Winter Bloom (Dating Season Book 4)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Paige Press

  Also by Laurelin Paige

  Also by Kayti McGee

  About Laurelin Paige

  About Kayti McGee

  Copyright © 2021 by Laurelin Paige & Kayti McGee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Paige Press, LLC

  Leander, Texas

  ISBN: 978-1-953520-63-0

  Content Editing: Paula Dawn at Lilypad Lit

  CopyEditing: Erica Russikoff at Erica Edits

  Proofing: Michele Ficht, Kimberly Ruiz

  Cover: Laurelin Paige

  One

  I’ve murdered the lead singer of Scarlet Letter. Angry red welts break out across Will’s throat as he claws at it, gasping for air. Only Tattoo Jesus can save him now.

  “What’s in the hot chocolate, Chloe?” Logan, the only calm person in the VIP room, asks. “Any nuts?” His worried blue eyes land on the emblazoned promotional mugs I made for the band. “He’s allergic.”

  My heart beats faster than Logan rapped his drumsticks against the table mere moments ago. “Almond milk,” I answer, setting my carafe on the table and darting my gaze to the horrified band members surrounding me.

  Lucy and Charlotte gasp like this is a bad murder mystery and I’m the villain. And they aren’t wrong. It was Chloe in the VIP room with killer cocoa.

  I really hope prison is easier than it looks on TV. I wonder if my friends will visit me or if they’ll be too mad. I wonder if someone will make a podcast about my case. Granny Mae will die of the shame.

  “It’s okay,” Logan says. “Where’s the Epipen?”

  “It’s in my bag,” Will croaks out through swollen lips still covered with whipped cream. My heart rate slows considerably at the prospect of him not dying.

  Ian tosses his guitar on the couch and bounds over to the leather duffel resting by the door to rummage through it. He pulls out a small tube with an orange cap and hands it over to Logan. A flurry of a different sort of panic swirls around me as they help Will to the leather couch and shove his jeans down to his knees.

  “Dude, you gotta start wearing underwear,” Logan says.

  “Just give me the shot,” Will rasps. “Stop worrying about my dick.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Logan says intriguingly. Perhaps I am beyond redemption, having sexy thoughts at a time like this.

  Lucy fingers the pearls around her neck, turning her back to the rod dangling between Will’s legs. She’s always been a better person than me. “This is not good. I had no idea he had a peanut allergy. It wasn’t in the PR packet.” She closes her eyes and whispers, “Please, don’t let me lose this account.”

  “I should have never improvised Granny Mae’s recipe and used almond instead of whole milk. I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve gone to the grocery store.” Lucy shouldn’t get in trouble for what I did.

  “It’s cool,” Logan says, meeting my panicked stare with tranquil blue eyes. “We’ve been through this before. Ian, did you call 911?”

  Well, I haven’t been through this. And it’s not “cool” in any shape or form. In my defense, it started the same way all paths to hell do, with good intentions. Since Charlotte bargained away her holiday wedding and thusly her hot chocolate bar… “I just wanted a reason to use those cute candy cane stirrers and now you’re calling 911…”

  I stop babbling when Logan jabs Will in the thigh.

  “He’ll be okay, promise. But the paramedics will still need to check him out.” He glances at Lucy. “Can you go tell the manager our set will be late?”

  “Right. Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll go speak to the manager. Yes,” Lucy says, bustling across the room and out the door.

  Charlotte moves next to me and wraps her arm through mine. “What now?”

  “The epinephrine will stop the allergic reaction,” Logan says. “It’ll be fine.”

  As we wait with bated breath, Logan rises and runs fingers through his already tousled dark hair.

  I hold out a paper towel. “You can use this if you want to cover his…” My raised brows finish the sentence, because it seems weird to say penis to a stranger, and I’m certainly not going to say cock or dick or candy cane.

  “Thanks,” he says with a slight grin. “His wife will appreciate that. So do I.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Well, you don’t have to do much.”

  “Fuck you,” Will says. “I’m not dead. I can hear you.”

  I’d laugh, but this doesn’t seem like a good time to laugh. It seems like a time to curl into a ball and cry.

  “That’s a good sign.” Logan drops the paper towel over Will’s genitals. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” he says. “Sucks this happened, because that hot chocolate was damn good.”

  “I can’t apologize enough, but I am pleased you enjoyed what you had before you blew up like a blowfish,” I tell him.

  Who knew when Lucy said she was doing PR for a local band and needed help setting up the VIP areas that my offer to assist would turn into a near-death experience? Trying to double-atone for my sins by making promotional mugs and the hot chocolate that goes in them didn’t go as planned, because of course, the universe plans to make me pay dues one way or another.

  Will’s face finally returns to a normal color, and I’ve never been so relieved to see someone stand.

  He zips his pants. “Let’s walk out back so it’s not a shitshow with the fans.”

  Logan and Ian lead Will out the door, and I thunk my back against the wall and stare into Charlotte’s wide brown eyes.

  “Well, this turned into an interesting night,” she says. “Probably would’ve been easier to just talk to Austin about the kiss than keep doing tasks for Lucy out of guilt.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I push back off the wall. “And technically, if your lips fall into someone else’s, is it a kiss if no one was around to see it?” The analogy works for trees, so it seems reasonable you could apply it to humans. Charlotte, ever the pragmatic one, doesn’t agree with my excuses. “Yeah, sorry, Chloe. I think you’re reaching beyond reality with that one. It’s weird. And why haven’t you guys discussed it?”

  I look over my shoulder to make sure Lucy isn’t in the vicinity. “We haven’t talked except to say hi since it happened.”

  “I’ve noticed you say ‘it’ instead of—”

  “Shhh,” I cut her off. “I don’t want Lucy to pop up. It’s not weird.”

  Perhaps it’s a little strange. It’s been over a month already, but Thanksgiving and Christmas were in there and I went home to visit my parents for two weeks, so it’s not that weird. Besides, it’s difficult to bring it up now. There must be a statute of limitations on discussing uncomfortable things and I’m sure I’m past the cut-off. Phew.

  “If it’s not weird, and ‘it’ didn’t happen, why are you suddenly doing all these things for Lucy?” She spreads her arms to emphasize the room we set up for the band. “When did we become roadies?”

  “Someone quit, and she seemed stressed, so I
offered. This is hardly roadies.”

  “You made mugs.”

  I repeat back Lucy’s words, “This is PR for an up-and-coming local band with a Lumineers vibe. Don’t you like laid-back, dancey-type music?”

  “Obviously, I do.” She points at my band T-shirt and swirls her finger. “But as I look at you in their Scarlet Letter T-shirt, I can’t help but think something else is going on with you, Hester. It’s like you’ve branded yourself.”

  Of course, she’s right, but I’d rather just let the guilt eat me alive and keep atoning by doing things for Lucy, instead of preparing Mae’d With Love’s inventory, because deep down I know I’m a trollop and don’t deserve to be in this room full of leather couches and champagne.

  “I’m being helpful,” I say. “Nothing more.”

  “Well, you and Austin need to clear the air, because I can’t have my peoplemaids not speak at the wedding. Austin is my bridesman and you’re my maid of honor.”

  She’s right, maybe. Probably. Annoyingly. But I’d rather not face the cold reality. I’d rather imagine a world where… “Maybe I should stop dating. Maybe Austin and I…”

  “Um, you can’t even speak to him about the kiss. Now you think you’re going to get together? He already has a girlfriend, remember?”

  “But clearly he kissed me, so…” I’m trying, but curse her common sense. And then she says something truly awful.

  “I don’t think one kiss changes lives the way romance books would have you believe.”

  If you’re me, it does. I don’t know which is worse, fantasizing about a kiss for most of your adult life but knowing you’ll never get it, or getting a taste and never having it again. And it is not conducive to our roommate situation. I’m starting to miss the casual chats over late-night sandwiches. Clearing the air might be the most awkward conversation of my life, but at least I’ll have my friend back. Both of them.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him.”

  Our conversation ends when Logan returns to let us know Will is doing fine and the show will indeed go on. The next hour passes in a blur of handing VIP tickets to random fans. The squeals and delight of the chosen ones make me wish everyone could get a ticket. When we’re finished, we locate Lucy near the stage and wait for the band.

  The moment they arrive, cheers ripple through the crowd. It’s intoxicating. Will steps up to the microphone, but Logan pulls my eyes to him as he sits down and taps his sticks against the drums. It’s impossible not to sway to the music and before I know it, I am full on dancing with Charlotte. I liked them on Spotify, but live, they’re amazing. Logan is mesmerizing, working his sticks in a frenzy. Once or twice, he smiles at me, and I can see why drummers are the most attractive to women.

  When they take a break, Lucy disappears backstage, so Charlotte and I head to the bar. After we get our drinks, we find an empty horse-shoe couch.

  Charlotte plops down. “So we found a reception place.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “Well, I had planned to tell you after we finished the setup over some drinks with cool background music but then you nearly killed him.” She takes a sip of her drink. “It’s never boring with you. That’s for sure.”

  The Great Parental Compromise was that she’ll have an indoor non-mountain wedding ceremony, but Charlotte gets to handle all the reception stuff. Somehow, the compromise developed into choosing a different day, but Charlotte handled it surprisingly well.

  “So you’re really not sad about losing the December date?”

  “No. Valentine’s Day is super romantic, and it gave me time to find the cutest place.”

  “Where?”

  She positively glows beneath the dim lighting. “Pastures of Plenty.” She whips out her phone to show me pictures and explains it’s a thirty-five-acre farm that will host the ceremony and reception.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “Funny, you think you know your dream until something better comes along. I can’t imagine having it anywhere else now.”

  Before I can reply, a wave of squeals cascade through the building.

  “The band must be back,” Charlotte says, standing and rising on tiptoes to peek around the crowd.

  They are indeed. Charlotte and I stay in our cocoon with our drinks and people watch as Will serenades the crowd with a haunting melody. They’re so damn good. After the set ends, Charlotte and I leave our space and work our way through the crowd to where Lucy stands, proud as a peacock.

  “Weren’t they great?” she says.

  “Phenomenal,” I admit.

  A barrage of people swoop in to take pictures and get things autographed, and when the crowd dwindles down, Charlotte and I tag along with Lucy out back into the chilly night as she speaks with Will. Once I apologize again, I drift off with Charlotte to give Lucy privacy with her client. I shiver and regret dressing for indoor crowds.

  “You look cold. Take this.” I look over to see Logan holding out a Scarlet Letter sweatshirt.

  I look up at him. “Oh, thank you. I’ll pay you—”

  “No,” he says, holding my gaze. “It’s free.”

  “Well, I’d feel better paying you after the…incident. Do you accept credit cards?”

  “Sorry, the machine is down.” His blue eyes twinkle.

  “Just take the sweatshirt,” Charlotte says with a smile.

  I don’t have cash, so I begrudgingly accept it and slip it on. “Thank you. You were great up there.”

  “Yeah?” He captures his bottom lip and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

  “The best. Minus said incident, of course.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Charlotte says. She is so obvious. At an angle behind Logan, I see her giving me a thumbs-up.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he says. “Maybe you’ll come to another show.”

  He raises a brow in question, but before I can answer, Ian calls him away to meet up with some press people before I give an answer. And I’m relieved. He’s sweet and nice, and really, really cute, but... my head is still full of Austin.

  Two

  Death by Chocolate: Lead Singer of Local Band Nearly Escapes the 27 Club

  I stop in my tracks and read the article from the link Lucy just texted me and Charlotte in a group chat with the words LMK if you’d like my firm to handle your PR.

  Fans of Boulder-fixture Scarlet Letter got a scare Saturday night when frontman Will Donovan suffered a harrowing allergic reaction to some hot chocolate.

  Turns out the Mae’d With Love concoction was made with almond milk instead of love, but luckily, his bandmates reacted as quickly as Will’s throat. After a brief visit with paramedics, he was cleared to perform.

  After the show, I caught up with some of the guys.

  “It’s all good, man. Listen, it was worth dying for,” Will told me during press rounds.

  Drummer Logan Gibraltar agreed, “Best hot chocolate of my life.”

  Looks like there’s a new party drug in town.

  A grin cracks my frozen face. Charlotte answers my call immediately. “Is this good or bad press?” I demand, before she even says hello.

  “It’s great! So many articles mentioning your company name. You’re famous!”

  “This was not how I imagined my fifteen minutes.” I watch a group of hipsters wander down Pearl and wonder. If they knew I was the dealer behind Mae’d, would they throw organic eggs at me? Or invite me to open an exclusive pop-up in the basement of a vinyl store?

  “Life is a mystery,” Charlotte says.

  “Everyone must stand alone,” I respond. “Make sure you check the Pinterest board for the Five Sweet Ideas for Valentine’s Day Weddings. Call you when I’m finished.”

  “Good luck.”

  I tuck my phone away and turtle it toward Austin’s workplace. My feet don’t want to cooperate, but it’s time to clear the air about “it.”

  There are eleven types of kisse
s, ranging from cheek to lizard, according to the internet. I’d like to say we pecked, a mere brush stroke of lips for a few seconds, but I can’t. I’d also like to express regret, but most of my guilt is related to how little I feel. It might have been wrong, but dammit, it felt so right.

  Faster than I would’ve liked, I arrive at my destination and open the door. If we’re going to discuss this like I promised Charlotte, it’s best to do it when he’s busy. Just as I’d hoped, it’s packed. Perhaps the universe is smiling on me.

  “Chloe, how are you?” Violet, the hostess, greets me.

  “I’m good.” Through the glass wall in the back I see Austin hustling around in the kitchen.

  “Dining in? We’re all out of cocoa, unfortunately.” Ha, ha.

  “No, I’m getting carry-out. I just need to talk to Austin for a minute. Unless he’s too busy.”

  “Don’t be silly. He’s never too busy for you. Be right back.”

  She power-walks to the rear and sticks her head in the door. Austin looks up, and I give him a small wave. Dread settles in my stomach as he grabs a bag and slips out of the kitchen. My body wants to bolt, but he walks much too fast for me to escape.

  “Hey,” he says, closing the distance between us with long strides. “Made your burger like you like it. Mayo, no onions.”

  “Thank you.” I take the bag and force out the words, “We need to talk…but looks like you’re pretty busy.” Shame.

  “It’s fine,” he practically jumps at the chance. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too.” He takes my elbow and leads me through the dining area to an empty table near the back. So much for throwing out my insincere excuse and going home to eat my feelings.

  “This won’t take long.” I sit.

  “It’s fine,” he says again. “I’ve only got a few minutes myself. You go first.”