Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 19

Nineteen

CAT

“ S treamflix wants more B-roll.” Marco sidles up to me while we watch Winter mimic a Little Star Lodge bartender in a black vest and bowtie, shaking a dirty martini for Lexi A. from Alabama. It’s become easier to keep the last two Lexi’s left on the show apart if we refer to her that way.

“Okay. I’ll let Winter know.” He’s not going to like it, and I don’t relish subjecting him to more exposure either.

“His attitude is improving, but his heart doesn’t seem in this. We need him to sell it.”

“I’m working on it, but honestly, the women don’t seem to care. I think you’re right, they’re all here to work their platforms.” And we’ve only got a month left to film.

“They don’t matter. He matters. Viewers are falling in love with him.”

“I’m on it,” I say more firmly than I’ve ever spoken to him before.

He backs off immediately and I love him for it. “I know, you got this, lion woman. I hear you roaring.” He waves his hands between us congenially, “I’m on your side, you know.”

“Then act like it.” I slap him on the shoulder and give him my best smile, my Frannie smile, using all my teeth.

Out of nowhere, I feel—literally feel—Winters’s eyes on me and turn around.

Sure enough, he’s staring at me while all the ladies sit across the bar, perched on stools, watching him.

He snaps his fingers high in the air. “Bloom, Bloom? I need you.” He looks like a smart English gentleman, not to mention his hair perfectly styled away from his face, highlighting a handsome jawline and winsome smile.

Annoyed by the snapping that is surely meant to annoy me, I march over to the bar. I’ve let my guard down with him too much. Today, it’s back to business. I don’t care why he helped the Rushmores. Maybe all princes dream of owning a cozy American coffee shop.

“Mandy would like an eggnog martini.” He’s got a secret in his eyes, all mischievous and boyish, and I don’t think it has anything to do with Mandy and her drink order.

“Okay,” I wait for him to finish whatever he’s getting at and try to stay out of the shot at the same time.

“We don’t have any. So let’s you and me run out real quick and get some.”

“Cat, turn your mic on. You’re on camera!” Marco whisper-shouts from behind Robbie.

“Let me,” Winter reaches toward my waist where my mic pack is clipped to my back pocket.

“I got it,” I say, holding one hand up and using the other to flip the ‘on’ button by memory. “I don’t have a car here, Winter,” I manage between clenched teeth while trying to maintain a smile. Robbie’s camera blinks a red light in my line of vision and Frannie’s words about fans speculating about us ringing in my ears .

“Not much of a personal assistant, is she?” he says to his adoring onlookers. They snicker and sip drinks.

“But it’s so cozy. Eggnog, the fire roaring, the tree outside. And our Christmas sweaters. We have to have eggnog, Winter.” Mandy, like the other ladies, is dressed in matching Christmas sweaters the show had made for this ‘holiday mixology’ date. They say Royal Hearts with a crown where the O should be.

“We can take the production van, Bloom,” he says a little more pleadingly to me.

“I’ll go,” I say under my breath so hopefully only he can hear.

“I want to come with you,” he replies equally low, “Get me out of here, please.”

Quickly, I use my hands to cover each of our mics clipped at our collars. “Winter, you’re on a date!”

“Not the one I want to be on.” No. No, no, no.

Did he say that? Did his mic, or mine, pick up the audio?

This exchange cannot be happening while filming. “What can I do to change your mind? We can’t just leave, the two of us, in the middle of your date.”

“Then let’s all go?—”

“Winter, we can’t?—”

“Take it or leave it, Bloom. If not, I’m throwing you over my shoulder. There’s no reason I can’t walk out of here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He leans down and I try to brace myself, all the women lean forward on their barstools in unison trying to catch what he whispers in my ear, “I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t,” I say sweetly, uncovering his mic and turning toward the bar. He’s not going to let up on this. “Field trip ladies!”

“Where are we going?” Marco asks.

“We need nog,” Winter says with a laugh in his voice that I know now is more anxiety than anything. His hands fidget with a bar glass, so I slowly tap his elbow.

He puts the glass down, and then reaches for my hand. We’re behind the bar, what can it hurt? He needs a connection, something to ground him while he’s got a camera shoved in his face. If it’s not a heart drawn on his wrist, which I wasn’t here to do before they started today and I feel bad about, I guess it’s holding on to someone who knows he’s struggling behind that cocky grin of his.

The cast of women sings, “Road trip!” And as if on cue, every single contestant hops off their bar stool and squeals.

We all follow Winter out into the snow like the classroom full of toddlers I saw holding a rope and marching down Main Street last week, and pile into the production van.

“I don’t think this is worth getting my own spinoff,” Lexi H. mutters to no one in particular.

“Lexi,” I turn in my seat. “This show isn’t edited. Remember, everything you say is out there.” The girl is not my favorite, but she must know her current attitude will never land her a spinoff.

“Right,” she nods as if truly grateful for the advice. “This is a lot.”

The van pulls down the long, winding road, heading through the only exit and entrance to the lodge and squeezing through the pass that dumps us, finally, onto Main Street.

“Stop here.” Winter taps on the driver’s shoulder. He pulls into a spot at Grover’s Market. “Everybody out!”

“Can’t you just run in?” Mandy demands. She seems pretty over this show. And winning his heart, if that was ever her real intention.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Sure can, princess.” She preens at the nickname, probably picturing herself in his crown. Then he adds, “Bloom, you come with.” And her face drops like a hot potato.

“I’m not buying Mandy eggnog,” I huff, but Marco gives me wide this is your job eyes. “Fine. But so you know, this is insanely humiliating.”

“Attagirl,” Winter pats my thigh. Despite my trying not to, a big fat ball of warmth explodes in my chest. I’ve made him happy, which has in turn made me happy.

When the hell did that start happening?

Winter registers my smile and looks pleased as punch. He wanted to talk to me alone, and now through an unscripted field trip, he’s gotten exactly that. I glare at him as hard as I can until I feel a vein popping in my forehead and I soften my face when I realize Robbie’s camera trained on me with laser focus and only about a foot of space.

Before I can protest his wily ways, he’s out the other door and walking toward the grocery store with the camera trotting behind him.

Marco shoos me with his hands. “Go! Follow him!”

“Good luck,” Lexi A. says, the only girl I’d grab a drink with in this van.

I have to sprint to catch up with his long, regal-looking stride.

“Will you wait up?” A cramp pops in my side as I hustle toward a quaint market with a waving Santa in a sleigh on the roof.

He pulls open a door with a dancing cartoon Christmas tree painted on the glass, a banner over its head proclaiming Happy Holidays from Grover’s Market .

“Is everything always storybook-perfect around here?” I huff, not even sure who I’m mad at. The cartoon tree? If so, that’s a new low for me.

“After you.”

“Thank you,” I glance at the blinking red light behind me and stride through. Winter orchestrated this entire moment and I can’t even be mad at him about it, because secretly, I’ve been craving his attention.

I can’t ignore the jitters in my stomach when he’s around now, and I don’t know what to do about it.

“So,” he claps his hands. “What sounds good?”

“Eggnog. Isn’t that why we’re here? Though the thought of creamy, eggy, alcohol makes me want to gag. ”

He shivers, pulling his bowtie until it hangs loose. “Same. But duty calls. We must procure the finest in all the land for the spoiled brat in the backseat?—”

“Winter!” I shush him and make eyes at the camera so he gets the hint.

“Bloom!” He makes wild eyes right back at me. “You need to lighten up.”

“I’m light.”

“Then loosen up.” He pops two buttons on his collar to punctuate his statement.

“I’m loose.” I even shake my shoulders out and stretch my neck to prove it.

He raises an eyebrow and turns on his heel, leading me down an aisle full of drinks. It seems we’ve lost Robbie for the time being, who stopped to grab a Dr. Pepper and ended up fighting with an old-timey refrigerator. “It was suffocating in there. I needed to get out for a minute. And I need to talk to you about something.”

He reaches for my hand but I move away, unsure where the camera is. I pull a bottle of eggnog off the shelf, but when I turn around, Winter is there, all chest and shoulders like I knew he would be.

“Did you know,” he gulps and I watch the cords in his neck flex, “that we have fans?”

“You and me?” I do know, Frannie told me but . . .

“They think we’re secretly attracted to each other. The Prince and the PA.”

We stand there in the beverage aisle, under fluorescents with music softly flowing overhead. Judy Garland sweetly suggests we have ourselves a merry little Christmas, and we just sort of orbit around each other. The heat coming off him makes me want to snuggle in but I know if Robbie hasn’t found us yet, he will, and soon .

“But that would be crazy,” I murmur, it takes all my strength to get the words out.

“It would,” he confirms, but halfheartedly, I’m not sure he believes it.

He takes a step forward and I shiver. “Wear. The. Coat.”

I laugh, a gaspy thing because that’s not what I expected him to say. What did I expect him to say? I shake my head at him, “What are we doing?”

“If I told you that the fans are right, I am attracted to you,” he gulps, “Very attracted, Cat.” His eyes roam my face, “Would that make you uncomfortable?”

My hands, clutching a bottle of eggnog, come between us as he steps closer. Citrus, clove, and the smell of matches making me dizzy. “Honestly, everything about you makes me uncomfortable,” I gasp. The venom that’s usually in my voice isn’t there, much as I try.

“See, here’s the thing, Bloom,” He takes another step, pressing me into shelves as bottles rattle and clang. “I don’t believe you anymore.”

He pulls a marker from his back pocket, it’s red. “I couldn’t find black,” he says.

“We can’t do this, you and me. We can’t be feeling like this, or standing like this, or?—”

“But you feel it, too?” he asks, placing the bottle back on the shelf and turning my wrist up to face him. He draws a red heart on the tender skin. “I thought, this might help you with whatever you’re feeling nervous about, like it helps me.”

A throat clears and Winter drags his gaze to where Robbie’s camera appears in the aisle, then back to me.

I look down at the heart on my wrist, frozen in the moment, but then something inside me warms, softens. Like I’ve been cracked down the center and all of me comes pouring out.

I look up and plead with him, using only my eyes, knowing full well the camera is pulling in tighter and tighter. Both of us are breathing fast, I can see him becoming more and more uncomfortable as Robbie steps closer.

This is my job. We cannot be caught on camera. What would Streamflix even do at this point? We’re halfway through filming the show.

Winter seems to understand, stepping around me and shielding us for one last moment, giving the camera his back.

He presses his thumb into the red heart on my wrist before begrudgingly retreating. Everything he’s feeling is written across his face: want, need, and a surprisingly sweet determination. I guess that’s what he needed to talk to me about, but for the life of me, I can’t make sense of anything he said.

“Cat found the eggnog,” he says roughly, keeping his eyes on mine.

I grab the bottle off the shelf behind me and hold it up, stupidly, for Robbie and his camera. “Here it is.”

Robbie laughs at us, breaking some of the tension and pulling me back to reality. Thank you, Robbie.

The three of us wrap back around to the front of the store. Winter pulls the bottle of eggnog from my tight grasp and plops it on the sole checkout.

“Well, well, Winter Larsen. Fancy seeing you in my establishment.”

“Hello, Grover,” he drawls without missing a beat. On the other hand, I’m still an emotional puddle next to him, trying to hold myself together.

“And this is?”

“Cathy Bloomfield,” Winter’s large hand waves over my person, then gestures elegantly across the conveyor as if we’re being introduced in a fancy restaurant, “Grover Stockton.” Grover adjusts a corduroy hat with an embroidered fish that says Holiday Bait, Boat, and Tackle in a happy font, shaggy brown hair pouring out the sides .

“Am I going to be on TV?” Grover adjusts his hat and pushes some shaggy hair behind his ears.

“It’s streaming, live, so as long as you sign a waiver, yes,” I reply.

“So now would be a good time to tell all the viewers about how Winter and his buddies glitter-bombed my family’s goat farm back in high school, right?” He’s got a shit-eating grin as he waits for Winter’s reaction.

“You snitched on John’s senior year prank!” Winter says, taking the bait. “What did you expect?”

“Ah hell, it’s just ‘cause I thought you guys were cool.”

“We think you’re cool, Grover. No harm, no foul. We’re even, yeah? Water under the bridge.”

The two men shake hands and I can’t help it, I give the camera a WTF look. “Okay, then. If we’re done with the walk down memory lane, boys. I’ve got a prince to marry off.” I hand Grover a debit card Streamflix supplied for expenses like this and he swipes it.

He hands the card back to me. “Winter getting married? I never thought we’d see the day. Damn, first Boggs buys a ring, now you?”

Immediately, I cover the camera lens with my hand. “Wait, how do you know he’s got a ring? He hasn’t proposed yet?—”

“Nah, the whole town knows he’s got a ring. We’re rootin’ for him.”

“If you don’t keep it down, Frannie’s going to know he’s got a ring, Grover,” Winter winces and nods toward the camera.

“Oh, geez. Shoot. I didn’t mean?—”

“Hands off the lens, Cat.” Oh shit, Robbie is not playing right now. I’ve never heard him so stern, his voice dropped ten octaves.

“Sorry,” I mouth to him, removing my hand gently. “Winter’s here to find true love,” I tell Grover, mostly for the camera’s sake, trying to get us back on track.

“For fuck’s sake, Bloom,” Winter says, dejected. “They’re here for the crown, the castle, and the inheritance. Can we drop the act of this being about a love match? That’s never what it was about and everyone but you knows it.”

My jaw drops. I look at Grover who shrugs. Then, I look into the camera, frozen, while Winter stomps out the door.

Back in the van, he’s still in a mood and suddenly announces, “We’re not going back to the lodge stuffed in here like rabbits in a hutch. Take us to my place. I’ve got a better idea.”

“Are we finally going to see the castle?” Lexi H. asks.