Little Miss Lovesick Read Free

more of what was in the general store in the last town — tourist trinkets and junk food and fluorescent lighting. The Abundance Creek Store had windows on three sides, letting the sunshine bounce off the polished wood beams in the ceiling and walls, and the well-worn but polished hardwood floor. One full wall held nothing but fishing tackle, most of which I knew was fishing tackle only because this was a fishing lodge.
    As I walked around, I noticed fishing poles in a huge wooden barrel, a magazine and book rack, two full aisles of canned and boxed food, even a few kitchen utensils. I walked past a refrigerated unit with a sliding glass top and looked in hoping for a frozen Snickers bar. At first I thought the little tubs might be homemade ice cream or something since they had no labels. Then I saw something move under the plastic lid.
    I jumped back, gasping and wrinkling my nose. The sign above the fridge read — Night Crawlers, Fresh Water Shrimp, Black Flies. Ugh! I looked back at the wall o f artificia l lures gratefully. That’s where I’d be shopping if necessary.
    I smiled as I passed Janice and Shelley, and walked over to the book and magazine rack. There was one copy each of some novels that had been on th e New York Time s bestseller list at some point. Some of the hunting and fishing magazines were special editions. The rest were either May, June, or July issues. I’d hazard a guess that these constituted the entire summer inventory. But still, it was a nice touch. You can never have too much reading material on vacation.
    I picked up a copy o f Fisherman’s Weekl y and flipped through it.
    “If I can help you with anything, let me know.”
    Startled, I whirled around, bumping my elbow into the person behind me. “Oh, sor—”
    I stopped in mid-apology. It was him, The Diet Coke Man. I tried to move away, but my back was against the bookshelf. I felt a little shock, like when you were a kid and put a 9-volt battery on your tongue. It scared me at the same time that it made my heart race.
    It’s the sugar. I ate enough to throw an entire kindergarten class into a coma. He’s not making my heart race; it’s the sugar. I slowly turned away and put the magazine down. Don’t look at him. Just nod and smile, then pretend he’s not there.
    A muscular arm reached around me and moved the magazine back to its original spot. I realized I’d pu t Fisherman’s Weekl y in front of a stack o f Bow & Arrow Huntin g magazines. I felt the heat from his body and got a whiff of his aftershave or deodorant or something. I grabbed one of the books and read the back cover. Safe to be reading. People don’t talk to you when you’re reading.
    His presence sent tickles up my back. Which was stupid. My shirt was still wet and sticky from him spilling pop on me. That was the cause of the ticklish feeling. I couldn’t focus on reading the book so I put it back. The arm reached around me again with more magazines, arranging them on the shelf in front of me.
    I got the feeling I was invading his precious orderly wilderness. It’s wild. That’s the point of calling i t wil d erness. What was he doing anyway? He must work here, I guess. But Patty said this place was owned and operated by a friend of hers.
    I turned back to him. “Am I in your way?”
    Ooo, attitude girlfrien d , said a Voice.
    Crap, I hadn’t meant to sound so rude. But he was unnerving me.
    He looked up from straightening candy bars in the snack rack behind us. I watched as a dimple appeared to anchor one corner of his grin. What is it everyone loves about dimples, anyway? They’re just big vertical wrinkles.
    “No, not at all.” He picked up an empty candy box from the floor and broke down the ends, folding it into a neat square.
    “Listen, I’m really sorry about spilling your drink.” His gaze dropped to my shirt for a second, then popped back up. I folded my arms across my chest and scowled.
    His eyes were that shade of bright blue that surely