“Where is it?” My question comes out like a desperate plea to the universe. My car—my source of heat—has vanished on the coldest night of the year.
Behind me, the side door to the station opens with a brittle creak. I spin around and bite back a curse becauseof courseCollin is standing there.
Thanks for nothing, universe.
He strolls over, a stocking cap sitting jauntily askew on top of his head and his coat unzipped. Leave it to him to not be at all bothered by the cold temperatures. I’m convinced he’s cold-blooded.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” he asks with a put-on Southern drawl.
I roll my eyes. I do not understand what women see in this man.
“Nothing,” I grind out.
“Well now, it doesn’t look like nothing.” He smirks and motions to the spot where my car once sat. “Then again, I guess itdoeslook like nothing.”
Just like that, I know he’s behind this.
“Let me guess. This is one of your stupid Cashmere Cove pranks my sisters warned me about.”
Cashmere Cove, my new town of residence, sits on the shore of Lake Michigan. It’s a happy place, filled with kind people, and mostly, I really like living here. But Poppy and Rose told me to expect to get pranked. It’s the Cove’s way of gently hazing new residents to make sure they fit in with the laidback vibe of the waterfront town and don’t take themselves too seriously. I wouldhave much preferred a summertime prank. Not a stolen car on the coldest day of the year.
Collin widens his eyes and places a hand on his chest. “Whatever do you mean?”
I ball up my fists inside my mittens and clench them at my sides. “Where is it, Rattler?”
“What makes you think I know anything about this?”
“Because you’re you, and it seems to be your goal to make my life miserable.”
Collin crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s not fair. I’ve been a good boss. Some may say cordial, even.”
“Cordially a pain in my butt,” I mutter.
Because here’s the thing: While I tried to keep my head down and do my work, Collin was always needling me—asking me questions about how we did things in Pensacola and then poo-pooing my responses and basically ignoring anything I had to say. Why engage me in the first place, except to lord his authority over me? So annoying.
He snorts. “Ouch. Sick burn.”
“Seriously. Don’t you have a party to get to? Tell me where my car is so we can both move on.”
He rocks back on his heels. He’s enjoying this, and that infuriates me.
“I had nothing to do with your car disappearing.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
“I’m serious.” He points down the street to a sign that’s half covered by a tree branch that’s weighed down with ten inches of hardened snow. “But that might have.”
I squint at the faded sign. “No parking this side after six p.m. December first through April first.” I whip my head toward Collin. “Is this for real? I’ve been parking here all month.”
He gives a smug shrug and hooks a thumb to his right. “The sign doesn’t lie. Impound lot is around the block.” With that cocky grin of his, he adds, “Later, Magnolia.”
My spine stiffens like an icicle. I hate the way he uses my full name. Like he’s somehow above all the common folk who’ve been calling me Noli my whole life.
“Collin, come on!” One of hiswomen in waitinggiggles from the parking lot.
I grit my teeth as I watch him saunter away toward his weekly special, and then I spin on my heel in the direction of the impound lot, a single mantra playing on a loop in my brain:
He’s such a snake, and I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
