Wicked Charmer: A Steamy Small Town

Romance (Grimm’s Valley Romances

Book 2) Ns Johnson
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WICKED CHARMER
A STEAMY SMALL TOWN ROMANCE

GRIMM’S VALLEY ROMANCES

NS JOHNSON
 Copyright © 2023, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely
fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or
with written permission of the author.

Cover by Cormar Covers

Edited by
Fairy Dust Sprinkled by The Fairy Plot Mother
 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue

About the Author

 C HAPTER ONE

"T rust me, son, true love isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Armel Charmayne wasn't sure if he could trust the smoke-filled feminine voice on the
other side of the line. Once upon a time, his mother's voice had been higher in pitch and filled with
infectious giggles. Over the years since his father had passed, it had grown harder and the edges had
dulled.
"You need to come home and honor your commitments, Armie."
"What commitments are those, Manman?"
Nadège Charmayne clucked her teeth. It was a sound that betrayed her cultured socialite airs and
harkened to her family's roots in rural Haiti. It was a sound she'd made whenever his father played
one of his infamous jokes on his beloved wife. Nadège would suck her teeth, but she could never hide
her smile of complete and total devotion to her husband.
"Your marriage."
"Marriage?" Armie's head started to pound, like a drummer beating away inside his skull. He
blinked a few times, his gaze tracking to the setting sun. "I don't have a wife?"
The question mark was punctuated in his head at the end of the statement as Armie focused on his
surroundings. Were those magnolias in the backyard? Peach trees in the distance? He knew both tree
varieties grew in Louisiana. They didn't grow anywhere near the Charmayne property line.
Come to think of it, why was he speaking on his phone to his mother? The sprawling mansion he'd
grown up in was big. His bedroom was right down the hall from his parents. He could shout and be
heard.
"Ana is perfect for you," his mother was saying over the phone line.
Armie didn't need to strain his hearing to know that she wasn't down the hall from him. He wasn't
in the same house as his mother. These weren't French windows he was looking out of. There was no
wrought-iron balcony that overlooked a street in the Garden District, filled with the slow, pulsating
rhythm of New Orleans life. There were peach trees lining the property.
Where was he?
"You thought so too, or you wouldn't have dated her for so long," his mother's voice broke through
the confusion.
The clouds moving toward the sun and blocking out the light made it hard for him to think straight.
The pain keeping a pounding rhythm in his temples relented, and the drums skipped a beat. The image
of a too-slender woman with tamed, dark curls she always had bound in a knot at her nape came into
his mind — Ana.
Armie saw her clearly. Her practiced smile. Those shuttered green eyes. And not a hint of light
coming off her person.
"Ana's not The One, Manman."
"Don't start this nonsense about magical sparks and light shows. In your condition, you need to be
practical."
The sun slipped lower, preparing to retreat down into the horizon. Armie pressed his fingertips
against his temples, as if the pressure might provide some relief from the drums picking up the beat
once more.
He had a condition. He was sick. That's why he wasn't at home in his room. The sickness wasn't a
physical one. It was all in his head.
His vision blurred as memories of the white-walled room and the locked door spun around him.
People poking at him. People examining him. People talking over him as if he wasn't there in his
body. Sometimes it felt like he wasn't.
"The condition you had me committed for?" The pounding was back, along with the uncertainty in
that question mark.
"You weren't committed. You were in hospice," his mother confirmed.
Were? Was he no longer committed? If he wasn't at home and he wasn't in hospice, then where
was he?
Armie turned back to the room he now found himself in. The walls weren't pristine. There was
chipped plaster falling from every corner. A cheap bed was pushed up against one wall. A small table
beside the bed with a book and a pen. No other furnishings. But that was his duffel bag on the floor
next to the bed. Those were his shoes sat neatly near the door.
"Running away to play at soldiers won't fix this."
"I'm not…" Armie closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sound. The sound of his mother's voice.
The sound of the drums beating. But the headache was fast becoming all-consuming.
"Those boys are the reason you were hurt in the first place."
Those boys? That was all he needed. Armie knew exactly which boys his mother was referring to.
And with that knowledge, he remembered where he was.
"I have to go. Je t'aime, Manman."
He could still hear her arguing as he disconnected the call. It took long moments before the sound
of his mother's voice and the drum beats faded. When they did, Armie lifted his face to the warm
glow of the setting sun. Though his memories were scattered, he knew that these last few months, the
sight of the star, as well as the feel of its heat, had been the only constant thing that gave him solace
and kept the darkness in his mind away.
A giggle broke through the waking nightmare. Armie tore his gaze away from the dimming light of
day. He looked down from his second story perch to watch as two love birds embraced in the
backyard. A dark-haired beauty tilted her head back to receive a passionate, damn near X-rated kiss
from a blond man.
It took Armie's brain a few seconds to recognize the man. Jake Grimm, his former commander,
friend, and one of the boys his mother had railed against. It was the smile and look of utter devotion in
Grimm's normally focused glare that gave Armie pause. Armie didn't think he'd ever seen the man
smile with his entire face, and at a woman, no less.
Grimm wrapped his whole body—his whole being—around the woman. Armie knew that woman.
Her name was like a flower. But what was—
Rosalee, that was it.
Rosalee was dating his friend Jake. The hardened soldier looked down at her as though she were
the sun. The sparkling light that would guide him out of the darkness.
Armie couldn't break his gaze from Rosalee's dazzling smile himself. He remembered meeting her
on the day he arrived here at Grimm House in coastal Georgia. He'd come with the other boys; Beast
and Wolfe. Everyone had called her Rosie, but she told him to call her Rosalee. He'd written that
directive down somewhere.
His gaze swung to the book on the nightstand. It looked like a grimoire, like a book of spells. In a
sense, it was. It contained his memories because his head could no longer hold on to them.
Details often escaped him. Sometimes taking their time coming into focus. Sometimes staying
hidden in the mangled corners of his mind.
Armie hadn't wanted to forget Rosalee. It was a matter of life and death. She was exactly his type.
Meaning that if Armie made the mistake and hit on her in the morning—and by the looks of that kiss,
she definitely would be here in the morning—Grimm would take his head off.
Not that Armie was anywhere close to the dating scene these days. Not with his condition. He had
no business pursuing a woman if he couldn't guarantee that he'd remember her name in the morning.
It was the first thing he'd asked when the doctors explained the consequences of his head injury.
Will I remember that I have amnesia?
Some mornings he woke up remembering everything about the previous day. Other days, he woke
with a few foggy details. Then there were the days he woke up thinking he was still in the middle of a
war zone.
Truth be told, every morning, waking up was a battle. From the constant headaches to the
disorientation to the general sense of fear that he would never return to normal.
It was that feeling when a person walked into a room and forgot what they'd come in for. Only for
Armie, it was like watching television and someone kept changing the channel. He'd be watching an
old show where he remembered that week's storyline and character arcs. Then there would be a
commercial break, and when the show returned, he'd forgotten the whole plot. Or the channel would
change and the same characters would play in a new show with new wardrobes and different
personalities. All the while, he stood just off set without a script.
An ache in his temple made Armie wince. Surprisingly, one of the things that always made him
feel better was to look up at the sun. The bright light of the star brought him back to the blast that had
taken down his unit. Armie couldn't remember the blast, just the yellow light that resulted from the
blast, and later pulled him out of the rubble.
That light had felt like a flash that had happened in an instant, but he'd been told he'd been asleep
for weeks. All the while, in his mind's eye, he'd been reaching for that light as the darkness rained
down on him. The light had beckoned to him. Called to him. Like it was now. Though the light had
caused him injury, he knew there was refuge to be found there.
The sun dipped below the horizon, disappearing from his sight. Armie took a step back as the
darkness began its nightly advance on him. He'd never been afraid of the dark or the shadows. But
something had changed in the last few months.
He looked down at the book in his hands. Wait, no, it wasn't a book. The pages were mostly
blank. Was it a diary of some kind? What was he doing with some little girl's diary?
On the open page was a name at the top — Rosalee. Did he know anyone named Rosalee? The
name was written next to his buddy Jake's. Why would that be? Jake Grimm didn't have any siblings.
And the man was a player who planned to never get married after the trauma his divorced parents had
put him through.
Hadn't he just inherited a house? Hadn't Grimm asked Armie to come stay with him for a while?
Something about space to heal?
"Good night, Armie."
Armie looked up at the pretty brunette standing in the doorway. She had kind, brown eyes and a
patient smile. She was hot, but his body didn't react to her like it normally would. He knew he'd never
seen her before. But still, she reminded him of someone…
He took a step toward her and then paused.
Where was he?
This wasn't his bedroom. It wasn't gilded enough to be any of the rooms in his parents' house. It
wasn't worn enough to be base housing.
"You good, Charming?" His buddy Jake Grimm materialized beside the woman, placing a hand on
her low back.
The woman smiled up at Grimm like he hung the moon. Grimm smiled back at her like she was
pure sunshine. Armie had never seen the man look at a woman like that. He'd never seen Grimm make
that facial expression. Was that a smile?
He'd never seen Jake Grimm smile before, and he'd known the man for years. Armie could
remember days and weeks and months with the man. The last day with Grimm that he remembered
clearly… hadn't there been an explosion?
Yes, there had been a bright yellow light and then things went fuzzy.
Because he'd been injured.
It had been a head injury.
That was the reason for the headache.
Armie put his hand to his head, and that's when he remembered. Transient global amnesia. That
was his diagnosis. Short-term memory loss resulting from a traumatic brain injury.
He blinked a few times, trying to clear the static in his brain. The channel came back into view.
Grimm stood there, watching him with concern. Rosalee stood beside him, calm and patient as ever.
Grimm hadn't told her much about his condition. Armie liked Rosalee's patience. He didn't want her
henpecking him like his buddies. His condition was supposed to be temporary.
Supposed to be.
It had been months.
"I'm good," Armie said to Grimm. "Goodnight, Rosalee."
Rosalee's smile broadened, looking at Grimm like he rivaled the golden heat of the sun. Grimm
sent him one more glance before following the woman like she was the horizon.
When Armie looked back out the window, the sun had set. It was dark out. There was no light for
him to reach for until tomorrow. If he had a woman like that looking at him, he would have a reminder
of sunshine through the night.
 C H A P T E R T WO

"A re weThedone yet?"

slight variation of the dreaded road trip question had no effect on Xian Lee. She loved
a long drive through the countryside. Not that she had taken any road trips of late. The last one she'd
gone on had been with her three best friends to Atlanta, and that had mostly been on the highway with
other rushing drivers. There had been nothing for the eye to see, followed by congestion, then more
nothing. The green-and-white signs overhead and on the signs of the highway announced the distance
remaining to the destination.
Xian looked down at her current companion. Mouse was on the floor. She knew that Mouse wasn't
the kid's name, but it was the one that had been supplied to him by Ms. Hubbard, the old matron in
charge of Grimm Valley's Foster House. And it was the only one the kid would answer to.
"We're almost there," said Xian.
Though they weren't in a car, she did see that the end was near. The foster home's ground floor
was spotless. Aside from the wear and tear on the hundred-year manor.
The once-stately home now stood as a testament to the passage of time, its once-gleaming surfaces
dulled by years of neglect. Xian ran her fingers over the peeling wallpaper, feeling the raised edges
where moisture had taken its toll. The once-vibrant colors were now muted and worn, its beauty
faded away. The creaking boards beneath her feet told stories of countless footsteps that had trodden
upon them, and she found herself wondering about the lives of those who had walked these halls
before her.
Homes and lived-in spaces had energy. With all the children running around and coming in and out
of this place, the energy was complete chaos. Xian knew she could breathe life and harmony into the
house to increase the children's chances of placement. More importantly, she could help bring them
calm and security.
Decluttering had been the first step, as she ordered Mouse to put things in their place, and find
places for things that didn't currently have one. She slightly repositioned the furniture, ensuring that
each piece was placed to enhance the flow of energy throughout the house. She moved one bed away
from the direct line of a door to improve sleep, and turned a desk to face the entrance to increase
productivity.
As Xian worked, a sense of purpose and pride swelled within her. She was not only honoring her
heritage and the teachings of her father, but also helping to restore the once-grand house to its former
glory. With each step, Xian felt a stronger connection to the house, as if her efforts were knitting
together the fabric of the home and healing its wounds.
As the sun cast a warm glow over the newly harmonized space, Xian stepped back to admire her
work. The once-neglected house now radiated a sense of balance and tranquility. Her efforts had not
only transformed the physical space, but had also touched the lives of those who would dwell within
it, fostering a renewed sense of harmony, love, and prosperity.
"What about now? Are we done now?"
Or it would touch the occupants soon.
"Yes, Mouse. Now, we're done."
Xian reached up and hung a small wind chime made of metal near the entrance, symbolizing the
inviting of positive energy, and placed a potted plant in the living room, representing growth and
vitality.
The foster kids in this home all wanted to be chosen by a family and be loved. If a family came in
and saw dirt and grime on the surfaces as well as on the kids, they would close their arms and their
hearts. Xian was not charged with cleaning the little rascals, but she could clean their home. A
person's environment was a reflection of who they were inside. Not only that, it showed who they
wanted to become on the outside as a picture to the world.
"So I can go?" asked Mouse, hopping from one foot to the other.
"Yes, Mouse, you can…"
He was gone before she finished the sentence. Xian smiled to herself as the kid scurried away.
She'd been the odd child who liked cleaning and arranging things. More arranging than scrubbing,
though. Her father had taught her the ancient art of Feng Shui. Ever since learning the practice, Xian
had taken to rearranging objects and spaces for optimal energy flow.
She'd told Mouse that they were done, but one could never be truly done when increasing energy
flow. In the hallways, she strategically placed mirrors to reflect and enhance the light, making the
once-dim rooms feel brighter and more inviting. In the mirror, she saw herself. Her dark hair twirled
up in a bun. A bright yellow scarf over her hair to keep it out of her face. The scarf matched her
favorite shoes, the yellow Converse on her feet.
Looking around, she saw that there was nothing else to do. She reached into her back pocket and
checked off the final item on the list. She loved having a checklist. Just as much as she loved keeping
a journal and her ta-dah list, which was much better than a to-do list. The ta-dahs were a list of
accomplishments, not incomplete tasks. She only had one more job for the day, and she was looking
forward to it.
"All done in here, Mrs. Hubbard," Xian said, as she rounded the corner.
Mrs. Hubbard stood in the middle of the foster home's living room, surrounded on all sides by
warring children. Her eyes, framed by lines etched from years of caring for countless orphans,
surveyed the chaotic scene before her.
"Give it back, it's mine!" shouted a young boy, his face red with anger as he tried to wrestle a toy
car from the hands of a slightly older boy.
"No way! You took my action figure yesterday. Now we're even." The older boy refused to let go
of the car.
"Mrs. H," a little girl tugged at Mrs. Hubbard's skirt from behind. "Lily's on the computer playing
Wubble Wubble. But I need to use it for my homework."
The cacophony of voices filled the room. Each child vying for attention or trying to settle a score.
Mrs. Hubbard drew in a deep breath and raised her hands.
"Enough," she called out, her voice firm yet gentle. The room fell silent, the children's eyes
turning toward her. "Timmy, give Robbie back his toy car. Both of you need to learn to share and
respect each other's belongings. Lily, you've had your time on the computer. Let Emma use it now. You
both have to manage your time wisely and be considerate of one another."
The children nodded, the tension in the room dissipating as they began to heed Mrs. Hubbard's
words. The older woman, satisfied that the conflicts had been resolved for the time being, offered a
warm smile to Xian.
"I've already sent the check to your mother, dear."
Xian held on to her smile. She didn't correct Mrs. Hubbard that Meli was her stepmother. She
didn't bemoan the fact that the check and the money were already as good as gone. She'd been hoping
to use that money to pay down the last loan Meli had taken out against her father's house. Before he'd
passed, the home had been paid for. In the years since his death, the equity was now upside down.
The smile dropped from Xian's face the moment the foster care door closed behind her. The
world outside of the order she'd created was chaos. A gust of wind whipped at her scarf, bringing the
tail of the yellow fabric into her eyes. Her bun came undone, loosing her black tresses, which fell
down her back like a curtain closing. The lights in her home would be getting turned off if she didn't
find a way to pay off her stepmother's latest indulgence. Even though it was Meli who had taken out
the loans, only Xian was paying them off. Cleaning up her stepmother's messes, quite literally.
Xian shoved the last of her supplies into the trunk of her yellow Beetle. She headed into town,
avoiding the bumps of the potholes much better than she avoided the speed bumps in her family. The
first parking spot in front of her best friend Rosie's apartment was occupied by a black Charger.
Which meant Rosie was occupied at the moment with her new boyfriend.
Xian pulled in behind the Charger. Her Beetle looked dwarfed next to the muscle car. She was
happy her bestie was happy. Rosie had never had trouble in the boy department. Men flocked to
Rosie's outgoing personality and 'glass filled to the brim' attitude about life. Xian was the girl trailing
behind with a rag ready to clean up the mess. Though no amount of cleaning supplies had prepared
her for the one and only guy who'd showed an interest in her cup.
A tinkle of laughter caught Xian's ear. It was the exact sound of someone clinking a silver spoon
against a wineglass. It was a rich sound. A privileged sound. It was a sound Xian avoided, like the
wineglass was filled with poison.
She ducked her head, hunching her shoulders so as to not draw attention to herself. It was a small
town, small enough where everyone knew everyone. So she knew she couldn't hide for long. But what
she could do was go somewhere where the poisoned tinkling wouldn't dare tread.
Rounding the corner, Xian ducked into Sprat's Diner. Her giggling old nemesis would never be
caught dead in the grease-laden establishment. That lard and fat smelled like heaven to Xian.
"The usual, Jan?"
"Thanks, Mr. Sprat."
Mr. Sprat was the only person whom Xian didn't mind westernizing her name. The man didn't do
it on purpose. His own Southern accent was so thick that the soft XI sound came out as a harsh J.
When Xian was younger, she and her father had just come to this country, her pronunciations were off,
too. There were people who were patient with her as she worked to pronounce words.
"I don't have much patience left."
Xian turned to the sound of Sheriff Briarwood's voice. The tall man was hunched over the table of
a booth in the back. He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to take the manicured fingers of the
town's mayor in his. Leá Reyna sat stiffly in the booth, but she allowed her husband to take her
fingertips in his.
"Leá, I know we've been through a lot, and we've grown apart. But we can find our way back to
each other."
 Every ear in the diner was tuned into the conversation. Though Sheriff Briarwood was speaking
quietly, the man had a booming voice that carried.
"Nolan, my work is demanding right now. Sometimes I may have to reschedule or miss one of
our… dates."
"I need to be a priority."
The mayor huffed, taking her hand back. "You get called away, too."
"We need to find a balance between our work and our personal lives."
"Now you sound like your daughter."
"Rosie's happier than I've ever seen her. We were happy like that once." The sheriff's fingers
curled around the mayor's once more.
Mayor Reyna let him, her usual haughty posture softening under his touch. "I feel like I'm being
pulled in a million different directions."
As if to punctuate the statement, her phone rang. Mayor Reyna glanced at the phone sitting next to
her near-empty water glass on the table. She reached for it, but the sheriff gripped her fingers. The
two stared each other down. The phone continued to ring.
"Here you go, Xian."
Mrs. Sprat held out a greasy bag of food to her. Xian took the bag and paid. When she turned back
around, the sheriff sat alone in the booth. His hands balled into fists on the table.
He rose to head out of the restaurant at the same time as Xian. They reached for the door at the
exact moment.
"Sorry, didn't see you there, Xian," he said.
Xian looked at the ground rather than at the hurt still at the corners of Sheriff Briarwood's eyes.
During her sleepovers at Rosie's, she'd heard the mayor and sheriff try to have quiet arguments as
their daughter and her friends watched old John Hughes movies. Xian had also watched them sneak
kisses at the breakfast table. The Briarwoods' relationship had always fascinated her.
Unfortunately, that fascination would bite her in the ass today. Because as she let the sheriff hold
open the door for her, Xian failed to notice that her nemesis had crossed the street and was now
coming toward her.
"Jan, is that you?"
Xian wanted to yank Sheriff Briarwood's handcuffs onto her wrists and throw herself in the back
of the patrol car. Anything to avoid making pleasantries with Drusilla Haltson. Instead, Xian put on a
bright smile and lifted her head — and winced.
Drusilla held out her hand, palm down, as though she expected Xian to kiss it. She probably did.
The girl had walked around high school like she was a princess. The blinding rock on Drusilla's left
hand gave Xian a headache.
"It is you," Drusilla giggled in that nails-on-glass voice of hers. "Look at you, Jan. You haven't
changed a bit since high school."
The way she said it, Xian knew it wasn't a compliment. It also was true. Xian was doing now the
exact same thing she'd been doing in high school. She hadn't gone away to college, though she'd
earned a scholarship to do so. By then, her father was already sick and declining. Her stepmother was
already withdrawing and spending more time with the credit cards than the two of them as her way of
self-care.
"Look at that… you're even wearing the same shoes."
The Converse were Xian's favorite shoes. The last shoes her father bought her before he passed.
Wearing them made her feel closer to him.
 Her immigrant father had learned much of his English listening to 80s and 90s music. Hip-hop
music had been his favorite, as the words had rhymed and the beats made it easy to remember. The
style of groups like Run DMC, who wore Adidas, and the film The Last Dragon, whose villain
would make people kiss his Converse, were his favorites.
"I'm so glad I ran into you today," Drusilla was saying. "I've been meaning to reach out."
"You have?"
"Did you hear? I'm getting married."
Once again, she flashed that rock in front of Xian like it was a weapon. For Xian it was. It was
another silent punch in the gut that Drusilla was able to wear out in the open for all to see.
Xian took a step back, but she couldn't hide here in the middle of the sidewalk. "Congratulations,"
she managed.
"Warren and I are having an engagement party this weekend. You remember Warren, don't you?"
Xian couldn't get her throat to work. She hadn't said Warren's name in years. All of her friends
had the good sense not to bring him up.
"Of course you remember Warren. Who wouldn't?" Drusilla giggled. "We'd love if you'd come for
our engagement party."
"Me?" Xian's voice was a croak. After everything that Warren had done to her, after everything
he'd put her poor heart through, he wanted her to come to the engagement party of his real girlfriend.
The girlfriend — now fiancée — that Xian had had no clue he'd been dating while he was wooing her
behind the bleachers after school, in the backseat of his car under the cover of night, and in a hotel
room in another town.
"Yes, of course you, Jan. Like Warren and I would choose anyone else to do our cleaning service
for our happy announcement."
 C HAPTER THREE

H e was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Armie knew that inside his mind, it wasn't this
dark. A complete absence of light was an impossible feat. There was always some shard
of light visible. This was all in his mind.
He could feel his arms, his legs. He could feel his heart pounding. But he couldn't see.
He felt the pebbles pressing down on his closed eyelids. A few sandy bits trickled into his mouth.
The taste of dust and debris coated his tongue, a gritty and bitter sensation that was impossible to
ignore. He gasped for breath, and felt the fine particles invading his mouth and throat, causing him to
cough and wheeze in a desperate attempt to clear his airway.
Maybe this wasn't a dream? Were senses this heightened in dreams?
His ears rang with the residual echoes of the explosion. Mingled in were the distant wails of
sirens and the anguished cries of survivors. The sounds were muffled, as if he were submerged in
water. It took great effort to distinguish one noise from another.
Armie had been in an explosion. He remembered his team leader, Jake Grimm, telling him to get
down. The fear on Jake's face had been visceral. He'd never seen the man emote much more than a
grunt. So the look of terror had momentarily stunned Armie into stillness.
And then nothing. The blackest of dark. The complete censorship of the silence. The depravity of
the numbness.
The tiniest pinpricks of light broke through the darkness. Armie lifted his hand to reach for it. The
yellow was so bright. Too bright. It didn't hurt his eyes. Were his eyes even open?
He couldn't tell. All he could see was the light. Armie reached for it with his whole person. The
light was so yellow it was pure gold. It bathed over him, soothing the aches and pains of his body.
Guiding him out of the darkness until…
He opened his eyes.
The light of the day wasn't so bright as it had been in his mind's eye. The sun shone on his face,
but it didn't have anywhere near the brightness of his dream. Yes, that had been a dream.
No, a memory.
There had been an explosion. Armie had been trapped. And now he was free.
He was free.
Wasn't he?
Armie brought himself into a sitting position. Nothing hurt. There should be some aches and pains
if he'd been in an explosion.
Had he been captured? No, there was furniture in the room he found himself in. No dirt floor. He
was in a bed, half naked. He was clean. He could use a drink of water, but his throat wasn't dry like it
had been some days in the desert.
Perhaps he was in a military base hospital? But no, there were no tubes in him or beeping
machines around him. The room wasn't pristine enough to pass muster for a recovery unit.
This wasn't his bedroom back in Louisiana, but somehow it felt like home. He saw things that
belonged to him hanging inside an open closet door. Those were his shoes neatly lined up at the door.
That was his phone on the side table.
The leather journal resting next to his phone he wasn't sure about. On the cover, in big letters that
looked like his handwriting, were the words READ ME.
Armie reached for the book. The weight of it was familiar. He spied a clicky pen in the pen loop.
He'd loved those as a kid, being able to choose between red, black, green, and blue to write his notes.
He hadn't had access to a pen like this overseas.
He wasn't in Afghanistan. He wasn't in Louisiana. Then where in the hell was he?
The first page of the book told him.
He was back in the States. He'd been injured… a TBI. It was messing with his memory. The
journal read like something out of a novel. Except it was his handwriting and there was the ring of
truth to it.
Armie pressed his hand to his forehead. There was a headache blooming there. The throb
emerged from the darkness. He lifted his head to the sunlight. The rays acted to dull the pain. He
breathed for a few moments, trying to quell the panic, letting the sun warm the blank spots in his mind.
Beside the stand for the journal were two Post-it notes. Beside a bottle of pills, one Post-it said
EAT ME. Beside a glass of water, the second Post-it said DRINK ME.
His buddy Beast loved the book Alice in Wonderland. There was a scene in the book where Alice
was given instructions similarly. Beast had likely put the notes there.
How could Armie remember that detail, but not a single scene from his real life yesterday? Armie
trusted Beast with his life, so he did as the Post-its told him.
"Charming," called a familiar voice on the other side of the door. "You up?"
Armie's response came out croaked. The door opened to reveal Adam Best. The man looked like
his nickname. There was a wicked scar down the side of his face. He'd gotten that scar in the same
explosion that had messed with Armie's head. Again, the detail was clear in his mind, but everything
after the blast was a haze.
"You good?" asked Beast. The man looked at the journal in Armie's hand. His gaze glanced over
the empty glass of water and the uncapped pill bottle. His eyes missed nothing, just like the sniper he
was.
"Yeah, I'm good," Armie said.
He wasn't. But the men in his unit had been taught to fake it until they made it. Armie crawled out
of the bed, stepped into a pair of jeans, and pulled a shirt over his head.
"Grimm's downstairs to take you to your doctor's appointment."
Armie didn't feel sick. Just the headache. He tested the rest of his limbs to be sure everything else
was intact. But he followed Beast down the stairs, anyway. Orders he could manage. Orders might be
the best thing for him to do, since his head wasn't clear.
"Morning, sunshine." Reagan Wolfe appeared from a doorway next to Armie's room.
Wolfe hadn't been in the explosion that had taken out Armie's unit. The JAG had been around
enough to cause trouble, get them into trouble, as well as out of trouble. Usually within a forty-eight-
hour period. Armie could remember the scraps they got into. But he couldn't remember Wolfe arriving
at… wherever they were. He couldn't remember arriving himself.
 "You good?" asked Wolfe.
They walked down a narrow set of stairs away from any windows. Armie felt the walls closing in
on him. He ached to run back up the stairs to his room and turn his face up into the light.
Instead, he said. "Yeah, I'm good."
Armie pretended not to see the look Beast and Wolfe shared. He trailed behind the two down the
steps, taking in his surroundings. It looked like they were in a construction zone. But also back in
time. Were they renovating an old house?
His boots echoed on the bare floors as he stepped deeper into the chaos. To his right, he saw the
grand staircase with its banisters stripped of paint, revealing the smooth, aged wood underneath. The
once grand chandeliers that hung from the tall ceilings were wrapped in plastic to protect them from
the dust and debris that swirled around in the air, giving the house the feeling of a place paused in
time.
He spied a sprawling kitchen that must have been a skeletal shell of its former self. An island
countertop sat in the center, stripped of its glossy marble surface. Modern appliances waited inside of
open boxes, as a stove that looked like it needed coal stared back at the intruders.
"Charming, you good?" This last missive came from the front door where Jake Grimm strode into
view.
Armie was getting tired of that question. He still saw Grimm as his leader, so he responded in the
affirmative, as though it were a command.
"We're going to head out," Grimm said, pointing to himself and Armie. He turned his focus on
Beast and Wolfe. "You two get to work on the kitchen and stay out of the upstairs. Rosie's friend is
coming over today to start cleaning."
A vision of a dark-haired woman with a bright smile flitted in and out of Armie's mind. "Rosie?"
"Yeah, she's my—"
"Girlfriend. You have a girlfriend."
"I do." Grimm grinned.
They all grinned at Armie like he was a toddler that just took his first step. Armie pressed his lips
together, much like a toddler who refused to perform for grinning adults. He was having memory
issues. He wasn't an invalid.
"Rosie's friend Xian is coming over to help us out," Jake was saying. "Do not hit on her."
That was directed at Wolfe, who held up his hands. "I'm not going to lay a finger on her. Now if
she lays a finger on me..."
Wolfe dodged as Grimm grabbed for him. Though Wolfe had spent a lot of time in conference
rooms, he was still a force to contend with and not easy to catch. Grimm rolled his eyes and directed
Armie to follow him out the door and into his Charger.
"How much do you remember?" asked Grimm, as he put the growling car into reverse.
Charming squeezed the journal, surprised he still had it. "It's a TBI. My brain is messed up."
"Short-term memory loss."
Armie fingered that passage on the page. He'd written it in red. A flash of memory of writing it
came back to him.
"You're getting better every day," said Grimm. "The journal is helping. You're remembering faster,
holding more memories."
"How long?" Armie asked the question, but saw the date written on the first journal entry.
"You were out for weeks after the explosion," Grimm supplied. "You were in a facility until a
week ago."
 "A facility?"
Grimm pursed his lips. There was something there he didn't want him to know.
"Does my mom know?"
Grimm gave him a curt nod. It was all Armie needed to know that his mother was not on board
with whatever he and Grimm had cooked up. His parents had been against him joining the service.
They'd preferred their golden boy be a poster child for the Charmayne family. But Armie had wanted
more. That he remembered clearly.
Something he didn't remember clearly was how his girlfriend had taken the news.
"Ana?"
Grimm gave a shake. "That should come from you. You wrote down what happened between the
two of you."
If the girl his mother had wanted him to marry wasn't here with him, that was all Armie needed to
know.
 C H A P T E R FO U R

"Y ou got"Youeverything?" asked Rosie.

gave me the skeleton key to the house."
Xian fingered the key that would open all doors inside and out of Grimm House. She'd never been
inside. That was only because Will Grimm had been a recluse and didn't have many visitors over the
years. The only person Xian knew that came and went into the house was Mr. Cricket, the old high
school guidance counselor.
She'd always wanted to go inside that old house and see its bones. The stories those walls might
tell. The dust those fixtures had collected. Xian couldn't wait to get in and get a feel for the energy of
the place.
She turned to leave Rosie's apartment. Not that she'd actually gone inside. Xian hadn't even
looked past the open door. Her constitution couldn't take the disorder.
Rosie was all onboard with Xian's need to Feng Shui the place. Her friend's bedroom was
optimally organized to let energy into and out of the room. They'd moved the bed to the opposite wall
to allow maximum energy flow, and placed the headboard firmly against the wall to provide Rosie
with a sense of security and support. Most importantly, they'd decluttered the room, making sure each
of Rosie's items had a designated space it belonged to.
Trix's bedroom and the rest of the communal spaces were not decluttered. The rest of the
apartment was a study in disruption, with books lining every surface, including stacked haphazardly
on the floor in piles that a light breeze could topple. Xian wasn't allowed to do anything about it.
Hence her refusal to cross the threshold.
But now, as she tried to leave, something held her back. Rosie tugged at her blouse. Her fingers
opened the top button, which gave a peek at Xian's functional white bra.
"Rosie, what are you doing?"
"You should look your best," said Rosie, tugging out Xian's hair tie.
"Ouch! I'm going to clean your boyfriend's toilets." Xian swatted at Rosie's hands as her friend
aimed her thumb and index fingers at both her cheeks like she was a great aunt, about to pinch them.
"Still, you want to look cute. I have a good feeling about today." Rosie dug in her purse, pulled
out mascara, and came for Xian.
Xian took a lunge backward and crossed her arms. She put her chin in the air and glowered down
at her oldest friend. "All right. Tell me. What did you see?"
Rosie was a tarot card reader. She'd been pulling cards and telling futures since they were in high
school. She was good. Good enough to have regular customers calling and e-mailing her while she
was in college. She'd just opened a shop in town where she charged for her services and sold new-
age knickknacks and ephemera. But Rosie's specialty, her self-proclaimed specialty that is, was all
about pulling for love.
She'd been pulling the Lovers card for herself over the past couple of months. Last week, Jake
showed up. Rosie hadn't only been pulling cards predicting true love for herself, she'd done readings
(against their wills) for Xian and their friends Trix and Neve as well. Those cards insisted that at
least three more Prince Charmings were riding into town soon.
Trix had sucked her teeth at the notion and dipped her head back into her steamy romance novel
about human women being abducted by blue males from a planet short on females. Neve had nodded
obligingly and then turned her attention back to whatever wounded animal she'd rescued from the
pound that week.
And Xian? Xian had ignored Rosie completely whenever she'd tried to push a tarot card under her
nose. Xian had been there, done that, and didn't want the t-shirt to remember. Men were not on her
list. Love was not in her cards, because she never wanted to play the game again.
Rosie's grin was mischievous. No, mischievous was the wrong word. Rosie wore the grin that
always had her losing at poker because everyone would fold rather than raise. So even though she
was about to win, no one was left to play with her.
"All I see is a beautiful, kind woman with a big heart." Rosie opened her arms wide and took a
step toward her bestie. "And I think that kind, beautiful woman should simply look her best on a
beautiful day like today."
Xian took another step back, knowing there were literal cards up the tarot reader's sleeve.
"She thinks one of the GI Joes at Grimm House is gonna roger you," Trix said without looking up
from the pages of her book.
Ah, there it was. When Jake Grimm returned to his ancestral home, he hadn't come alone. Xian
hadn't caught any glimpses of the men staying with the former soldier, but she'd heard the town's
women sighing over the hunky specimens.
"Thanks, Trix," said Xian.
"I got you, girl." Trix turned another page in her novel, her eyes darting quickly down the page as
she inhaled what looked like book three in a series of science fiction romances. Trix had majored in
Literature, but Xian couldn't remember a single time she'd seen a classic in the woman's hands. "I
think it's all that Big D energy she's been getting."
"She's right." Rosie shrugged with a happy smile. "There's a lot of Big D energy in that house.
Maybe you should go with her, Trix."
"Nah, I'll stick to the boys in my books. They're much more reliable."
As the two roommates bickered, Xian managed to sneak down the hall and stairs. It wasn't until
she reached the bottom step that Rosie noticed her disappearance and called after her.
"Call me later," Rosie's voice carried down the flight of stairs.
Xian would call her friend later. She'd call and tell her about every dust mote and stain she
cleaned in detail. It would serve her right. Rosie knew about Xian's past. Enough to know she wasn't
looking for any D in her energy.
She pulled out onto Main Street, avoiding the pot holes that had been there since before she got
her learner's permit. Like most natives of Grimm Valley, Xian could drive the street in her sleep
without hitting a single bump. She came to an abrupt stop when she pulled up to the gothic manor that
was Grimm House.
She didn't see Jake's muscle car in the drive, which was just as well. He'd said he had errands to
run this morning, and would likely be in and out over the few days he'd hired her to work for him. It's
why she'd stopped and gotten the key from Rosie.
She'd only met Jake twice. He was a bit grumpy, but he'd brightened under the ray of Rosie's
sunshine. Every man brightened under Rosie's smile. It was her superpower. Xian's superpower had
her riding in on a broom. To sweep, not scare munchkins.
"You must be the merry maid."
The man who looked down at her was very much not a munchkin. He was the spitting image of a
wolf. If a wolf stood on his hind legs and grinned down at her with sharp teeth.
"Hi, I'm Xian. I'm here to clean."
"Nice to meet you, Jan."
Xian inhaled, not bothering to correct the mispronunciation of her name. The smile on his brown
face widened and Xian would've sworn she saw a glint coming off his incisors. It was probably best
he didn't have her true name. Wasn't there some mythology about never giving your name to villains or
they'd have power over you?
"Leave her alone, Wolfe," called out a deep voice. The man attached to the voice looked like he
was a bear walking on hind legs. A dark sheen of red hair hid half of his face like the mask from
Phantom of the Opera. "Xian, is it?"
Xian nodded and gave the man a weak smile at the correct pronunciation of her name. So much for
keeping her power.
"I'm Adam. This is Reagan."
"You can call me Wolfe," said Reagan.
"I… I didn't call you a wolf." Xian's cheeks flamed. Had she said that out loud?
That wolfish grin glinted again as his sharp gaze zeroed in on the open button of her shirt. Xian's
hand went to her collar. Mentally, she cursed Rosie for her meddling. Xian wasn't interested in Big D
energy, and these two looked like they had… a lot of energy.
"It's just the two of us here," said Adam, as he glared at the other man with that one eye peeking
from behind his curtain of hair. "We're working in the kitchen, so why don't you start upstairs."
"My bedroom is the first door on the right," said Wolfe or Reagan or whatever his name was.
"Don't worry," said Adam. "I'll keep this dog on a chain while you work."
"Beast, why you messing with my game?"
Xian turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. The universe might be conspiring to get her
back in the game of love, but Xian had spent all of her chips years ago. She certainly wasn't hopping
back on the game board with a player like Wolfe.
At the top of the stairs, she turned left instead of right, not wanting to work on the wolf's bedroom
first. The bedroom she came into next looked very neat and tidy, even if not perfectly optimized. She
recognized one of Rosie's bras as she'd been with her friend when she'd purchased it. This must be
Jake's room.
The bed was pressed firmly into a wall. In fact, with the scrapes just above the headboard, it
looked like the bed had been repeatedly pressed into that wall. So, he was good on security and
support.
Plugging in her earbuds, Xian turned on her father's favorite old-school hip-hop mix. The Fat
Boyz' rendition of The Twist played in her ears. With a broom in one hand and a duster in the other,
Xian got down to work.
She twisted and shimmied out the dust and grime in a matter of a few songs. By the time she got to
LL Cool J's I'm Bad, everything in the room looked good. Xian had only been hired to do the
cleaning, but a few tweaks of furniture placement to make the energy flow better wouldn't hurt. Xian
knew from Rosie that Jake still suffered from insomnia from time to time. Especially when Rosie
wasn't lying beside him.
She found a clean set of bedsheets that were a soothing light blue and remade the bed. She moved
the chargers from the nightstand and over to the dresser to decrease the electromagnetic energy flow
as the couple slept. She should remind Rosie to bring over a snake plant and maybe some peace lilies
from her grandmother's gardens to improve the air quality of the room.
The energetic change in the room was palpable by the time Xian finished. Closing that door, she
walked farther down the hall, still avoiding the room Wolfe had pointed to as his. This door was
cracked open a bit, and no one was inside.
In this room, there were piles of books. Trix wouldn't let her touch any of her piles. Unlike Trix's
piles of mass-market paperbacks, these books were mostly hardbacks and leather-bound volumes.
Salt-N-Pepa's I'll Take Your Man played in Xian's ears as she set to cleaning this room. Deciding that
a little decluttering wouldn't hurt, she gathered the books, many of which were under the bed, and
placed them all on shelves. Storing items under the bed was another way to disrupt energy flow and
potentially impact sleep quality. Keeping the area beneath the bed clear would allow energy to
circulate freely, promoting deeper relaxation and more rest.
These guys weren't messy. They just needed more order to bring balance into their lives. That
opinion was further cemented in the next bedroom, which was on the opposite end of where Wolfe
said he slept. The next bedroom looked bare in comparison to the others.
The bed in this room was directly in line with the door, a placement that could lead to disruptive
energy flow. To remedy this, Xian shifted the bed to a diagonal position which would allow the
occupant to see the entrance without being in its direct path. Though the bed was a bit heavier than
she'd anticipated. She dug her heels in and grunted as she pushed.
By now Biz Markie was in her ear singing Just a Friend. Xian sang along with the lyrics as she
shoved the bed bit by bit. With the song lyrics going and the squeak of the frame, she must have
missed the first time the intruder asked her the question.
"Who are you?"
The deep male voice penetrated the song. Xian snatched the buds from her ears. She turned and
came face-to-face with the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life.
 C HAPTER FIVE

T here was a woman dancing around in his bedroom. That wasn't an unusual scene for Armie.
He'd never been short on female attention. He wasn't the "love 'em and forget 'em" kinda
guy either.
Though he needed an extra pair of hands to count the number of his partners from the past, he had
a clear memory of each of their faces and each of their names. He had been raised a Southern
gentleman, after all. The face of the woman swaying her hips in his bedroom while she dusted the
fixtures didn't ring a bell.
At least he thought this was his bedroom. He spied his duffle bag in the corner. But it wasn't
where he thought he'd left it this morning. The woman was currently moving his bed. The pillows on
his mattress were in a different configuration. Maybe this wasn't his bedroom?
Then he saw his clicky pen on the nightstand. He knew he was the only one who used that multi-
faceted weapon in the house of trained warriors. Grimm was a fan of red pens. Beast preferred
pencils. And Wolfe had a memory where he wasn't constantly writing things down.
This was his room. Was this his girl? Had he been dating? The only girl he remembered was Ana,
and the journal reminded him what had happened there.
Armie moved quietly into the room. Behind him, he heard the rhythm of renovation, now a
familiar hum in his ears. In front of him, the woman sang a rapid-fire chorus of lyrics in between
grunts as she shoved at the bed frame. Her golden-yellow Converse sneakers were in stark contrast to
the hardwood floor. The matching bandana that kept her dark hair from her face and the headphones
that covered her ears were as bright and inviting as a summer's day.
He watched, entranced, as she straightened and shoulder shimmied in the sunlight streaming
through the window. Her eyes were closed, her hands up, index fingers pointing to the sky as she
rolled her body in time to a beat he couldn't hear. She moved with an unburdened grace, even while
the Converse squeaked. Her recitation of the familiar rhyming lyrics rang out pure and infectious, and
for a moment, Armie found himself smiling at her unencumbered joy.
The sunlight shifted, casting a glowing outline around her form that made his breath hitch in his
chest. His heart stuttered in his rib cage, an odd sensation that had nothing to do with the strain of the
doctor's visit he'd just come from. The sight of that golden halo around her yellow bandana was a
familiarity, an echo of a memory he couldn't quite grasp. His transient global amnesia taunted him,
keeping the past just out of his reach. He was sure he had never seen this woman before. Yet, why did
something deep inside insist that he knew her?
"Who are you?" he said, but his words weren't loud enough to break through the headphones.
Her yellow shoes moved against the hardwood floors. The sun backlit her as her body swayed,
drawing Armie deeper into the room. Getting closer to her felt like he was waking up. But with none
of the grogginess that he'd faced this morning. He had to know this woman. There was something
about her that was so intimate, so recognizable, so visceral.
He might not remember her face, but he remembered the moves. The 90s were calling for them to
come back.
She cabbage-patched after she successfully moved the bed against the wall. Followed by the Run
Joe, a dance made popular by Kid N Play in one of his favorite films, House Party. And then she
stopped and Hammer-Timed, which made Armie chuckle.
"Who are you?" he said again, loud enough this time that it penetrated the song and her singing.
She whirled around. And yelped.
Armie held up his hands to show they were empty, and he meant her no harm. She held stock still
as he took a step back. Only his feet moved forward instead of backward.
His hands were indeed up, but the right one was reaching forward as though to touch her. Or
maybe he was reaching for the sunlight around her. The low hum of a headache had been building to a
higher pitch since he'd left the doctor's office.
Dr. Sameed had told him to stay out of the light when the headaches niggled at the back of his
head. She hadn't believed Armie when he'd insisted that the light lessened the pain. Looking at this
woman dressed in yellow and bathed in sunlight, the headache retreated entirely.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she breathed.
It was only one word. Two letters. Her voice washed over him and Armie forgot what a headache
was.
"I'm so sorry," she continued, taking a step to the side. "I didn't hear you come in."
"No. It looked like you were having a party."
She took another step and bumped into his nightstand. The clicky pen rolled to the edge. It teetered
on the precipice for a split second before taking the plunge towards the floor.
They both reached for it. They both missed. The pen clattered to the ground as their fingers
brushed.
And there they were — sparks. Fourth of July sparks. Not the sparklers of kids running down the
street. Not the illegal displays set off in parking lots. These were the booms of cannons going off over
the Washington Monument in concert with the National Symphony Orchestra that Armie had seen once
on a summer visit to the nation's capital.
The woman jerked her hand away from his. He let go reluctantly, unwilling to release the bounty
he'd caught. He stared at her fingers. She had felt so familiar, like they'd been holding hands for years.
"I'm so sorry," she said again. "I'll replace it."
Armie didn't even look down at the pen. His gaze remained on her. He searched his memory,
trying to find clues as to who she was. "Is this the first time?"
"That I've broken something in your room? Nothing else is broken."
Armie scanned the room, his gaze taking in the meticulous order that had replaced the slight
clutter. The furniture had been rearranged. The bed was now off to the side, no longer directly in line
with the door. The nightstand had been moved to the wall adjacent. The sheets on the bed were crisp
and clean, a refreshing change from the worn and wrinkled ones he had been using.
Just small touches, but somehow the room had been transformed. It was as if a heavy curtain had
been lifted, allowing the sunlight to reach corners it hadn't touched before. The shift wasn't just
physical; there was a palpable change in the atmosphere. It was tranquil, as though the room itself had
taken a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting go of years of accumulated tension.
He felt it too, this newfound serenity. It was a balm to his senses, soothing the chaos that had
become a part of his daily existence. The very air seemed lighter, unburdened. He was surprised at
the profound impact of the transformation. He was the same man in the same room, yet everything felt
different, better.
Armie's eyes returned to the woman. Her still-present infectious energy was in the air,
intertwining with the calm tranquility of the room. The two contrasting energies should have clashed.
Instead, they melded perfectly together, creating a unique balance that resonated within him.
He should've been annoyed, upset even, that his personal space had been rearranged without his
consent. All he felt was a sense of peace, a calm he hadn't known he was missing. He felt ready to
rest, to take a respite from the constant uncertainty his amnesia presented.
"I did move a few things around. I'm sorry. It's a habit of mine. But you'll see it flows better."
"I like it."
"You do?"
"I do."
"Thank you." She looked around the room, as though trying to see it through his eyes. "I'm sorry, I
don't know your name."
"We haven't met?"
"No. I'm Xian."
"Ann?"
"No. The first part is like an SH sound."
Armie tried it again.
It was a small detail, but when he got it right, the smile from her it produced was huge. He begged
his brain to remember the pronunciation.
"I'm Armie. It's nice to meet you, Xian."
 C HAPTER SIX

T he dust cloth hung limp in Xian's hand as she stood arrested under Armie's smile. It was an
unexpected smile, disarming and genuine. It lit his face, giving his handsome features a
boyish charm that made her heart flutter in her chest.
No, not boyish. This man was full grown.
That stretch of his lips was magnetic. But instead of the energy pushing his top and bottom lips
apart, the two poles aimed their wicked force at her. That's what he was… a wicked charmer. So why
were her feet moving as that smile pulled her toward him?
He was, without question, the most handsome man she had ever seen. His hair, jet-black and
slightly disheveled, contrasted starkly with his pale eyes. They were a captivating shade of gray, like
a stormy sea under a silver sky, intense and captivating in their depths.
Armie's eyes met Xian's. The gray of his gaze appeared to lighten as it rested on her. There was a
softness around the interest in them. Like he saw an available woman in front of him, but he didn't
assume that she was there solely for his amusement. Armie wasn't looking at her like a possible
plaything. He looked at her like he saw a person worth knowing.
That couldn't be right.
Xian wasn't jaded enough to think that all men were trash. But she had never had a single man
who wasn't her father look at her like that… like she was something precious. Most of the time, men
didn't notice her at all.
The one man who had had seen a broken doll. He'd picked her up, made her feel pretty for a
moment, then easily discarded her once her shine had faded and the novelty of toying with her had
worn off.
Xian's smile faltered as that ghost from her past flitted across her mind. The afternoon light
filtering through the window of the high school corridors. The squeak of the linoleum floor under her
feet. And then Warren coming toward her from the boys' locker room. Xian had looked down, as she
had done every day in AP World History, when Warren Easton, QB and Homecoming King, glanced
her way.
The first time Warren had glanced her way in school, it was because he was looking out of the
window at the football field. Xian had always taken the seat next to the window, loving the feel of the
sun on her skin. Warren's seat was right next to hers. But he'd never acknowledged her until that day
after school.
Warren Easton was the golden boy of the school, charming, good-looking, and popular. Xian had
no athletic ability. She was smart, but not in the running for valedictorian. She wasn't exactly shy, but
she was definitely introverted and quite content with the two friends she'd made in town.
 That day, in the privacy of the east corridor of Grimm Valley High, with no one else around, the
most popular guy in school extended his friendship to Xian. She was naïve back then, too smitten to
notice the truth hiding behind his smile. Too blinded by infatuation to recognize that he only smiled at
her when they were alone.
In hindsight, she realized she should have seen it, should have read the signs. She had been young
and in love, blinded by the shimmering illusion of romance. Warren's smile had been like a siren
song, luring her into believing in a love that never truly existed. While Xian stood in the blind
darkness, her 'true love' had been courting another in broad daylight. Warren had secretly taken Xian's
pearl and given a diamond rock to Drusilla for the world to see.
As quickly as the memory surfaced, Xian pushed it back down. A bittersweet pang tugged at her
heart. She wasn't that gullible girl anymore. She had learned her lesson in the hardest way possible.
Armie's smile was still there, open, unguarded, causing a familiar flutter in her chest. This time,
she promised herself, she wouldn't be fooled by a smile, no matter how enchanting. As the past
continued to echo in her mind, Xian renewed her resolve to guard her heart, to keep her eyes open,
especially in the face of a wickedly charming smile that threatened to make her forget.
"Charming, you're back. I see you've met Jan."
The mispronunciation of her name was elongated, like a taunt. Once again, Xian got the
impression that this Wolfe knew exactly how to say her name. He was just saying it wrong to get a
rise out of her. Too bad for him that she knew better than to play around with guys like him.
Armie's smile had slipped from his face. He was staring at Xian as though he hadn't just
introduced himself a moment ago. "Jan?"
When Wolfe said her name wrong, it brushed off Xian's shoulders as a tiny annoyance. When
Armie said it wrong, it sent shivers the wrong way down her back. She did not like it. Xian didn't
make it a habit to correct people, but she wanted this man to get it right.
"That's not right." Armie's words were directed at Wolfe, but his gaze remained on her. "He's not
right, is he?"
"No. He's not."
And there it was again, that magnetic smile. It urged Xian to take another step towards him. It
promised warmth and sunshine and safety. It promised her that she would be seen.
Xian stepped back. Then she gave Armie her back. She picked up her duster and reached for her
mop.
Armie got there first.
Xian looked at the handle he offered her like it was a weapon. Her fingers trembled as her hand
lifted. She took special care not to touch his skin. He didn't take such care. When their fingers met,
there were sparks again.
A true-blue electric shock. Logically, it was likely from static electricity. Xian was sure if she
recounted this tale to Rosie, the woman would swear it was the start of their true love story.
The sound of the mop clattering to the floor broke the spell. That clatter was followed by a thump
as the book Armie had been holding also fell. The book, which looked more like a journal, fell open.
Written in red on the page was the name Rosalee and the word friend.
"You're a friend of Rosalee's, aren't you?" asked Armie.
Xian nodded.
"She's my friend too."
For weeks, Rosie had been pulling tarot cards for Xian and saying she was going to meet her true
love soon. Xian hadn't put any stock into that notion. She'd tried her hand at love once and gotten
smacked down. Looking into Armie's kind face, she didn't feel an ounce of fear. She felt warm. She
felt safe.
"I'd love for Jan to be my friend," said Wolfe. "It doesn't look like you've gotten to my room yet."
"I'm done for the day." Xian collected the rest of her cleaning supplies and headed for the door.
"You're leaving?" said Armie.
"I'll be back tomorrow."
"You could just spend the night," said Wolfe.
Wolfe's gaze held a flirtatious edge that made Xian uncomfortable. She wasn't unfamiliar with
unwanted advances. She was also pretty certain that this man's bark was worse than his bite. Fairly
certain.
"That's enough, Wolfe." Armie's voice was low but firm. "Rosalee's dating Jake, and Xian's
Rosalee's friend. That makes her family. We respect family here."
Xian watched as Wolfe's cavalier expression faltered. The earlier hint of flirtatiousness was
replaced with what appeared to be chagrin. With the tension diffused, Armie turned back to her. With
his friend's back turned, Wolfe caught her eye and flashed her a wink. It was as if he was determined
to have the last word, to prove that he wouldn't be easily put off.
Completely uninterested in the childish games, Xian slipped past them both. She heard footsteps
following her. She knew without turning around that it was Armie.
"Don't mind him. He's an ass on purpose, but he doesn't actually bite."
Xian said nothing. She minded her steps down the curving stairway while balancing her supplies.
And then her load was lightened.
Armie liberated the bucket and mop from her. The two continued their descent. He didn't speak
again until they were at the bottom of the staircase.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Xian?"
Armie reached for her and Xian braced for the flutters. But he didn't touch her. His fingers
wrapped around the book she cradled against her chest.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I almost made off with your diary." The book had been on the floor, so of course
she had picked it up.
"It's a journal. It helps me collect my thoughts."
Like who his friends were. "In different colors." And why did Rosie get assigned red? She was
much more of a pink kind of girl.
"The colors help keep me organized."
Armie produced the clicky pen, one with four colors. He handed it to Xian. She ignored the
second zap that went straight to her palm and stole her breath. To cover the reaction, she clicked the
blue nib of the pen. Then the green. Looking up, she saw Armie grinning as she went around the pen,
pressing each color.
"I have a tah-dah list."
"Do you mean to-do?"
"No, tah-dah. As in look what I did. Not look at what I have to do."
"I like that."
"Are you two seriously flirting over office supplies?" called Wolfe.
"I'm sorry about tomorrow, Xian," said Armie.
Xian frowned.
"For all the blood you'll have to clean up after I murder my friend."
Xian giggled. She wouldn't feel an ounce of irritation at getting Wolfe's blood out of the carpet. "A
mixture of dish soap and cold water will clear blood stains."
The two of them stood grinning at each other in the foyer.
"Now you're flirting over a felony," said Wolfe.
Xian turned to leave.
Armie dashed in front of her to open the door.
After another awkward smile, she climbed down the front porch steps and into her Beetle. That
had not been flirting, she told herself. She'd simply made a new friend.
 C HAPTER SEVEN

A rmie tilted his head to the sunlight. For the first time in days, he felt clear in his head. He felt
like his direction was paved and not rocky.
Even in his bedroom, the space was more light and airy. The new arrangement of his bed and side
table made more sense. Xian had transformed the space.
Every object had a purpose, a place. The bed was now by the window, where the early morning
light could greet him. The dresser was now along the wall, maximizing the room's function. His work
boots were neatly placed by the door, ready for the day's grind. It was as if Xian had intuitively
understood his needs, his habits, arranging everything to streamline his routines.
He moved through the space, his mind recognizing the harmony in the room. The space didn't just
look clean, it felt clean. Even the air seemed lighter, free from dust and disarray. It was a serene
environment, one that invited relaxation and rest.
Armie felt the pull of his bed. The newly changed sheets called him to surrender to a peaceful
sleep. His active mind was ready for the quiet, to forgo the restlessness that often kept him up at
nights. Instead of the exhaustion that usually weighed him down, there was a rush of energy pulsating
through his veins. He felt alive, awake, as if he'd drunk a cup of strong coffee.
His gaze scanned the room one last time, taking in the orderly arrangement, the soothing ambiance.
It felt good, right. Even though the sun was preparing to set, he still felt its rays touching each corner
of his room. Something niggled at the back of his mind that the glowing warmth, those unseen rays,
were all from Xian.
When she'd turned around to face him, she'd been backlit by the sun. The star had cast her in a
warm glow. Or had that bright light around her person been something else entirely?
Could she be it? Could she be The One?
Armie's family were the descendants of people who would have been called gypsies a century
ago and wanderers today. The Charmaynes had come from the border between France and Spain and
settled in Louisiana. Their "second sight" had made the family rich on the Continent. That wealth
doubled when they reached the New World, because the sight enabled some in the family to make
accurate predictions in business dealings. The sight enabled every member in the family to make an
accurate prediction about love.
Every Charmayne, male or female, was able to spot their true love at first sight. When they saw
The One, that person would be surrounded by a golden glow that only they could see. Armie's father
had seen that glow around his mother when she'd been walking in the French Quarter with her parents,
and he'd known. He'd told Armie that story over and over again about the glow that had suffused
Nadége as he'd followed her down the street, and then followed her every day until she agreed to let
him court her, and later marry her.
It had been like that for his cousins, too. His cousin Armand, whom everyone called Manny, had
seen the light around a single mother who had helped him on his mayoral campaign. The two were
happily married, with their second child on the way. His cousin music producer Guy Rumpel hadn't
believed in the magic until he saw a spark surrounding his young protégé. When the songbird
introduced Guy to her mother, Guy saw a full-on flame around the up-and-coming fashion designer.
The two were making beautiful music and clothes together in New York. And then there was Armie's
cousin Beau, who had thought she'd seen the light in her husband. It was a mistake that had left her in
the dark until she saw the true light around the doctor who had healed her years-long bout with
insomnia.
Growing up in a family that had such powerful love stories had made Armie excited about finding
the bright light of the one woman meant for him. He still held out that hope. Only now, with his brain
messed up, Armie wasn't sure he could trust what he was seeing or feeling.
He opened his journal to a new page. He wanted to remember every detail of Xian. What she had
said to him. What she had worn. The subtle rays of light he'd seen around her lithe body. The way his
gaze kept getting drawn to that light in her eyes. That spark in her smile. Even her yellow shoes had
affected him.
Armie clicked on the red nib of his clicky pen. Then decided against the color. Xian should be
blue, the hottest part of the flame. He clicked to distend the blue nib. He put pen to paper. Then he
paused, wondering how to spell her name.
Gee Ann? No, that was wrong. The first part of her name was soft.
She Ann. It wasn't quite correct. He put a hyphen in between the two words. But he knew it still
wasn't quite right.
"So, you and Jan?" said Wolfe from the door. "Guess you got over Ana."
Ana? The mention of his ex brought a prickle to Armie's forehead.
He saw Ana's dark hair. Her brown skin. Her impeccably clothed form, decked out in the latest
designer wear. She was beautiful on the outside. But he'd seen a different tale in her depths.
Armie blinked. The static of the TV inside his mind tried to change the channel. Armie forced his
mind to focus on the bright light of She-Ann.
"Charming?" came Wolfe's voice. "You in there?"
Armie blinked again. The sound of his lashes touching the tops of his cheeks making a clicking
sound in his head, like that of a remote control from the 80s.
"Thought I'd lost you," came the TV announcer's voice.
What show was he watching? He had been on a soap opera. Now the channel was switched to a
war movie. Men in fatigues were low to the ground as bombs went off overhead. The sound of the
explosions brought on a pounding headache.
"What are you two doing up here?" asked Beast from the doorway. "Taking a nap? We have work
to do."
Armie looked around the room. He knew this was his room, but things looked different. Not quite
out of place, just not in the place where he'd left them.
"The mayor is off our back," Beast was saying, "but these repairs are costly and you know he
won't ask for help."
"He?" asked Armie.
"Grimm."
"For the house?" Armie said carefully, as he tugged the memory from his mind. "For the repairs to
the house."
"That's right, buddy," said Beast.
Right. They were here fixing up Grimm's house so he could use the rooms to help other men from
their unit heal. That's why Armie was here. He was healing from a head injury. He touched his fingers
to his head.
"I have money," Armie said.
Wolfe and Beast exchanged a look. Armie knew that look. Jake Grimm was a proud man. He
probably hadn't asked Armie for any financial help.
"I'll just pay the contractors directly," Armie said.
"Your mom's blocking your access to your inheritance, remember?" said Beast.
Armie did remember. He remembered Beast coming into the care facility his mother wanted to
keep him in. He remembered sneaking out and driving all night in the dark away from Louisiana to
Georgia. He'd argued with his mother this morning. That's what the argument had been about. She
wanted him back in the facility to get better. Armie thought he'd heal better under the watch of his
fellow soldiers.
"You just worry about getting better," said Beast.
Right. He had to get better. If he could heal and prove he had his mind back, he could have access
to his funds. That's what the journal was for.
He saw notes from his doctor about his routine. Write in the journal each morning. Read the
journal first thing. Keep a routine. No stress. That would help him heal and get his memory working
again. Routine.
Below the doctor's notes, he saw a note about his ex. Ana. Though he'd spelled her name wrong.
She-Ann. It looked like he'd started a sentence and then forgotten what he was writing.
Armie sighed and closed the book. It didn't matter what he was about to write about Ana. That
relationship was over.
He looked around the room. There was a place to put the journal. He made his way over, noting
that the room was cleaner than he remembered. It felt different, too. Tranquil. He liked it. He would
definitely get a good night's sleep in here.
Armie turned to head out with the guys, to get on with the routine of getting Grimm House in order.
 C H A P T E R E I G HT

T o say she was walking on Cloud Nine was an understatement. The gravel crunched under
Xian's Converse, but the sound was drowned out by the tunes playing in her ears. LL Cool J
spat rhymes about giggling about the games he played with hearts, until he realized that he needed
love. In the game of love, Xian had been dished a raw deal. But what if… Was she really thinking
this?
Armie's interested gaze had ignited a spark within her. It was a spark she had personally
extinguished long ago, after she'd gotten it so wrong the first and only time. Now that nascent flame
was coming back to life, and Xian wasn't so eager to snuff it out immediately.
Walking down the street, her past heartbreak seemed distant, faded. The sting less potent. With the
pain dulled, a dangerous thought crept into her mind for the first time since her teenage love — could
she be the girl who was special? The girl who got the romance she'd only ever read about in books or
seen on the big screen?
Being best friends with a hopeless romantic and a romance novel expert, Xian had never been too
far away from the notion of true love. Though her belief in the idea had been tainted, she could admit
— if only to herself — that the hope that she might be someone's one-and-only true love had never
died.
"Xi? Xi have you heard anything I said?"
Xian blinked. And then blinked again.
When had she arrived at Sprat's Diner? When had Neve got here? Why was there a puppy in her
lap?
Man, that Cloud Nine was a dangerous place. She'd completely lost the last ten minutes while
she'd been daydreaming about a Prince Charming coming to sweep her off her feet, feet which were
folded under her as she sat cross-legged on the sticky diner chair and still not touching the ground.
"What's gotten into you?" Neve asked, taking the Pomeranian back from Xian.
From behind the counter, Mrs. Spratt narrowed her eyes at their table and the four-legged creature
that had trotted in past the No Animals sign. Neve waved the pom's paw. Mrs. Spratt just rolled her
eyes. Neve had that effect on people. No one said no to her or her animals going anywhere she went.
Over in a corner booth, Xian spotted Mayor Reyna and Sheriff Briarwood. The tabletop was
empty of her phone and his walkie talkie. Instead, they were holding hands and whispering in each
other's ear.
Xian had seen the two of them deeply in love and unable to keep their hands off each other when
she was a kid. She'd seen them as a teen, at each other's throats and barely speaking. And here they
were again, like lovesick teenagers in their twenties.
 "I think I met him," Xian said.
The Pom lifted its fluffy head and stared at Xian. Its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it
panted at her. The image brought to mind Xian chasing after a guy, watching his every move, hanging
on his every word for a morsel of his attention.
"Him?" asked Trix, using one book to bookmark her spot in a different book. She didn't believe in
bookmarks. She said they were for quitters. Trix read one, sometimes two books every single day.
"Him," Xian repeated, replacing the image of Warren and his cocky, entitled smile with Armie's
reverent, inviting grin.
"You mean Soldier Boy?" asked Trix.
"I thought Jake was with Rosie," said Neve.
"Not Jake. My guy's name is Armie."
My guy. Xian twisted her lips, but the words were already out there. The Pom made a questioning
whine in its throat. Neve palm-fed the dog a piece of a boiled egg from her Cobb salad, and it
quieted.
"A soldier named Armie," Trix snorted.
Despite being the resident romance bookaholic, Trix was surprisingly skeptic about real-life love
stories. Xian wished Rosie was here. She wanted support, not sarcasm. She felt vulnerable enough,
having this flickering light growing inside the barren wasteland that was her heart. And here to tend to
it were a romance reader who hated men and a vet who was more interested in four-legged males
than two-legged ones.
The piano strands of the Cruella de Vil theme song rang loud in the diner. All eyes covertly turned
to the booth where the town's mayor sat holding hands with her estranged husband. Rory, their
younger daughter, had programmed the song as the main ring tone on her mom's phone at some point
when she'd gotten upset with her. Mayor Reyna had kept the ring tone.
Sheriff Briarwood let his wife's hand go. Mayor Reyna hesitated, her fingers flexing as they
hovered over his palm. Then her hand touched down on his, her thumb and index finger brushing over
his wrist. A carnal smile spread across the sheriff's face.
"I Feng Shuied his bedroom," said Xian.
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" said Trix.
"I felt something." Xian huffed.
It was the huff that finally caught her friends’ attention. Neve looked up from feeding the dog. Trix
pushed her books aside. Neither looked excited for Xian. They both looked cautious.
No, that was worry furrowing Neve's pale forehead and Trix's dark brows.
Xian swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing. When she did, she felt that fledgling
flame flicker. "You know how Rosie is always talking about that spark? I think… think I felt it."
"Not you too," sighed Trix.
Neve stroked the pom's head, and the animal gave its body a shake.
"Xi, you're smarter than this. Don't let a deck of playing cards determine your life."
"It worked for Rosie."
"It hasn't even been a full week."
As though Rosie heard her name being invoked, she appeared outside the diner's window. She
was wrapped around the body of Jake Grimm. He held her to him with one hand, looking down at her
as though she were his lifeline.
Jake bent his head to Rosie and accepted her kiss. When she would have let him go, he held tight
and kissed her again. Then when he let her go, she pulled him back to her and they kissed each other
like they were parting for a year and not just Happy Hour.
The three women seated inside the diner all watched. All clearly envious. All trying to hide their
envy.
Rosie came into the diner walking on the same cloud that Xian had sailed in on. She took one look
at her friend and her face lit up. "You met him. You met Charming."
"I did," Xian confirmed.
"Well?" Rosie snagged the Pom whose tail wagged incessantly at the newcomer and then sank into
the chair next to Xian. "What do you think?"
"He's really nice."
"And kind. And handsome. And thoughtful. Did I mention sexy?"
"Jeez, why don't you date him, then," said Trix, picking her books back up. She unbookmarked one
and put the other in her bag, which was filled with two other paperbacks.
"Because I'm in love. Xian's about to fall. And then you're next."
Trix scowled at her roommate. She opened her mouth to retort. Then pressed her lips together.
Grabbing the remaining book on the table, she rose and stormed out of the restaurant without another
word.
"I cannot wait until she falls in love," Rosie cackled at Trix's retreat. Her smile looked more
devil than cupid. When she turned back to face Xian, that grin fell fast. She wrinkled her nose like she
smelled something foul. "This is not how I wanted to end my work day."
Mayor Reyna and Sheriff Briarwood strolled over, hand-in-hand. The way their bodies moved in
tandem reminded Xian of the old oak tree behind the town's rec center. That tree had been weathered
by countless storms, yet it still stood, its roots entangled in a cycle of separation and reconciliation.
"Rosalee, ladies," said Mayor Reyna.
"Mamãe." Rosie scowled up at her mother. A small smile slipped onto the side of her mouth when
she glanced at her father. "Hey, Dad."
"Hey, Princess."
"You guys on a date?" Rosie said the word date like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "I'm surprised
you found the time away from the office or harassing your constituents, Mayor."
"Your father and I have been working on our work-life balance," said Mayor Reyna. "I told my
office I'm not available after 5 pm." After a beat, she added. "On Thursdays."
The sheriff nodded, seemingly over the moon at the small concession. The two of them really
were the backbone of the town. It was a wonder they'd kept their marriage together as long as they
did.
"So, what's the plan for your night out?" Rosie smirked. "Have an appetizer before returning to
your desks?"
"No, now we're going to go have sex."
"Mom!"
"Watch your tone with me, young lady, or I'll tell you which sexual positions next time."
"Yes, ma'am." Rosie bent her head, completely cowed. If she were the dog in her lap, her tail
would be between her legs.
The irony of it all wasn't lost on Xian. The hopeful romantic, the parents caught in a cycle of
almost-endings, and now she, on the precipice of beginning a love story of her own.
"Like that'll last," Rosie snorted after her parents were safely on the other side of the door.
"You don't think they'll make it?" asked Neve, taking the Pom back.
"They've broken it so many times." Rosie shrugged as she looked at the retreating figures of the
two people whose love had made her. "I'm not sure the pieces can be glued back together."
The idea of a love so repeatedly fractured, yet persistently patched back together, was a painful
mirror to Xian's own past. She, too, had been a vessel broken by love, her trust shattered like fragile
porcelain, left in pieces on the floor of betrayal. Could she gather the scattered fragments of her heart,
piece them back together, and dare to love again?
 C HAPTER NINE

H e knew he was dreaming. But this wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. The darkness and
then the pinprick of light. That had happened to him.
Armie reached for the light. He'd been buried, and the light was coming to save him. He just had
to grab hold of it.
Into the light came a face. He couldn't make out the features, but he knew it was a woman. He
could hear the sound of her voice, soft and lilting. He could see her smile, shy, but Armie knew that
when it broadened it would shut out the darkness that kept coming for him. He had to make her smile.
But how?
"He's sleeping," he heard a familiar voice say. The voice wasn't in the dream. It was somewhere
beyond the dream.
Was that Wolfe? Wolfe hadn't been there that day when the team had been caught in the explosion.
So maybe this was a dream after all?
"Why don't you come into my room," Wolfe was saying.
Armie couldn't see the dark-skinned man, whose hazel eyes often sparked like a wolf in the wild
when he saw a woman he planned to seduce into his bed, or even in the woods if she was obliging.
What was he doing having a sex dream about his friend luring some poor girl out for a tryst?
Armie opened his eyes. He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't on base. He wasn't home. He looked over
and saw a journal. His handwriting said Read Me.
This was familiar. It had happened before. Had that been yesterday? The details of the day were
hazy. All he could remember was the warm glow of sunlight. The sun had been smiling at him?
He grabbed the journal and began to read. The memories tried to come back to him. They
replayed in his mind like a grainy Super 8 home movie. There was so much static and skipped frames
in his brain today. He'd written about the static. He'd told himself to be patient, that the static would
clear if he just remained calm and patient.
On the latest entry dated yesterday, he'd written about his ex-girlfriend. Ana. But why had he
misspelled her name as Ann instead? Why had he put a She in front of her name? What had she done
now?
The last conversation he'd had with her was clear in his mind. She'd demanded an engagement
ring. It had been expected of him, of them. They were the perfect power couple. Except she hadn't
been The One.
Armie had hoped to see the light around her, that fabled glow that all Charmaynes swore they saw
at their first glimpse of the person they were meant to spend the rest of their lives with. It had taken
his cousin Manny a few weeks before the glow around his current wife became visible.
 Armie had dated Ana for months between deployments. Mostly at his mother's insistence that the
society darling was perfect for him. But it wasn't her.
There was no more than that written about Ana after the misspelling. Perhaps he'd gotten
distracted? Maybe there was just nothing more to say after he'd ended things with her.
Setting the journal aside, Armie rose from the bed. Despite the rude awakening, he'd slept very
well. There was a sense of comfort and peace that had been elusive for as long as he could remember.
He had slept deeply, without the usual restlessness that often tormented his nights.
The placement of his bed was different. It had been against the other wall. Now it faced east,
towards the first light of day. It was the sun that had awakened him naturally with the dawn, the soft
light serving as a gentle alarm.
A dresser, which he thought had been shoved in a corner, was now placed across from the
window. Atop the dresser was a mirror which reflected the morning light, dispersing it evenly around
the room. The space felt brighter, cheerier.
His bare feet touched the warm wooden floor, the tactile sensation further grounding him in this
newfound serenity. Even the air seemed lighter, as though it were flowing more freely, carrying away
with it the weight of his worries. As he pulled on his clothes, he had a feeling of being in tune with
the energy of the space.
His headache abated, and the static dimmed in his mind. With all that clear, he caught a scent
lingering in the room. He moved around, like a bloodhound trying to find the path. There was
something just beyond his memory. Like a shard of light that touched his face, but when he reached for
it, the light dimmed.
Armie clenched his fist in frustration. He was supposed to be getting better. But each day was still
a struggle.
Wolfe's door was cracked slightly open when he stepped out of his room. He heard two voices in
there. One feminine, the other the playful growl of his friend. But he didn't see anyone. There again
was the faint hint of that fresh scent he'd caught in the corners of his room, but voices from downstairs
tugged his attention in that direction.
"So you're saying the plumbing is going to have to be replaced," Grimm was saying.
"It's a two-hundred-year-old house," said an older man.
The older man wore a blue shirt with the white lettering noting Guiseppe and Son. His hands
were rough, thickened with calluses, likely from handling rigid pipes and wrenches. His skin was like
leather, weathered and sunburnt. A cap of graying hair, speckled with flecks of white, poked out from
beneath the brim of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.
Armie wasn't sure if he'd met the man before. The man's gaze slid over him without recognition,
but it was friendly. That was a cue they hadn't met before.
"I can do my best to cut you a deal—"
"No, you don't have to do that, Mr. Guiseppe."
"I'd like to keep your business in this town, after what my son did."
Armie wasn't sure who the man's son was or what he did? Grimm and Beast clearly knew. Armie
hated being kept in the dark. Intel was how he'd survived as a soldier. Now he felt like he was being
given a report with most of the words blacked out.
"I can take care of the costs."
They all turned to him. Instead of the gratitude Armie had expected, Grimm and Beast exchanged
glances. Those glances spoke volumes, but it was at a frequency that Armie couldn't hear. Or couldn't
remember how to interpret.
 He had money. Didn't he?
An inheritance that he'd recently come into. Despite that, his family was wealthy. His mother
probably had that amount in her wallet. The static grew in his mind.
He watched as Grimm shook hands with the older gentleman, then showed him out the door. Out
of nowhere, the headache snuck up on Armie. He winced, putting a hand to his brow and pinching at
the bridge of his nose.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Grimm. His face looked like his name.
"You just worry about getting better," his friend said.
Grimm had said those words to Armie before. He knew what the next words were going to be
before they came out of his mouth.
"You just stick to your routine and—"
Armie shrugged Grimm's hand off his shoulder. The book had told him that. He had a memory of
the doctor telling him that. The routine wasn't working. Or it wasn't working fast enough.
Armie felt the walls of the old Georgian mansion close in on him. The grandeur of the place was
suddenly a suffocating cage. His skin prickled with frustration, hot and uncomfortable, a stark contrast
to the warm wake-up call of the early morning sun.
Transient global amnesia was supposed to be a temporary condition, but his case of the disorder
was stubbornly persistent. His memory was a traitorous maze, a frustrating puzzle with pieces
constantly appearing and disappearing. One moment he'd recall the subtle scent of his grandmother's
cookies from his childhood, the next he wouldn't remember what he had for breakfast.
And the headaches. God, the headaches. They came like swift, merciless storms. Wave after wave
of pain pounding behind his eyes, leaving him gasping for relief.
He had been a soldier, capable, strong, his mind as much a weapon as his body. But this... this
was a different kind of battle. One he felt he was losing. The house, with its constant disarray from
renovation, became a symbol of his mind. Structures like memories ripped apart and exposed like
raw, gaping holes in drywall. He had to get out of here.
Without another thought, Armie headed for the door. He'd never felt more desperate for space, for
freedom from his own mind's confines.
"Where are you going?" called Grimm.
"Out."
"I don't think that's such a good idea, buddy."
"Am I a prisoner here?"
No answer.
"I'm not an invalid either. I'm a trained soldier."
"I'll go with him," said Beast.
"I don't need a babysitter."
Armie headed to the front door, storming past the winding staircase. As he did so, he nearly
collided with a woman stepping off the last rung of the stairs. She had dark hair, an apron, and yellow
Converse sneakers. He reached out, setting her to rights.
She must have been the woman Wolfe had taken to his bed. Though the maid-look was a kinky
turn. But what did he know? Maybe Wolfe had developed this fetish, and he'd forgotten.
"Sorry, miss," he said, and then moved past the woman and walked out the door.
 C HAPTER TEN

H e'd looked right through her. Like he didn't know her. He was supposed to be her soul
mate, her Prince Charming, and he'd barely glanced at her.
It was as though they'd never met before. As though he hadn't grinned at her, like he'd known her
his whole life and couldn't wait to learn more about her. As though they hadn't had that spark between
them, that spark that had reignited the dead wick inside her heart.
When he'd strode by her without acknowledgement, an icy wind blew across her heart. An
involuntary shiver ran through her as memories, long buried, clawed their way to the surface. They
weren't memories of Armie. They were flashbacks from her disastrous relationship — if it could be
called that — with Warren.
Warren, who had broken her heart, and a great deal of her spirit.
Warren, who had left her feeling as cold and forgotten as she felt now.
It was Warren's charming smile that flashed in Xian's mind as she watched Armie walk away
without a backwards glance. It was Warren's dark brown eyes that looked down at her with a
knowing grin, the one he'd shared with her when they were alone, the one making her feel special and
loved. The day after Xian had given him the precious gift not only of her virginity, but of her heart,
Warren had walked past her while in a crowd of his football friends with Drusilla hanging on his arm
as though he didn't know her.
Even after that crystal-clear display, Xian had hoped, had prayed that there was a reason for his
behavior. There wasn't. At least, not that he'd ever told her.
After just a couple of months of secret sweet-talk, Warren had gotten what he'd wanted from Xian
and not looked her way again. His charming smile had been replaced by a cool indifference that froze
her heart. The memory felt like a slap, a cold reminder of her naïveté, a sharp sting of betrayal that
had left a deep scar on her soul.
Watching Armie disappear down the narrow drive, Xian felt the all too familiar feeling of cold
indifference hit her again. The spark they'd shared, the burgeoning hope in her chest, everything faded
in the face of his vacant gaze.
"Xian?"
Xian looked up into Jake's unsmiling face. The man usually was frowning, except when Rosie
was in sight or next to him. His frown wasn't unfriendly now. It was filled with concern.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
She was here to do a job. She was a professional. "Everything is great. Fine."
Her voice was overly bright when she said it. Jake never guessed that the spotlight was shining on
Armie's actions. Instead, he glanced up the stairwell and leveled an accusing stare at Wolfe.
 Wolfe held up his hands and backed away. A sly smile cut a slash across his handsome face.
Though he hadn't laid a single finger on her while she cleaned and reorganized his room. She'd been
right about him; Wolfe was all bark and no bite.
It was likely Xian's continual gazes at the wall adjoining his room and Armie's that had called the
wolf off his hunt. Now it was clear that was all for naught. Armie's smile wasn't true.
"Everything's fine," Xian repeated, more to herself than anyone. "Just fine."
Not everyone could have a soul mate. They were just cards. Rosie had obviously read them
wrong. Besides, Xian wasn't looking for love. She didn't believe in it. She wasn't one of those girls
who got the happily-ever-after. She was going to be a debt-free businesswoman. And to do that, she
had to finish the job at hand.
"We can be a bit of a handful," Jake was saying.
"I would be happy to offer you a handful — ouch!"
From the top of the stairs, the big one, Adam, whom they called Beast, smacked Wolfe in the back
of the head.
"Some of us have been knocked in the head a few too many times," said Wolfe, rubbing the back
of his head.
"Sorry you had to see that." Jake gestured to the door where Armie had left. "We're usually on
better behavior. There's a lot going on right now."
The tiny spark wavered in Xian's chest. Maybe she was being too harsh on Armie. He had just
had a falling-out with his friends. Xian had caught him in an embarrassing moment. Maybe it wasn't
about her. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to talk to anybody, let alone a stranger in that moment.
The cold wind chased those thoughts from her mind. She'd done the same thing for days, for
weeks. Okay, for months, after Warren had bedded and forgetted her. She would not go back to that
kind of pity party.
"I'll get out of your way," said Xian, turning to head back upstairs.
"Actually, I think I could use your help on something else," Jake said. "Rosie said you do energy
work with furniture?"
"Not exactly. It's more arranging and placement to bring in good energy."
"I wouldn't have believed this woo-woo stuff a month ago. But she's made me a believer."
Jake stopped talking and gazed out the window. He was clearly lost in thought, thinking about
Xian's bestie. From the top of the stairs, Wolfe and Beast shared a look. They included Xian in that
gaze. Despite the upset of a moment ago, Xian felt a moment of kinship with the men. Having a friend
head over heels, up in the clouds in love, could be annoying.
"There's four of us here now," Jake said, when he let go of whatever thoughts he was having about
Rosie. "I want to make room for more. I want to make Grimm House feel comfortable and homey.
Like it's a place soldiers can get well after their time in service."
Xian's ears perked. "That's sounds great. What can I do to help?"
"I'd like to hire you to do your thing here."
"My thing?"
"Help me pick furniture that's from this century, for one. Then arrange it so that it'll be good
energy."
"Like an interior decorator?"
"Yeah, sure. If that's what it's called."
That was exactly what it was called. It was exactly what Xian wanted to do. She'd always wanted
more from life than cleaning up after others. She wanted to organize spaces and lives. Interior
decorating was a path she had never imagined was open to her, under the weight of the debts.
"The budget will be small because there's still so many repairs and —"
"I'll do it."
Jake told her the budget. It was a modest offer, nowhere near enough to lift the mountain of debt
left in her stepmother's wake, but each dollar would chip away at the financial burden.
When her father passed, leaving his business to both Xian and Meli, Xian found herself thrust into
a reality she'd been blissfully unaware of. The debts were staggering, a result of years of unchecked
spending on Meli's part and an unexpected downturn in business. The business’s financial situation
was grim, and it became Xian's responsibility to rectify it.
Xian welcomed the opportunity to work with Jake, not just for the monetary relief, but also for the
opportunity to dive into her passion for interior decorating. She could already envision the
transformation she would bring to the weathered Grimm House. She would be able to infuse her
creative ideas into each room, restoring life to the mansion while also taking steps to revive her
family's financial health.
For the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful. She saw a path to a future of her own, a future
where she could truly thrive.
 C H A P T E R E LE V E N

H e wasn't lost. He was in a freaking small town. He had found his way through barren
deserts with no landmark except identical sand dunes. He was not in the desert now. He
was in a town with a lot of distractions.
As Armie continued down the main street of Grimm Valley, he found himself thrust into a milieu
of afternoon distractions. Children, freshly released from the confines of their school desks, filled the
streets with a raucous energy. Their laughter and excited chatter scratched at Armie's lagging
headache.
A woman stepped into the middle of the street. Armie almost dashed in to pull her back from the
traffic. But the cars stopped as she held up her hands. That's when he recognized her orange vest.
The crossing guard held up a stop sign, her face stern as she commanded the road with a level of
authority that put Armie's former drill sergeant to shame. Cars came to an abrupt halt. The green light
hanging over the street was mocked by the guard's unyielding sign, making way for the procession of
schoolchildren to cross the street.
Once he was on the other side of the street, Armie faced down the stroller brigade. Moms in yoga
pants and a few dads in hoodies pushed one- and two-kid baby buggies. Some contraptions were as
wide as a car. All strolled down the right side of the sidewalk. Armie found himself on the wrong
side of the path and having to watch his toes to avoid the Hummer-sized wheels.
A makeshift pickleball court was alive with action in the town park. A group of spry seniors,
wielding racquets as though they were extensions of their own arms, engaged in a lively match. The
air around them buzzed with a youthful energy that defied their age. The click-clack of the paddles
against the wiffle ball punctuated their trash-talking.
"You call that a serve, Phil? I've seen toddlers throw harder than that."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I've seen better swings on a rusty gate."
"Hey, Jim," called out a wiry man with a cap of snow-white hair. "You move slower than
molasses in January."
A round of laughter echoed around the court. The man named Jim only grinned, adjusting his
glasses with a nonchalance that suggested he'd heard this jibe a thousand times before.
"At least I can aim, George," he shot back, swatting the ball with a surprisingly swift backhand.
"You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if it was right in front of you."
The doubles game continued in this manner. Each serve, each volley, was punctuated by another
round of trash talk. The sharper the insult, the harder the laughter that followed. Their competitive
banter and good-natured trash talk drifted toward Armie, offering him a glimpse into a camaraderie
he missed.
 He knew his friends were only concerned about him. He knew they each simply wanted him to
heal. They'd gone out of their way, practically kidnapping him, to ensure his medical needs were
being met. He shouldn't have stormed out of Grimm House like he did.
Now he just had to figure out how to get back to the house.
Armie stood amidst the flurry of small-town life, a stranger lost in a symphony of the ordinary.
He'd been a soldier, an intelligence operative, no less. He'd navigated war zones, tracked enemy
movement in hostile territories, and lived to tell the tale. Yet here he was, lost and directionless. The
quaint shops, idyllic houses, and the lively town square all felt more foreign than any battlefield he'd
ever set foot on.
He stopped, glancing around in the futile hope that some landmark, some sign, would be familiar.
But it was as if he were looking at everything through a foggy lens. His memories might come and go,
but his instincts, honed from years in the field, were supposed to stay. He felt betrayed by his own
mind, his own body.
There was a cruel irony in it all. Once the protector, he was now the one needing protection. Once
the navigator, he was now the one lost.
There was too much noise. Too much movement. Maybe he should not have left the house.
The sound of horns turned to static. The lights flashed from red to green to black. With each blink,
different people passed by him. Some smiling. Some frowning.
The street sign went from stop, to walk, to bike.
Armie stepped into the lane. The sudden swish of air and the jangle of a bell brought his mind into
clear focus just as a bicycle sped toward him. The rider's eyes widened in surprise. In the split
second that followed, Armie felt a firm grip on his arm, yanking him back onto the pavement, saving
him from a dangerous collision. The bike whizzed past, the rider hollering a string of curses that
echoed in the air. Armie barely heard them, his head pounding loud enough to summon blackness to
the edges of his vision.
Since when did bikes have their own lanes on streets?
He turned to thank his savior and found himself looking at a tall, broad-shouldered man. The guy
had the kind of rugged good looks that spoke of a life lived on football fields and inside gymnasiums.
"Whoa, man. Gotta watch where you're going."
"Where I'm from, bikes and cars have to share the road and the rules," said Armie.
"We're a progressive town here in Grimm Valley. The mayor is intent on modernizing and
upgrading from the old ways." Armie's savior grinned. "My parents hate it."
Armie's initial impression of the man was that he reminded him of the young bucks of his social
class back in Louisiana. Those old-money young guys who were content to live off their trust funds,
stepping into the roles their fathers had built for them without a second thought. Armie had never felt
at ease amongst them. His ambition to join the Army and make his own way in the world was a stark
contrast to their effortless privilege. For some reason, likely the grin about his parents' discomfort,
Armie decided he liked the guy.
"My family believes in holding on to the old ways, too," said Armie.
"Something tells me it's not about the bikes."
Armie had always been a chatty fellow. An extrovert who loved meeting new people and learning
their stories. He easily made friends wherever he went with just a smile and a compliment or funny
story.
At the moment, his story wasn't so funny. At least not the part about his TBI. Armie wasn't about to
tell this stranger that his mother wanted to hold him in a mental facility because of his memory loss.
 So, instead, he said. "My mother is pushing me to get married to a girl who's not The One."
Surprise lit the stranger's face. Then another grin spread across his handsome features. Armie
caught a flash of predator before the guy held up a flat black box. "Tell me about it. I'm already
engaged to the woman my mother swears is perfect for me — and I'm not saying she's wrong. Dru is
great, but… "
The guy opened the box. Inside wasn't a ring. There was a tennis bracelet that would've paid for
the entire rehabilitation of Grimm House resting on the velvet interior.
"I already gave her the engagement ring. Now there's an engagement present. Then an engagement
party present. I think I'm supposed to buy a bridal dinner gift? I can't keep up."
"Congratulations?"
"Warren."
Armie extended his hand and gave Warren his name.
Meeting new people was good. Manners have been drilled into him from a youth. Armie could
remember his manners. He might forget Warren tomorrow. He might forget this entire conversation in
an hour or two. But right now, meeting a new person and exchanging social niceties, he knew exactly
what to do. He was in his element.
"I hope it's a love match," Armie said.
"Not necessarily." Warren wrinkled his nose and waggled his head. "It's a practical match. We get
along. Our parents are in business. We have the same social status."
Each sentence Warren spoke was said on a sigh. There wasn't an ounce of excitement. No hint of
passion. This was exactly how Armie sounded every time he'd spoken of Ana.
"There was this girl once," Warren was saying, his eyes going foggy with memory.
"The one who got away?" Armie asked.
"No, she didn't get away. My parents threatened to disown me when they found out I was seeing
her. So, I snapped out of it."
"Just like that?" Armie knew he could never snap out of it once he met The One. Even if she
rejected him, he'd stay in the shadows, making sure she got everything she wanted out of life, like a
stalker. And he wouldn't be ashamed. Her happiness would be the most important thing in his life.
"It's gotten easier over the years." Warren shrugged. "Now when I see her, I just think about the
good times."
"You still see her?"
He nodded. "She's coming this way now."
Warren fixed his face into a blank mask. But not before Armie saw a spark of carnal lust in his
pupils. It wasn't just that spark of curiosity that had Armie turning around, it was the prickle at the
back of his neck. The feeling that something important was on the horizon.
And so, he turned around and came face-to-face with a warm, golden glow.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
RUSSIAN TEA CAKES Crunchy, sugared, nut-filled snowballs.
This favorite with men came to us from a man. Carl Burkland, a radio executive of
New York City, made them himself for me one Christmas season.
Mix together thoroughly ...

1 cup soft butter

½ cup sifted confectioners’ sugar
1 tsp. vanilla

Sift together and stir in ...

2¼ cups sifted GOLD MEDAL Flour

¼ tsp. salt

Mix in ...

¾ cup finely chopped nuts

Chill dough. Roll into 1″ balls. Place 2½″ apart on ungreased baking
sheet. Bake until set, but not brown. While still warm, roll in
confectioners’ sugar. Cool. Roll in sugar again.
temperature: 400° (mod. hot oven).
time: Bake 10 to 12 min.
amount: About 4 doz. 1½″ cookies.

MANDEL KAGER (Almond Cookies)

These little cakes of intriguing flavor are always on hand for Norway’s holiday
festivities.

Mix together thoroughly ...

1 cup soft shortening (part butter)

½ cup sugar
1 egg

Sift together and stir in ...

 1⅔ cups sifted GOLD MEDAL Flour
½ tsp. baking powder
1 tbsp. cinnamon (3 tsp.)
1 to 1½ tsp. ground cardamom

Mix in ...

½ cup chopped toasted almonds

Chill dough. Roll into 1″ balls. Place on ungreased baking sheet.

Flatten slightly. Brush tops with egg glaze (1 slightly beaten egg yolk
mixed with 1 tbsp. water). Top each with a blanched almond half.
Bake until golden brown.
temperature: 375° (quick mod. oven).
time: Bake 10 to 12 min.
amount: About 3½ doz. 1½″ cookies.
BERLINER KRANSER (Berlin Wreaths)
Delicious and buttery, these gay little
wreaths are made each holiday
season in Norway.
Mix together thoroughly ...

1½ cups soft shortening

(half butter)
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. grated orange rind
2 eggs

Stir in ... Life-size candid camera shot of a

Berliner Krans.
4 cups sifted GOLD
MEDAL Flour

Chill dough. Break off small pieces and roll to pencil size about 6″
long and ¼″ thick. Form each piece into a circle, bringing one end
over and through in a single knot. (See sketch above.) Leave ½″ end
on each side. Place on ungreased baking sheet. Brush tops with
meringue (made by beating 1 egg white until stiff, gradually beating
in 2 tbsp. sugar). Press bits of red candied cherries on center of knot
for holly berries. Add little jagged leaves cut out of green citron. Bake
until set ... but not brown.
temperature: 400° (mod. hot oven).
time: Bake 10 to 12 min.
amount: About 6 doz. 2″ cookies.

to shape a Berliner Krans: Forma

circle and bring one end over and
through.
If rich dough splits apart or seems
crumbly, let it get slightly warm or
work in a few drops of liquid until the
dough sticks together.
PRESS COOKIES Buttery morsels
in intriguing shapes.

HOW TO MAKE
COOKIES WITH A
PRESS
Force dough through a
cooky press (or pastry
tube). Follow directions
accompanying cooky
press. Hold the press
upright, and force out the
dough until it appears at
the edge of the mold ...
then lift the press away.
SPRITZ ( Recipe) (“Spurted out of a press”)
Crisp, fragile, buttery-tasting curlicues.
Mix together thoroughly ...

1 cup soft butter

⅔ cup sugar
3 egg yolks
1 tsp. flavoring (almond or vanilla) or 4 tbsp. grated almonds.

Work in with the hands ...

2½ cups sifted GOLD MEDAL Flour

Chill dough. Force through cooky press onto ungreased baking

sheet in letter S’s, rosettes, fluted bars, or other desired shapes.
Bake until set ... but not brown.
temperature: 400° (mod. hot oven).
time: Bake 7 to 10 min.
amount: About 6 doz. cookies.

CHOCOLATE SPRITZ
Follow recipe above—but blend into the shortening mixture 4 sq.
unsweetened chocolate (4 oz.), melted.

Have baking sheet cold before forcing cooky dough through press onto it. If sheet
is not cold, the fat in the dough will melt and the cookies will pull away from the
sheet when the press is lifted.

BUTTER COOKIES
Follow recipe for Butter Cookies on p. 31. Force chilled dough
through cooky press onto ungreased baking sheet in form of flowers,
wreaths, or any desired shapes.

★ ALMOND WREATHS
Beautiful almond-topped
garlands.
Mix together thoroughly ...

1 cup soft shortening

(mostly butter)
Dough for press cookies may be rolled
¾ cup confectioners’ sugar
out and cut into desired shapes. For
2 egg yolks wreaths, cut with scalloped cooky cutter
1 egg white ... then cut out center with a smaller
1 tsp. vanilla sized cutter.
¼ tsp. salt

Sift together and work in with the hands ...

2 cups sifted GOLD MEDAL Flour

Chill dough. Force through cooky press onto ungreased baking

sheet in shape of wreaths. Brush wreaths with slightly beaten egg
white. Sprinkle with mixture of 2 tbsp. sugar, ¼ tsp. cinnamon, and ¼
cup very finely chopped blanched almonds. Bake until set ... but not
brown.
TO DECORATE
Press bits of red or green candied cherry into top of wreaths to
simulate a bow.
temperature: 350° (mod. oven).
time: Bake 8 to 10 min.
amount: About 6 doz. cookies.
ALPHABETICAL INDEX
General Methods, pages 14 and 15

Almond Crescents, 41
Almond Macaroons, 21
Almond Paste, 21
Almond Wreaths, 43
Animal Cookies, 37
Applesauce Cookies, 17

Bar Cookies, 26
Bell Cookies, 37
Berliner Kranser, 42
Boy and Girl Cookies, 37
Brazil or Pecan Jumbles, 20
Brown Sugar Drops, 16
Brownies, 26
Burnt Butter Icing, 18
Busy-Day Coconut Drops, 16
Busy-Day Nut Drops, 16
Butter Cookies, 31 and 43
Butter Fingers, 41
Butterscotch Cookies, 18

Caraway Cookies, 30
Cherry and Hatchet Cookies, 31
Cherry-Coconut Macaroons, 21
Chocolate Chip Cookies, 20
Chocolate-Coconut Macaroons, 21
Chocolate Cream Drops, 18
Chocolate-Frosted Brownies, 26
Chocolate Icing, 18
Chocolate Pinwheels, 30
Chocolate Refrigerator Cookies, 22
Chocolate Spritz, 43
Christmas Tree Cookies, 37
Coconut Cream Drops, 18
Coconut Jumbles, 20
Coconut-Lemon Bars, 28
Coconut Macaroons, 21
Coffee-and-Spice Drops, 17
Cookies with Faces, 31

Dainty Tea Brownies, 26

Date-and-Nut Squares, 27
Date-Apricot Bars, 29
Date Bars or Matrimonial Cake, 29
Date-Nut Refrigerator Cookies, 22
Date-Oatmeal Cookies, 40
Decorating Icing, 31
Drop Cookies, 16
English Tea Cakes, 41

Fig Bars, 32
Filled Bar Cookies, 29
Filled Cookies, 32
Filled Cookies in Fancy Shapes, 32
Finska Kakor, 39
Flower Cookies, 31
Frosted Gingies, 34
Fruit-and-Nut Drops, 18

Ginger Creams, 19
Ginger Refrigerator Cookies, 23
Gingerbread Boys, 34
Gingies, 34
Glazed Orange Jumbles, 20
Glazing Icing, 38
Gold Cookies, 25

Hazelnut Bars, 29
Heart Cookies, 31
Hermits, 17
His Mother’s Oatmeal Cookies, 33
Holiday Fruit Cookies, 16
Honey Peanut Butter Cookies, 40

Jell-Meringue-Filbert Bars, 28
Jewelled Cookies, 27
Lebkuchen, 38
Lemon Icing, 26
Lemon Snowdrops, 41
Lemon Sugar Cookies, 30
Little Sugar Hats, 38

Macaroons, 21
Mandel Kager, 42
Marie’s Chocolate Icing, 26
Merry Christmas Cookies, 37
Mincemeat Cookies, 17
Miscellaneous Cookies, 25
Molasses Crinkles, 25
Molded Cookies, 40
Monkey-Faced Cookies, 19

New Northland Cookies, 23

Nurnberger, 38
Nut Refrigerator Cookies, 22
Nut Sugar Cookies, 30

Oatmeal Drop Cookies, 19

Oatmeal Refrigerator Cookies, 24
Old-Fashioned Sour Cream Drops, 18
Old-Time Cinnamon Jumbles, 20
Orange-Almond Refrigerator Cookies, 22
Orange-Chocolate Chip Cookies, 20

Peanut Butter Cookies, 40

Peanut Macaroons, 21
Petticoat Tails, 24
Pineapple Filling, 33
Place Cards or Favors, 31
Plantation Fruit Bars, 26
Poinsettias, 32
Press Cookies, 43
Prune Filling, 33
Prune-Orange Bars, 29

Quick Cream Icing, 19

Raisin, Fig and Date Filling, 33

Raisin, Fig or Date Filling, 33
Refrigerator Cookies, 22
Rich Sugar Cookies, 30
Rolled Cookies, 30
Russian Tea Cakes, 42

Salted Peanut Cookies, 16

Sandbakelser, 39
Scotch Shortbread, 39
Simple White Icing, 34
Snickerdoodles, 25
Spiced Prune Drops, 17
Spritz, 43
Star Cookies, 37
Stocking Cookies, 37
Stone Jar Molasses Cookies, 34
Sugar Cookies, 30
Sugar Jumbles, 20

3-in-1 Jumbles, 20
Thumbprint Cookies, 41
Toffee-Nut Bars, 28
Toy Cookies, 37
Tutti-Frutti Surprises, 27

Walnut Squares, 27
Washboards, 25
Wheaties-Coconut Macaroons, 21
Wheaties Drop Cookies, 17
Wreath Cookies, 37

Zucker Hütchen, 38
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Attention has been paid to replicating the layout of the original where possible.
Images may have been shifted slightly and sections have been moved to correct
content spread across two pages in the original. Cases where significant
changes have been made are noted below.

Disruptive blemishes on illustrations have been touched up, but there remain
some discolorations accumulated over time. Back cover has intentionally been
left unretouched in homage to the well loved condition in which most copies of
this book are found.

Illustrations without captions have had alt-text description added, this is denoted
with parentheses.

The indexes were not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page
references.

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after
careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of
external sources. Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some
added, when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and
inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

Pp 22,23: Steps 3 and 4 of REFRIGERATOR COOKIES have been moved from

page 23 to be with 1 and 2 on page 22.
Pg 26,27: Recipe for Lemon Icing moved from Pg 27 to be with Plantation Fruit
Bars Pg 26
Pg 26: "next page" changed to "below" to reflect move of Lemon Icing
Pp 31; “opposite page” replaced with “above page”
Pp 32: “opposite page” replaced with “below”
Index: “Bar Bookies” replaced with “Bar Cookies”
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