Heart Thaw by Liz Reinhardt Read Free Book Online

ask my mother if Ella can maybe call Trent and remind him, but I know that will just arouse suspicion. Mom’s already turned her full attention to her cookbook, so I head into the prickly cold and resolve to do what I need to like a mature adult.
    Her old Lincoln is a boat, and I feel like I should have had to go to nautical school before I’m allowed to attempt to drive it. I take out my phone to call Georgia, but that feels so formal. I decide to just show up like I always did before…before I just stopped showing up at all. And I’ll sweeten my welcome with food.
    I pull into Dunkin Donuts and am about to get two of the biggest, creamiest, most delicious coffees and a dozen sticky donuts when I see the orange Home Depot sign behind me.
    I drive into the deserted parking lot and trek through the quarter inch of slippery snow that clings to the pavement before I come to the swishing automatic doors. There’s some terrible, moony cover of “White Christmas” being butchered by a generic pop prince I can’t identify. The store is cavernous, and I flag down a rushed woman in an orange apron.
    “Do you have bulbs for a Christmas tree? The big ones?”
    She juts a thumb over her shoulder. “Electrical.”
    I wind through the maze of fluorescent lights, extension cords, and ceiling fans until I come to the seasonal light bulbs. The shelves are stocked with bulbs in every bright, cheerful color.
    Except for green.
    Of course there’s no green.
    “Bastard,” I curse.
    There’s no orange-aproned associate in sight, but there is a box marked “Xmas Bulbs” on the overhead shelf and a big orange ladder a few short feet away.
    The ladder is very clearly marked “Not For Customer Use.” But my mother needs these green bulbs, and I need to get away from this idiot ruining “White Christmas” and to Georgia—my best friend who I’ve possibly been ignoring to the point where we may be fighting.
    God, I hope we’re not fighting.
    Instead of worrying, I focus on getting this task done.
    There are metal clamps on the bottom of the ladder that screech in protest as I drag it, so I try to do it as quickly as possible.
    “That is only for associates to use, ma’am.”
    The familiar voice comes from the racking above me. If it’s possible to pull your neck out of socket, I do it looking up in shock.
    Trent’s head sticks out of the overhead bin, which I realize is a long metal shelf that a person, if he were a total maniac, could stretch out on. A paperback, cover folded back, dangles out of one of his hands.
    “What are you doing?”
    I crane my neck further to look into his face. His eyes have the sleepy/unconcerned look that I’ve only seen on Trent and well-fed jungle cats at the zoo...when they daydream about pouncing. I remember the dip of his shoulders when he walked away from me the night before, and wonder if he’s still pissed.
    I also remember the feel of his hands on me and wonder if he still thinks about things we’re both better off forgetting.
    “Reading.” His eyes run over me slowly, head to foot. He holds the book, cover out, for me to see. It’s The Winter of Our Discontent by Steinbeck. I’ve never read it. “Can you bring my ladder back?”
    The muscles of his jaw are bunched back by his ear because he’s clenching his teeth. So I’d say he’s definitely still pissed at me.
    Shit.
    “Um, I need it. Just for a second.”
    I drag it a few more feet and try to figure out what I should do to make it stop screeching, but abandon that line of thought pretty quickly. Right now my main prerogative is to get the damn bulbs and hurry the hell out of this store where I’ve been ambushed by the guy I can’t seem to stop thinking about or running into.
    “You’re really not allowed on it.” He folds his arms over each other and rests his chin on them.
    “And you’re probably not allowed to read Steinbeck in the shelves.” I hop on the first orange step and the entire ladder sways and vibrates.