right at that moment. The attendant swore that they’d be “easy-peasy” to put on herself if she had to.
She was really hoping that was true, because she figured her car wasn’t going anywhere without the traction the chains would provide.
“Scootch,” she said to Ham as she crawled over the console and wedged herself into the seat with him. He took the opportunity to lick her face. “Thanks, buddy.” Reaching past him, she shoved open the passenger door and basically poured herself out to take stock. “Stay,” she said, and gently shut the door. He pushed his big face out the open window and whined at her.
“It’s okay, this’ll be quick.” She hoped, because damn, it was cold.
“Hey, you okay?”
Harper nearly leapt out of her skin at the voice behind her. Heart still pounding from the slide, it threatened to burst out of her chest as she whirled and came face-to-face with a man. A big one. He wore a jacket against the cold, hood up shadowing his face but not hiding the fact that he was tall, broad shouldered, and built for strength. In a swift move that only a girl who was used to walking alone at night between her work and car could be, she had her handy-dandy pepper spray out of her pocket and showed it to him.
“Whoa,” he said. “I come in peace.”
Swallowing hard against the slam of adrenaline, she pushed her hair back from her face and gulped some air.
Several pieces of popcorn fell from her and hit the asphalt.
A corner of the man’s mouth twitched as he sniffed the air. “Ranch flavored?”
“Yes, what do you want?” Because where she was from, women didn’t talk to strange men who could turn out to be serial killers.
He pushed his hood from his face, allowing her to see his wavy brown hair on the wrong side of his last cut, along with at least a few days’ stubble. He wore dark jeans and a sweatshirt under a leather jacket that looked like it might’ve survived combat in World War II. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, trying to be a cool cucumber.
This got her another mouth twitch. “I don’t know, Speed Racer, maybe because you came in hot and just lost a fight with a manzanita bush. Do you need help?”
“No, thank you.”
He gave her car a look of doubt.
“I’m fine. You should probably go before I let my dog out. He’s not men-friendly.” And neither was she.
Ham’s head was still out the window, and he let out a long, dramatic I-wanna-lick-the-new-person-to-death whine, accompanied by his sweet come-pet-me smile.
The man smiled back and flashed a dangerously sexy dimple on the left side of his mouth that in no way lessened his rough-and-tumble appearance. And anyway, why was he smiling and standing there all calm and relaxed when she still had her pepper spray in hand?
“You’re right,” he said. “Your dog looks terrifying.”
Having been a city girl all her life, suspicion and caution were part of her DNA. “I’d like you to go now.”
He raised a brow. “Before or after I help you disentangle your car from the bush?”
“Definitely before,” she said, proud that her inner trembling wasn’t audible in her voice. “I’m going to put on chains to make it easier.”
“All you need is some kitty litter.”
“For what?”
“Sprinkled behind your tires. It gives you traction on ice and snow.”
Okay, and now she knew why the gas station had a stack of kitty litter bags for sale next to the chains. Damn. “I’ve got this, but thanks.” Opening the trunk of her car, she eyed the chains.
“You probably don’t see much ice and snow in San Diego,” he said.
Try zero . . . “So is that your party trick? Guessing where people are from?”
“Nah. You’ve got a Toast Your Buns in San Diego sticker on your back window.”
Oh. Right. She pulled out a piece of paper folded up in the chains that listed what to do in what order.
She read it twice. She considered herself fairly intelligent, but in this instance, she’d have appreciated pictures. Crumbling the paper, she tossed it into her open window. “Don’t eat that,” she told Ham.
The dog sighed.
“You might need to keep that—”
“Look,” she said, spinning to face him. “I gave up lists, okay? They don’t spark joy. So thank you, but as I’ve mentioned, I’m fine.”
“You gave up . . . lists.”
“I gave up everything that didn’t spark joy. Obsessive list-making. Kale. My high-stress job. My ex . . .” She was sure there was more, and if she hadn’t given up list-making, she’d probably have it written down.
“Everyone should give up kale,” he said.
She snorted, and maybe it was the long drive, maybe it was her life, but suddenly she felt a little too close to a breakdown, and she really liked to be alone for those. “Please, just go.”
He lifted his hands in the universal I-give-up sign, turned, and walked away. She caught herself watching him because he had a way of moving that was inherently sexy male, and also possibly the best ass she’d ever seen. But it was something else that made her call out to him. “Are you hurt? You’re limping a little.”
He either didn’t hear her or didn’t want to answer, because he vanished into the night.
Fine by her. She eyed the chains again. “I’m a strong, independent woman and don’t need no stinkin’ man. But easy-peasy, my ass.”
“You don’t need chains. Some common sense, maybe, but not chains.”
Again Harper whipped around and found a woman this time, somewhere around her own age. She had bright red hair cut in a bob, complete with bangs, thick black-rimmed glasses, and freckles dusting a pretty face. Her orange turtleneck sweater, red miniskirt, orange knee socks, and red patent leather Mary Jane pumps all brought to mind a cartoon character, but Harper couldn’t quite place which one.
Ham whined and tried to jump through the window. For a brief second, he got stuck in his seat belt, and though he might have been short on brains, he had determination in spades. He managed to wriggle out the window. He hit the wet asphalt on all four paws and also his chin, recovered quickly, and started for the woman—who calmly held up a hand, palm out. “Sit. Stay.”
Harper stared in shock as Ham skidded to a stop and indeed sat and stayed.
“Good dog,” the woman said, and Ham wagged his tail so hard he nearly took off airborne like a helicopter. “You two okay?”
“Um,” Harper said, taking in her attire. “Are you?”
The woman looked down at herself. “Oh, right. I’m Velma. You know, from the Scooby-Doo gang.” She waved a hand again, this one dismissive. “Book club night at the bookstore. The theme was famous female detectives. I stayed late to clean up. You took out my manzanita bush.”
“Actually, your bush took out my car.” Harper watched Ham, who never “stayed” for more than five seconds. And sure enough, he hoisted a leg and further insulted the bush by peeing on it. “And I’m putting on chains so I can free your manzanita.”
“Ah, man,” Velma muttered. “He was right. You are a tourist.”
“The guy on the summit said I should have chains on me. What ‘he’ are you talking about?”
“Bodie. The guy who tried to help you. He had to get to work and didn’t want to leave you out here alone. He asked me to watch out for you. And bring you this.” She hoisted a ziplock bag, which appeared to be filled with . . . kitty litter.
“I told him I was fine.” Harper opened the passenger door and gestured for Ham to get back in the car.
“Tell me the asshat who sold you those chains didn’t charge you like a hundred bucks.”
Nope. He’d charged her $150. Not that she’d admit it.
Velma shook her head. “Let me guess. You’re a city girl who heard we were getting snow in July, and you wanted to relive that time in college when you fell for a ski bum.”
“Wow, judgy much?”
Velma actually laughed. “Yes.”
“Well, save it, because I’m a local.” As of five minutes ago, but still . . .
Velma eyed her car. “You sure?”
Harper sighed. “Look, thanks for the kitty litter. I’ll pay for any damage to the manzanita.”
“It’s okay. I hate manzanita.” Velma began searching through her purse for God knew what. Not one, but two bottles of pain reliever fell out. “Welcome to your thirties,” she muttered, shoving them back into her bag, “where you keep two bottles of ibuprofen on you at all times.”
True that . . .
Finally, Velma pulled a pair of serious gloves from her purse, tossed them to Harper, then crouched low and carefully scattered some of the kitty litter around the rear tires. “Pull out slowly, you’ll be fine now. And for the record, Bodie could’ve gotten you out of this with or without the kitty litter.” With that, Velma stood up, dusted a nonexistent speck of dirt from her skirt, and walked away.
Harper got into the car but first had to nudge Ham out of the driver seat. “Fingers crossed,” she said, but the kitty litter indeed gave her traction, and she pulled away from the bush and parked several spots over.
“Let’s try this again,” she said to Ham, and they got out. Now that her panic and adrenaline rush had receded, she took a moment and looked around. She’d checked out a lot of places when she’d been online shopping for a place to lease. The four buildings in front of her had stuck out. In the pics, they’d been lit up like a postcard for holidays at the North Pole. The second building had been available, and she’d immediately signed the lease without a single ounce of doubt.
That had come later. In buckets.
The pictures hadn’t done it justice. The cottage-style buildings were connected by a cobblestone walkway that wrapped around pine trees, each of them lit with twinkle lights, looking like she’d just stepped into some long-ago Swiss Alps village, complete with pitched roofs with front gables and wide eaves and exposed rafter tails. There were faux balconies and balustrades as well, the walls stone with wood accents, all of it welcoming and warm and . . . perfect.
The first building had a wooden sign that read OLDE TAHOE TAP and it was busy, even this late. The next one, hers, was dark, no sign. The next two were also dark, but their signs read MOUNTAIN TRAILS ART GALLERY and THE BOOK SPOT, clearly the bookstore Velma had mentioned.
“Guess what? Ham. We’re home.” It hadn’t come cheap, but she’d been the beneficiary of her mom’s life insurance, and she’d not spent a single penny of it until now. She was a woman with a savings and a business plan—which was to open within a few weeks and be in the black by the end of the year.
The first floor was eleven hundred square feet—the perfect size for a small bakery—and even better, there was a small apartment on the second floor.
Compared to some of the places she’d called home, it felt like a huge luxury.
She and Ham walked up to the front door to peer in the windows, but she couldn’t see anything. Her lease didn’t formally start for a week, but she’d asked to get in early. The plans had been for her landlord to meet her here with the keys, but when she knew she was going to be held up by traffic and weather, she’d called and he’d promised to leave a note on how to get in.
She knew there were three access points to the building: the front door, the back door—which led directly to the bakery kitchen—and there was also a set of exterior back stairs that led up to her apartment. Maybe the note would be on one of the back doors? Turning on the flashlight on her phone, she walked Ham down the narrow alley, grateful to not find a boogeyman or spider, her two biggest fears.
Okay, not true. Her biggest fear was being used, played, then shoved aside, unwanted and unneeded.
Halfway down the alley, Ham stopped. Then hunched, tail up.
“Oh, for the love of—” Harper broke off when two bikes came barreling down the path. It was two boys, the smaller one yelling to the bigger one, “Don’t crash into the old lady! Watch out for the old lady!”
“Hey, I’m twenty-nine!” she yelled back, stepping off the path in the nick of time. Okay, so she lied by one year, sue her.
The boys on the bikes were long gone by the time she realized . . . they’d run over the steaming mountain of poop Ham had left.
He smiled up at her with pride, and she had to laugh as she pulled out a doggy bag. After she made use of the dumpster at the end of the alley, she used her phone flashlight to look around.
She had a stoop! And there was indeed a sticky note on the back door of her bakery. It made her giddy. She had a bakery! She felt accomplished, and also, for the first time in a long time, like she had her shit together. Possibly an illusion, but she was going to go with it.
The note was short and to the point: keys at the bar.
Hmm. Not exactly chatty. But what had she expected, a welcoming committee? She led Ham back through the alley and then to the front of the bar. Going inside was the absolute last thing she wanted to do. She was tired, and thanks to the weather, her naturally curly light brown hair had turned into a Chia Pet. Plus, at some point during the day, she’d smeared chocolate on her right boob. Yep, she most definitely had her shit together.
She put a leash on Ham, and he shot her a soulful, insulted gaze from his warm chocolate brown eyes.
“I know,” she murmured, squatting to give him a hug. “You’re an angel. But you’re an angel who likes to shove your nose into strangers’ crotches and also sometimes jumps on those same people to demand love. So the leash stays. We want friends, not irritated neighbors, okay?”
Guilty, he sighed and set his big head on her shoulder, nearly knocking her to her ass on the icy cobblestones. With a sigh, she hugged him again, then rose. “I hear Tahoe’s super dog friendly. Hopefully you can come into the bar with me.”
The extrovert of the two of them, he panted his happiness about that plan. He didn’t care that it was 10:00 p.m. and she was freezing cold and exhausted, or that her old friends Panic and Anxiety were brewing behind her eyes in the form of a tension headache. But she’d started this, and she would finish it. She liked to think she was doggedly determined, but it’d been suggested to her that she didn’t know when to walk away and cut her losses.
The bar was busy. There were a bunch of cars and trucks in front of it, and delicious scents slid through the night. Just outside the double wooden doors sat a huge bowl of water on a mat. Next to the bowl was another bowl with doggy cookies. Relief made her knees weak. “I think you’re welcome here,” she said to Ham.
He smiled up at her like, Duh, who wouldn’t want me?
With a snort, she led him inside and was immediately enveloped in warmth from the huge stone fireplace against the far wall, the waft of burgers and fries, and the sounds of music, laughter, and talking.
The place was packed, and for a beat she felt self-conscious about walking in alone. But this wasn’t about being single in a bar. This was about the first day of the rest of her life, and all she needed was one little key. She looked around. There were two bartenders, one at each end, both multitasking: making drinks, taking orders. Both doing so effortless with ease, one smiling and engaged, the other not smiling, giving nothing of himself away.
The latter was the guy from the parking lot, all six feet of hard muscles, thick, unruly sun-kissed brown hair, and questionable attitude . . . and his sharp, see-all gaze had her in its grip.
She told herself to head to the other bartender. The friendly one. But her feet had other ideas, taking her on a collision course with the other one.
Nice Ass, aka Bodie.