Take a Walk with Me

“Grandma?” Cozy called as she closed the front door behind her. She inhaled a deep breath—bathing in the warm, inviting scent of banana nut bread baking in the oven. “Grandma? Are you in here?”

“Cozy!” her grandma called in a loud whisper. “I’m in the kitchen. Hurry!”

Cozy frowned—her heart leapt as worry consumed her for a moment. Yet, as she hurried to the kitchen to find her grandma kneeling at the window that faced the new neighbors yard, and peering out with a pair of binoculars, she exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Grandma! You’re still spying on him?” she giggled.

“Get down! They’ll see us! Get down!” Dottie ordered in a whisper, waving one hand in a gesture that Cozy should duck.

Giggling with amusement at her grandma’s latest antics, Cozy dropped to her hands and knees and crawled toward the window.

“Who’ll see us?” she asked.

“Here,” Dottie whispered, pausing only long enough to reach for a second set of binoculars sitting on the nearby counter. “These are for you.” She smiled at Cozy—winked as a grin of mischief spread over her face. “And now…may I present the entertainment for this evening…Mr. Buckly hunk of burning love Bryant…and company.”

The Chimney Sweep Charm

There was the muffled sound of audience members standing up, and Baylee and Candice turned to look behind them.

“Holy smokes!” Baylee breathed.

“It’s like a Navy SEAL convention or something,” Candice added.

And it was! Baylee couldn’t believe that over twenty-five of the people in the orientation audience were tall, dark, handsome, buff guys dressed all in black. Each man stood with his feet apart and hands held at his back—similar if not exactly like a military “at ease” stance.

“They’re all packing heat too,” Baylee whispered to Candice as she noted all the holstered sidearms.
“I guess Mr. O’Sullivan wants to be prepared,” Candice said.

“I suppose you girls are all wowed now, right?” Tate said from the front row.

“Let’s see,” Candice began, looking to Tate and feigning an expression of thoughtfulness.

“Let’s say I’m being assaulted by some weirdo in street…and who am I going to look to for protection? One of these guys?” she said, nodding toward the security staff. “Or you, Tate? You…who freaked out in June when we were in New York and you thought some guy was looking at you funny. You freaked out and slammed Megan’s finger in the door and cut it off! Who do you think I’m going to trust?”

“It was an accident, and you know it,” Tate grumbled.

Baylee did know it. Still, she found her eyes glancing down the row of chairs in front of her to Megan—to the missing first joint and fingertip on her right hand.

“Yeah, it was,” Candice admitted. “But you still cared more about yourself than Megan. The guy was stalking Megan…not you. Real heroic, Tate. Way to go to instilling a sense of confidence in me that you would have my back.”

“Whatever,” Tate grumbled, turning around in his seat to pout.

The Man of Her Dreams

Libby smiled as she watched him drink from the mug of cocoa she’d prepared for him. It was all so exciting—the renovation, the hope of finding something hidden in the house that no one had ever found before, the fact that the handsome contractor would be in and out of her shop and her life for weeks to come. All of a sudden, Libby felt a surge of rejuvenation course through her limbs, for she loved when life brought unexpected pleasures. And seeing the likes of him every day certainly would be a pleasure.