The door of the Jagged Tavern in the small town of Frore kicks inward with force from the gust of a sharp wind outside. In the entryway appears a handsome, young man. The attention of the folks inside the building is directed to him. Sneers from the men slip across their faces as a twinkle gleams in the stranger’s eye. The few women who are present look away abruptly—except one who’s intrigued by his presence.
The stranger walks toward the bar and lowers himself onto a stool. “Do—“
“Your kind ain’t welcome here,” an older man replies gruffly. He has long, salt and pepper hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail with a matching beard. Tattoos are visible on his forearms from his rolled sleeves. He’s tall and lean yet has broad shoulders and a muscular form. His dark blue eyes shine with a hint of gray.
“Grandpa Jack,” Noelle scolds, approaching him behind the bar. “What has gotten into you?” She places the two plates of food she was carrying in front of the customers who are just beyond the stranger.
“Ain’t nothing gotten into me,” he remarks. “I—“
“Then, take a break,” she encourages, placing herself between him and the new customer. “I’ll handle it from here.”
He doesn’t budge as he stares the man down from over Noelle’s shoulder.
“Go!” she says more sternly.
Grandpa Jack mutters to himself as he exits the bar.
“Apologies for that,” she says, keeping her attention on her grandfather. “I’ve never seen him be—“
“No apology necessary,” the man replies.
“What can I….” Noelle’s voice trails when her gaze falls upon his face and the twinkle in his eye returns.
“I know it’s an odd question for a bar,” he states.
“Odd is the norm here in town,” she replies. “What’ll it be?”
“Do you have any hot chocolate?” he inquires.
Noelle’s lips twitch. “A hot chocolate?” she repeats with a raised brow.
“I know it’s not common for—“
“We have plenty of hot chocolate.” She giggles. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for now?” His eyes scan the snowflakes tattooed up her right arm that extend from her wrist to her shoulder. His gaze gets stuck on her luscious, natural lips before rising to reconnect with her sparkling blue eyes.
“I don’t mean to laugh,” she states. “I…I wasn’t making fun. It’s just—“
“Not many ask for hot chocolate?” he inquires, rolling up his sleeves.
Noelle’s head sways as a giddy feeling continues to bubble inside her. Her eyes drop and catch a glimpse of the ink covering his forearms. “No. Not that.”
He lifts a questioning brow.
“Sorry,” she says, looking away bashfully. Noelle grabs a cloth and wipes down the counter in front of him. “Would you like marshmallows?”
His lips tick up to the side.
When he doesn’t reply, Noelle looks at him. A warmth surges through her body. A sensation she’s never experienced before. Sure, any girl gets flurries in her stomach when a handsome man pays even a little bit of attention to her, but this is different and Noelle hasn’t figured out why. She’s met plenty of men who look nothing like those in Frore, especially those with dirty blonde hair like the stranger, but there’s something about him that mesmerizes her.
“You have marshmallows in a tavern?” he quips.
“It wouldn’t be hot chocolate without them,” she states with her mouth feeling dry.
Noelle takes a chug of her glass of milk, tucking it back below. The stranger glances around and notices that most of the patrons are drinking coffee, tea, or something else in their mugs based on the steam rising from them. He turns back to Noel and leans toward her. “Do they spike it with something?”
An invigorating smell rushes through Noelle’s nostrils. She can’t place each of the scents, but the combination makes her feel at ease
and excited at the same time. There’s a hint of cinnamon with the dominant pine scent and two other smells she can’t quite put her finger on.
“Some do,” she admits.
“Do you?” he asks nervously.
Noelle shrugs, leaning on the edge of the bar. “Only if they ask me to. We have three ways of—”
He chuckles. “I meant, do you prefer it spiked?”
The warmth Noelle was experiencing rises to her cheeks, making them burn slightly, especially when she catches the stranger's attention on her cleavage. She pulls back her shoulders to lift her chest slightly. “It…it depends on the mood, intent, and all.”
“I’m intrigued,” he declares, leaning closer. “What would be—“
“Noelle!” Grandpa Jack calls from the kitchen doorway. “Food’s up.”
She offers the stranger an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back.” A second later, Noelle rushes to the kitchen.
With a smile on her face, Noelle grabs the dishes and delivers them, unaware of the increased scowls on everyone’s faces. By the time she gets back behind the bar, she notices that the man is gone. She scans the tavern but doesn’t see him. Noelle suspects he went to the restroom until she realizes that her grandfather and three cousins are missing.
Rushing outside, she shrugs on her cardigan. “What’s going on?” Noelle stares intensely at her family, knowing they’re up to something.
“Nothing, Elle,” Jeremiah declares. “Go back inside.”
Her eyes narrow in reply. “Why?”
Her cousins turn sharply toward her, squaring their shoulders while her grandfather keeps his attention on the stranger. Noelle’s posture straightens, offering a challenging stance. She hates when they deliberately peacock.
The night air is cold enough for everyone’s breath to be seen, but the warmth of their bodies keeps the chill at bay.
“They’re just offering assistance,” the stranger claims.
Noelle’s head tilts to the side to peer between her cousins’ bodies. “What kind of assistance?”
“Just a small challenge with my truck,” he replies, still unseen by Noelle.
She steps forward, but her cousins close the gap. “If anyone can help, I—“
“Go back inside, Elle,” Jorah instructs.
Noelle’s eyes narrow as she shifts toward him, warning them to tread carefully.
A sharp gust of wind with a bite brushes past all of them, yet none of them shiver in reply—not even the unnamed man.
“A spiked hot chocolate would be great,” the stranger declares. “I think it’ll warm me up just fine.”
“Would you like anything else?” she asks, keeping her attention on her family.
“That should be good,” he replies. “I’ll be about ten minutes. Thanks.”
Noelle nods, though she knows he can’t see her. “Ten,” she confirms.
The wind rushes through the parking lot once more, kicking up some powdered snow that coated the already snowed-covered ground earlier that day. Truth be told, all of Frore has always been covered by thick, heavy snow.
“Mind your manners,” she scolds, making eye contact with her cousins and grandfather.
None of them reply.
Noelle turns on her heels, mumbling to herself about the odd behavior of her family. They have never been so cold or callous to a stranger before. They’ve always been friendly when someone passes through or stops in town.
Noelle stares at the clock, watching the second hand tick. She places the cup of hot chocolate in the spot where the stranger sat, giving him extra marshmallows and an extra shot of whiskey to apologize for her family’s rudeness.
Her cousins reenter the bar not long after her grandfather. However, the stranger has yet to return.
“Thanks,” Jorah says, reaching for the mug.
Noelle slaps his hand. “That’s not yours.”
Josiah, her other cousin, gets a hold of it. He gulps half of it, chugs the whiskey, and then pounds the last of the hot drink. After he slams the mug and glass on the bar, he says, “Thanks.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Noelle scoffs.
Josiah shrugs. “He ain’t coming back.”
“Since when do we treat customers like—“
“He ain’t a customer,” Jeremiah claims.
“He walked into the bar looking for—“
“Not anymore,” Jorah states.
She carefully studies the men before her who have almost a foot over her, though Noelle is five-foot-seven. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
The brothers laugh.
“Why?” Jorah asks sarcastically.
“That is not how anyone in this town treats out-of-towners,” Noelle says.
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at ya,” Jeremiah claims.
Noelle places her hand on her hip and asks, “How was he looking at me, huh?”
None of them comment.
“You are not my brothers,” Noelle reminds.
They snicker.
“He’d be dead as ice if we were,” Jorah chuckles.
“Dead in the ice is more like it,” Jeremiah snickers under his breath.
“And, you wonder why I never introduced my boyfriends,” she huffs.
“Boyfriends?” Grandpa Jack quips, approaching them. “You ain’t got no boyfriends.”
“I may have a boyfriend,” she counters. “But, you wouldn’t know.”
“We’d know,” Jeremiah says with a snort.
Noelle clicks her tongue. “Really?”
They nod in reply.
Noelle bites her tongue and smirks deviously as she considers her options. “Logan Wallace.”
Grandpa Jack’s and her cousins’ eyes narrow.
“Logan Wallace is a dead man,” Josiah declares.
She snickers. “He was the first boy I ever kissed.”
“Definitely a dead man,” Jorah agrees.
“I kissed him,” she admits, “when we were ten.”
Their nostrils flare.
Noelle’s smirk grows, enjoying their reaction. “Asher Hudson.”
“You makin' a list, Jorah?” Jeremiah asks, keeping his attention on his cousin.
Jorah nods as if they can read each other’s minds.
Noelle leans close. “Asher was my favorite.”
Josiah storms toward the door without a word.
“He doesn’t live in town anymore,” Noelle hollers. “He’s been gone for eleven years.”
Josiah exits the tavern only to return a few seconds later.
She snickers in reply, enjoying their irritation. It’s been some time since she’s been able to piss off her cousins with such ease.
Noelle has always been the good granddaughter, the good cousin, the good whatever you want to call it, despite doing it with some sass once she became a teenager. She never questioned adults or authority growing up, but did defend herself when needed—especially with the boys. As she got older, she did explore life without them knowing. Having three devious cousins who lived across the street, Noelle learned quickly how to sneak out of the house and return without ever being caught. She wasn’t a naughty child. She just needed a break from her overbearing family. Noelle knew they loved her and meant well, but she felt suffocated at times.
“Anyone else?” Jeremiah inquires.
Noelle bites her lip as she retrieves her bag from a hidden spot. “I wouldn’t tell you even if there were.”
“Who?” Jorah asks, pushing for more information.
Her shoulders bounce as she makes her way out from the bar.
“Who, Elle?” Jeremiah says insistently.
“I’m going home,” she declares, shrugging on her leather jacket.
“Your shift ain’t over,” Grandpa Jack states.
Noelle lets out a huff, kisses his cheek, and then smiles. “It is now.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jeremiah asks.
“Goodnight,” she replies without looking over her shoulder. Her hand shoves the door open, allowing it to slam behind her.
“What in the hell got into Elle?” Josiah inquires.
“You made sure he’s gone, right?” Grandpa Jack asks.
The three brothers nod.
“He won’t be coming back,” Jorah states.
“Made sure his truck will at least get him out of town.” Jeremiah tosses something in his hand.
The boys snicker.
“Good,” Grandpa Jack grunts. “Don’t need his kind in our town.”
“You sure he was one of them?” Jeremiah asks.
Grandpa Jack nods. “Once you’ve seen one eye twinkle, it’s easy to spot them from a mile away.”
“Fucking Twinklers,” Jeremiah grunts.
“Thought they knew to stay away?” Josiah states more than questions.
“Must’ve gotten lost,” Grandpa Jack replies, staring at the main door. “He’s young for one of them.”
“Seen a few in the past,” Jorah states. “Always in another town and never close to Frore."
They grunt and nod in reply.
“You think she’s following him?” Josiah asks.
Jeremiah cracks his knuckles. “Elle ain’t stupid, but we’ll make sure just in case.”
Jorah snorts his agreement.
“Don’t mention this to your Grandma or Mother,” Grandpa Jack commands. “No need to upset them.”
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