Donovan Foster knew he’d hit an all-time low when his Monday night consisted of hanging out with a dozen manly dudes in the only bakery in Buttermilk Falls, waiting for vanilla cake batter to point him in the direction of his next lay.

Or true love as the pretty redhead, who’d talked him into hanging out for a bit after his shift, insisted, but, c’mon. What guy here didn’t have sex on his mind?

He slid onto the pink vinyl stool next to his pal, Adam Reed, setting down his frosting-covered apron on the matching shiny pink countertop. When he was done partaking in tonight’s Batter Up event, he needed to find the nearest library because he’d be checking in his man card.

Abby Swift, the aforementioned redhead, stood behind the counter, her trademark hair swept up in a high ponytail and eyes closed tight while she stirred her cake batter with a shimmering pink mixing spoon.

There once was a time when her shut eyes would have been an invitation to move his lips in, but that ship had sailed years ago. Now, her husband and father of one child and one on the way sat next to him. From what Donovan could tell from his short time back in town, Brandon Swift was a pretty cool guy.

So much had changed in the last couple of years. While he’d been running a successful upscale, fine dining restaurant in Denver, his friends back home were busy doing the things that most people do but he’d never had time for—falling in love and starting families.

Brandon leaned across the counter, addressing his wife. “You know, Red, how much this part turns me on.”

“You never say that when I’m doing the spell,” Adam quipped, putting his hand over his heart. “Dude, that hurts.”

Brandon snickered. “I would if you had long, red hair and a cute bu—”

“Shut it, you two,” Abby ordered with her purple eyelids closed. “I’m trying to concentrate and wrap this up so we can all make it home in one piece.”

Donovan cracked a smile, rather enjoying the light banter among his friends. He glanced over his shoulder, out the bakery’s window. The impending snowstorm that was about to blanket all of Buttermilk Falls had been the only talk among today’s customers.

Though it wasn’t supposed to start for a few more hours, large white flakes signaled that the meteorologists might have been a bit off in their timing. Still, they predicted a whopper of a snowstorm when all was said and done, with blizzard conditions for the area.

After a long day on his feet in the kitchen, he was looking forward to hunkering down at his place, settling next to a warm, crackling fire, and uncorking a nice bottle of red wine.

Or he should say his sister’s place. He was currently crashing with his twin, Rachel, living out of two large suitcases in her—way too floral for his taste—guest bedroom.

His life was in a bit of flux since he’d decided two months ago to sell his half of the restaurant and up and move back home.

It had been an impulsive decision—he’d admit that. But it had felt incredibly right at the time. He’d been working his hands to the bone night after night at the Rocky Top, the Denver restaurant he’d purchased ten years ago with his business partner, Marc. Together, they’d made it into a successful five-star bistro.

And they both had become quite the local celebrities along the way. Both were known around the city for being sought out bachelors.

Sure, an outsider might see his life as one worthy of envy. After a decade, he had a solid reputation in the culinary industry, a fat paycheck, and a steady stream of beautiful women moving through his condo’s revolving lobby door.

So, yeah, he used the sexy, single, chef persona to his advantage to help make a name for himself. He worked hard and played hard, and damn, those earlier years had been a lot of fun.

But something changed. For a while he’d dismissed it as being in a brief lull. However, as the months went by, he started to realize he was idling doing the same old thing—living the same old life—and that feeling sucked. He wanted more than the fast lane he’d accelerated on for so long.

When he came home for the holidays and saw that all his friends had settled down and were now having kids, he started to question his carefree, playboy existence. He’d been on the single, career track for so long that he’d forgotten to stop and pick up a wife and kids along the way.

Convinced he was missing out, he decided to slide into the conductor’s seat and take charge of his life. The plan was to sell his portion of the restaurant to Marc and open up a new one in Buttermilk Falls.

A new start. A clean slate. While opening his next restaurant, he’d also make finding a Mrs. Foster an equal priority.

Simple.

Yeah. Not so much.

His plan started out well. Marc accepted the offer to buy him out. That gave Donovan a substantial sum to turn around and open a restaurant in Buttermilk Falls. The paperwork to sell his portion was whipped up within days, and Donovan had packed up his belongings, put his condo on the market, and moved home shortly after the ink was dry.

But then the problems began—the first being he was having a hard time finding a place for his new restaurant. Adam’s girlfriend, Bethany Wilson, had snagged the last vacant space along the small town’s Main Street, which probably wouldn’t have worked for him anyway, unless he wanted to open up a small coffee shop.

He’d thought he could take Brandon’s lead and open a restaurant on Buttermilk Lake and had cruised the lake’s perimeter more than a dozen times with no luck. He had yet to find a vacant space that could easily be converted into a restaurant.

Even if he found a place, there was another, much bigger, issue—he had no clue what kind of establishment he wanted to open. He’d always prided himself on modern, fusion cuisine, but the truth was he’d gotten bored of the dishes he was known for and his techniques.

The thought of opening the same type of restaurant, doing the same thing, made his stomach ache.

He’d begun to face the facts: he’d lost the spark that had always ignited his drive and guided his entire culinary career.

And then there was the plan to settle down . . . Well, it only took a week back to realize most of the women he’d crushed on—Abby, Caitlin, Bethany, to name a few—were all taken. His prospects for finding a wife were about as slim as finding a vacant spot to open a new eating establishment.

So, here he was two months later with no restaurant and no woman.

He glanced down at his discarded apron. At least he had a job to keep him busy. Last month, he stopped into the Sugar Spoon bakery for a sweet treat, where an exasperated Abby offered him work right on the spot. She’d been running the place while her cousin and owner, Emma Stevens, was out of town.

He’d gotten his start as a pastry chef, so whipping up dessert at the Sugar Spoon wasn’t a bad gig while he was in limbo. Not to mention, it got him back in the kitchen.

His gaze moved over to Abby, still stirring her cake batter with the shimmering pink wooden spoon—or plastic, he really couldn’t tell. What he was one hundred percent sure of was that pink glitter wouldn’t add any flavor to the cake mix and, if swallowed, could provide some serious indigestion.

Although no one seemed to complain, and that didn’t really surprise him. Even before working here, he’d grown up knowing that the Stevens clan had a little magic running through their fingertips and the glittery spoon did more than mixing.

The whole town knew that Emma took after her mother, Sheila Stevens, and was the experienced Buttermilk Falls witch who, each Monday night, held Batter Up, in which she predicted the soul mate of one lucky bachelor by mixing her name up in cake batter with the glittered pink spoon.

Totally nuts and wasn’t something he readily shared with any of his buddies in Colorado. Still, he knew it was all legit, having seen Bridget Dobson’s name appear in his buddy Tom Reed’s batter nearly two years ago when he’d been home visiting his family. The couple were now happily married.

Since Emma was in Texas for the unforeseeable future trying to find her estranged father, Abby stepped in for tonight’s Batter Up spell, deciding Donovan would be her guinea pig.

“Okay.” Abby’s eyelids flew open. “Let’s see who we’ve got.”

“Is this the part where the woman appears?” Donovan snickered. “Because I wouldn’t mind riding out the storm tonight with a pretty lady not related to me by blood.”

“No.” She nodded down to the bowl. “With any luck, though, you’ll get a name.” She winked. “How quickly you act on that information to cement your evening plans is entirely up to you.”

Donovan shifted, his lower region now more than a little curious as to whose name was inside the bowl.

Brandon leaned over and took a peek. “And it looks like your streak continues, my love.”

Abby slammed her palm on the counter. “Man, just once I’d like to get a full name.”

“What do you mean?” Donovan asked.

She tilted the bowl in his direction. “For some reason, I can only conjure up the first letter, but since Emma and her mom aren’t here to do the spell, you’re stuck with me. Here you go.”

Donovan glanced into the bowl, a flash of exhilaration running through him in seeing magic up close. Sure enough, there was a letter “Z” in pink cursive swirl. “Z . . .”

“Know anyone whose name begins with a Z?” Abby asked.

“No.” He wracked his brain for a name but drew a blank. He’d slept with a Zada last summer, a new waitress with a large rack. It’d happened after one too many drinks at the restaurant’s bar after hours. He smiled remembering Zada’s horizontal flexibility.

A pang of guilt jabbed him. They’d only been together the one time. Casual hookups were his norm back then.

He let her down easy the next day, saying that he’d had a lot to drink and that it was a mistake. That he had a rule of not sleeping with his staff, which wasn’t exactly true, but maybe she hadn’t learned about his past indiscretions.

Nevertheless, she’d quit that same night, giving him the finger as she peeled out of the parking lot.

Abby snapped her fingers, jarring him out of that bad memory. “Zoe!”

Well, that was a pretty name, but he didn’t know a Zoe.

“I bet it’s Zoe Mathews.”

Adam jumped off his barstool, putting on his blue winter jacket and zipping it all the way up. “Negative. I already predicted that one.”

Donovan raised his eyebrow at his friend. Rachel had filled him in that Adam had been given a blue mixing spoon recently by the bakery gang and was now predicting love for bachelorettes. Something about a distant cousin enchanting it and wanting Adam to carry on its legacy.

None of it really made sense, and truth be told, he’d rather not get caught up in any of it. Leave magic to the pros. “So, it’s not Zoe,” he said to Abby.

“It most certainly could be.” She turned to Adam. “Tell them what you told me last week.”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Abby narrowed her eyes, leveling her gaze at Adam.

“Okay, fine. Back off, Hermione.” He turned to Donovan. “I might be outing last kisses when I cast the spell. At least, that’s what Bethany thinks I’m doing.”

“And I think your girlfriend’s right.” Abby nodded her agreement.

“Probably. Maybe it’s the way I chant the incantation. What if I said the spell backward and out loud?”

Donovan listened, thoroughly confused. Was there a magic book or, better yet, a ten-minute YouTube video he could watch to decipher this conversation? “I don’t get it.”

Abby set the mixing spoon aside. “I’ll explain. Adam whipped up some batter for Zoe and Will Jenkins’s name appeared, or rather his first name, Marvin, but that’s only because they’d made out at the Holiday Hook Up event right before Christmas.” She gave Adam a wink. “Don’t worry, Ron Weasley, you can still graduate from Hogwarts.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to vanish—in my truck. My broom’s in the shop,” Adam joked and slapped Donovan on the back. “It’s nice to have you back, man. Hope you like frozen yogurt.”

Donovan watched his buddy leave. He was glad that even though Adam was no longer dating his sister things between them weren’t weird. His friend definitely had an obvious spring to his step that Donovan suspected had to do with Adam’s recent pairing with Bethany Wilson.

Well, good for him. He liked seeing his friend happy. Plus, he’d never admit it to Rachel, but Adam and Bethany made a better couple. His sister needed someone who could challenge her in ways Adam never did.

He turned back to Abby. “So, is Zoe with Will?” He sort of knew that answer. While he hadn’t yet met the mysterious bachelorette in question, he’d seen Will at his sister’s house a few times over Christmas. Rachel has been messing around with him. She didn’t deny it when Donovan called her out.

When he moved back, the first thing he noticed was that Will was no longer coming around. Rachel had insisted they were done, but he knew his twin in some ways better than he knew himself. Her perpetual bad mood signaled her feelings for the auto body mechanic were far from over.

“I don’t think they’re together.” Abby’s response brought him back into the moment.

“Zoe doesn’t seem to be in to Will from what I’ve heard.”

Donovan cracked a knuckle. Well, that might be good news for his sister. “So, where do I find her?”

“She’s the owner of Ice Heaven, the frozen yogurt shop next to Ralph’s Pizzeria.”

“Ah . . . explains Adam’s comment about liking frozen yogurt.” Eight months out of the year had to be a bit nippy in Buttermilk Falls for frozen yogurt. “Does her business do well here?”

“What Zoe can create is pretty sensational. Wait until you try it. We’ve been talking about a partnership with my catering company for this summer. Everyone in town loves her.” She smirked. “I’ll have to let you taste for yourself.”

“I’ll have to do that.” He smirked back, appreciating Abby’s double entendre. “I should probably get out of here.” He grabbed his apron, walked back into the kitchen, and swapped it on the hook for his jacket. Slipping it on, along with his Colorado Rockies baseball cap, he said goodbye to Abby, Brandon, and the other guys still mingling around.

He couldn’t help letting out a chuckle as he left the bakery. Monday nights—his usual day off back in Colorado—had often involved cooking dinner for a beautiful woman followed by sharing an expensive bottle of red wine in front of his roaring fire and, more often than not, a hot breakfast served in his king-size bed the next morning.

Now he was relying on magical cake batter for the name of a woman who may or may not be his soul mate and going home alone.

The wind whipped through him, and he lowered his head to avoid the cold white flakes smacking his face. Picking up his pace, he walked down the snow-covered sidewalk toward his sister’s flower shop—his ride home while his own car was being repaired.

It only took a couple of minutes to reach his destination. He peered into the dark florist shop and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Where the hell is she? Pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, he swiped her number. “Rachel, where are you?” he asked when she finally picked up.

“Donovan!” Rachel’s voice came through the phone. “I’m so sorry. I’m already home. I completely forgot you rode in with me. Can Brandon and Abby give you a lift home?”

He glanced down the street to see Brandon’s black SUV taking off in the other direction. The snowflakes were now coming down fast and furious. “It’s okay. I’ll find another way.” If his sister was tucked in for the night, he didn’t want her attempting to drive down her steep hill to pick him up. “You ready to ride out this storm?”

“I’ve got the margarita mix already in the blender,” her voice chirped.

He laughed. “That’s not exactly what I meant. Do you have all the supplies we need in case we’re stuck for a few days?”

“When did you become the responsible twin? If it’ll put your mind at rest, I’ve got the fire going and pulled out the candles and flashlights in case we lose power. There’s bread, milk, and plenty of water in the refrigerator—next to the beer and wine. The freezer and pantry are fully stocked for you to cater all of my meals while we ride out this storm. I’d like to put in a special order for your chicken and dumplings tonight.”

“I feel so used,” he said, zipping his jacket all the way up, unable to prevent the bone-chilling air seeping through his skin. Damn, it was cold. He hoped they’d brought in enough firewood.

“I’ll see you soon. Be safe.”

“See you soon.” He clicked off the phone. Well, great. How the hell was he going to get home?

A huge gust of wind slammed into him, knocking off his baseball cap and taking it down the street with him. Dammit! He loved that hat.

He lowered his head, trying to shield his face from the bone-chilling cold with his jacket, and crossed the street for the Buttermilk Tavern. Maybe he’d find someone in there to bum a ride from.

He passed Ralph’s Pizzeria and stopped.

Well, what do we have here? The Ice Heaven’s crystal blue sign lit up the street, signaling it was still open. He let out a sarcastic chuckle. Maybe his soul mate could give him a lift.

Curious to what Zoe Mathews looked like, he walked up to the glass door and peered in.

Holy moly! His breath caught as his gaze landed on easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She moved behind the counter in a light pink sweater, her blond hair falling past her shoulders.

Mesmerized, he watched as she dipped a spoon into a Styrofoam cup and brought it up to her lips. Seconds later, her smile widened, and she fist-pumped the air.

Whatever she’d made, it appeared she was thrilled.

More than thrilled. He cocked his head and took in her jubilation, recognizing exactly what he was witnessing because he’d had it once upon a time.

A spark.

Intrigued, he pulled on the glass door handle. It was time to meet his soul mate.

Oh, hell no.

Zoe Mathews dropped to the ground, hidden behind the counter.

Why was Donovan Foster standing inside her yogurt shop in the middle of a snowstorm?

She got down on all fours and scurried across her shiny white floor over to the counter’s side, taking a cautious peek. Her heart raced at the sight of Donovan shaking snow off his coat. Sitting back on her heels, she steepled her hands together and prayed he would leave.

This moment was bound to happen.

When she moved to Buttermilk Falls last summer, she’d wanted to put her former life in Colorado behind her. Never in a million years did she think she’d be reunited with the man who was the sole reason to why she left in disgrace.

Over the holidays, she’d spotted Donovan walking into Rachel’s flower shop and had stood a safe distance across the street, absolutely mortified to realize the two Fosters were related.

What were the freakin’ odds? In all the small towns in America she could have moved to, she happened to pick the one that Donovan Foster was from to rebuild the career he’d single-handedly destroyed.

She’d kept a low profile shortly after that sighting, relieved to have overheard some chatter at the Spring Curls beauty salon while getting her highlights done that Donovan was only in town for the holidays.

But three weeks later, she’d been sitting alone in the Star Lite diner enjoying Mel’s, infamous BBB Burger—full of blueberries, bacon, and smothered with blue cheese—when Donovan had sauntered in with Rachel. She’d grabbed her purse and put her head down, avoiding eye contact as she scurried out.

“Hello. Is anyone here?”

Oh, God. I’ve got to do something. Zoe took a deep breath and counted to ten. Like it or not, she’d have to get up. It wasn’t like she had any employees. She grabbed onto the counter and hoisted herself up, turning to face him.

Her heart beat fast, and she tried to ignore it, pasting on a smile. Donovan was just as handsome as he was the first time she’d seen him cook in his white coat, black pants, and white hat in his Rocky Top kitchen. The scruff he now sported on his chin only made him sexier.

Her thoughts rewound to the first night she’d met him. Well, not really met him. Stood on her tippy toes in the back row with twelve other budding chefs watching the master at work.

The evening had been memorable on many counts. That night, a national cooking show had taped a segment for the Culinary Channel that spotlighted acclaimed restaurants for their cozy, winter menus.

Zoe had stood proudly in the back, smiling for the camera when not in complete awe at the genius at work.

And he was a genius. What Donovan had done to that Bolognese pasta had been culinary magic. She knew she’d made the right decision to stay in Colorado and take a line cook job that paid less than peanuts but gave her the once-in-a-lifetime chance to work and study under renowned chef Donovan Foster.

What she didn’t know that night was that he’d fire her two days later.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” she said, grabbing a dishrag off the counter and avoiding eye contact. “Forever,” she muttered, under her breath while wiping down the counter.

“Are you Zoe?”

She whipped her head up. Now he knows my name. When did that happen? She set the wet rag down. “Hi, Donovan.”

His eyebrows knitted. “You know me?”

“Um . . . yes.” She was pretty sure her face was now displaying the same confusion that his read.

He crossed the shop and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook it, his cold, wet fingers sending a jolt straight through her. She immediately pulled her hand out of his.

Did he just say that it was nice to meet me?

You fired me, you pompous ass. They were well past polite introductions as far as she was concerned.

She peered out past him, watching the rapidly falling snow. She’d meant to call it a night and close up two hours ago, but she’d gotten caught up on perfecting her latest flavor of frozen yogurt that she’d been working on for months. A recipe she’d finally nailed only moments ago.

Funny how that celebration could be squashed at the mere sight of the man who’d shamed her culinary skills—and did it so publicly. The last time they were this close he was ripping her a new one, accusing her of glazing the governor’s plate with a peanut sauce—a near fatal move.

The popular Colorado politician and his wife had been dining with friends at the restaurant—their go-to place whenever they were in town visiting their son at college. The kitchen had been on high alert that the pair would be dining at the restaurant at some point over the weekend.

Zoe’s heart squeezed recalling the governor being rushed out of the dining room on a gurney by the paramedics and what had happened when an outraged Donovan had stormed into the kitchen and demanded to know who out of the twenty staff in the back did not follow his explicit orders.

When she raised her hand, Donovan’s fiery gaze could have easily skewered Zoe as he called her an incompetent, clueless, moron, before firing her on the spot and kicking her out of his kitchen.

Now, his beautiful blue eyes were far from displaying anger. “It’s late,” she finally said, looking away. “And I’m closed.”

Donovan didn’t make any motion to leave. “I don’t know if you know about Batter Up night . . .”

Of course. This must be the reason he stopped in. Rachel must have sent him. There were two people in this world who Zoe had been on the receiving end of their rage, and his sister happened to be the other one. Rachel had been ticked off at her ever since she learned that Adam had done the spell on Zoe and Will Jenkins’s first name showed up in the batter.

Zoe wasn’t an idiot, and she’d not only heard the gossip that Will and Rachel had been fooling around but had bumped into them on the street one evening after hours looking a little disheveled. “Look, you can tell Rachel that I have zero interest in Will Jenkins. He’s all hers.”

He flashed a smile, not taking his gaze off her. “Good to know.”

“Right.” Zoe stabilized her wobbly knees that were going to buckle any minute if he didn’t stop smiling. “I’m about to close.” She pointed pathetically at the door.

“I should let you get to it. You have a nice night, Zoe. Get home safe.” He crossed the shop and pushed the door open but glanced back. “I’ll see you around,” he said, before exiting the frozen yogurt shop and disappearing out into the night.

I’ll see you around. Zoe flew over to the door, turning the lock and leaning back against the glass. Oh my God. What the hell had just happened? Donovan had acted like he didn’t know her. Telling her to have a nice night and to get home safe was a far cry from the hostile name-calling he bestowed on her the night he fired her.

And to not even bring it up. Why was he pretending that they didn’t know each other?

She walked across the shop and grabbed her unfinished cup of yogurt off the counter, finishing the last couple of spoonfuls while pondering what had gone down only minutes ago.

Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. She flipped the spoon around and squinted her eyes, catching specs of blond strands in her reflection.

It was entirely possible since it had only been her third day on the job, and back then she’d sported long, brown hair that fell way down her back. It was only when she moved to Buttermilk Falls that Peggy at the Spring Curls beauty salon encouraged her to do something drastic and shorten it to just past her shoulders and go blond.

She’d never officially spoken to Donovan before that night because Marc, the other owner, had been the one who hired her. When Donovan had kicked her out of his kitchen, he’d called her everything but her first name, most likely because he didn’t know it.

She watched the snow steadily falling outside.

But he knew her name now.

She yanked off her apron. There’d be plenty of time to dissect their awkward encounter once she was home in her warm flannel pajamas tucked under her favorite red wool blanket with a glass of wine, but now she needed to get out of here before the roads became too treacherous to drive.

She headed into the back to grab her things. Sliding on her black wool coat, she scanned the pile of unpaid bills covering her desk. A knot forming in her stomach.

They weren’t going to pay themselves, but she’d need to dip way into her savings to cover them and the ones that would follow. She collected the invoices and put them in a nice stack. She’d deal with her pathetic finances after the storm.

When she’d opened her frozen yogurt shop last summer, she knew that the winter months could be light on revenue, but she hadn’t anticipated that her shop would be empty. Each cold day brought in one less customer.

Realizing in January that things could get tough, she’d been extremely tight on her budget. Even the bottle of red wine she’d take home tonight she’d gotten on sale.

Until the weather got warmer, she wasn’t expecting things to change. Peanut butter and jelly and canned tomato soup were going to have to be her staples until things turned around.

Putting on her worn pink knitted hat and matching mittens, she picked up her purse and the bottle of wine and headed for the door to brace the storm.

Bitter wind stung her cheeks the second she stepped out, and she pulled her coat tight to her chin. She really should have left hours ago, but she’d been working on her summer frozen yogurt menu that she hoped would be a hit and bring back her customers. She was so adamant about perfecting her country fair–inspired treats that she’d lost track of time.

It only took one glance down the deserted, snow-filled street to realize her small Honda would never, in a million years, get down the road. Even if it did make it, the small hill leading up to her apartment would no doubt be treacherous.

Just great. What do I do now? She blew out a cold, defeated breath. Her home was two miles south. It’d probably take her over an hour, but walking home seemed like her only option right now.

She picked up her legs, making it halfway across the street when, all of sudden, a gust of wind caused her to rock on her heels. Unable to keep her balance, she fell front first onto the snowy street.

Pain radiated from her kneecaps as a fast gust of wind blew her hat right off, taking it with it down the street.

“Dammit,” she cried out in frustration. That hat was her favorite and had belonged to her mother. Couldn’t this blizzard show any mercy? She pulled herself up and took two steps, her boot slipping once again and forcing her to the ground.

Before she knew what was happening, she was being tugged up gently from behind.

“Get your hands off of me,” she screamed. She struggled to regain her footing, ready to flee from whoever had placed his hands on her.

“Zoe. It’s Donovan.”

She steadied herself and pulled her jacket zipper up, feeling relieved she wasn’t dealing with a stranger about to accost her on a deserted street. “Are you following me?” she asked, throwing all of her agitation for this awful evening at him.

“No. I saw you wipe out. I came to help you.” He reached down and grabbed her wine bottle, laughing while shaking snow off it. “I think this is safe. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle and holding it to her chest.

“Are you trying to walk home?” he yelled over the wind.

“Yes.” She took a step but stopped and sighed. Walking home on the slippery sidewalks would be impossible, not to mention probably pitch black once she turned off Main Street. The last thing she should be doing is fumbling around in a blinding snowstorm. “I don’t know.” She flung her arm straight in front of her. “It’s two miles that way. I guess I could go back to my shop and stay there for the night.” She turned around and took a couple of cautious steps, not wanting to face-plant in front of the hunky chef again.

“Are you hungry?”

Zoe stopped in her tracks and turned around. Why was Donovan interested in whether she was hungry or not? “I don’t think anything is open right now.”

He dug into his coat and pulled out a set of keys, raising them up. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m helping out at the Sugar Spoon while Emma Stevens is out of town. We could wait there until the plows come through.” He nodded toward the bakery. “I’m a pretty decent cook. I can whip us up some dinner that will go good with your wine.”

A decent cook. That was the downplay of the century. Zoe stood frozen, and it had nothing to do with the icicles probably forming off her ears.

Donovan Foster wanted to spend his evening cooking me dinner.

Alone.

Wow.

Didn’t see that coming. Had the universe invited mother nature into its master plan to mess with her?

A gust of wind caused her to lose her footing again. Donovan’s hands caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her middle. Zoe glanced up to see him smiling down at her.

“The way I see it . . . It’s either the bakery or we get buried alive by a snow drift and they don’t find us for a week. I don’t know about you, but waiting out the storm in the bakery sounds like our best option.”

He had a point, and it was flippin’ cold out here. She’d hate herself in the morning but said the words anyway. “Lead the way.”