Zoe laid the deep lavender bag on the counter and studied its intricate beading. She’d found its silver loop chain strap tied to her shop’s front door when she arrived to work.

Her fingertips brushed over the delicate pearl beads, resting on the soft satin. Who would have left such an exquisite item outside to be taken by anyone?

That was the million-dollar question.

She’d checked inside it this morning to see if it contained a wallet with a driver’s license or credit card to identify the owner, but no luck.

Pressing her thumb to unhook the silver clasp, she felt around inside one last time. Definitely empty.

It was a nice purse as far as she was concerned and perfect for a formal occasion. A bit rectangular, though, so maybe not completely appropriate for a party. Still, it could definitely hold a number of objects. Strange that it was completely empty.

Maybe it didn’t belong to anyone. Perhaps someone left it for her—although, it wasn’t her birthday or any special occasion. Both Christmas and Valentine’s Day had both long passed. The only one who maybe would send her a gift was her dad, but he was more the gift card or money type of father. Sentimental giving wasn’t his thing.

She put down the purse and scratched over her heart, feeling the familiar sadness that often pinged her lately, reminding her that she was alone here in Buttermilk Falls. The fact was she hadn’t really made any close friends in this town who would leave a present for her for any reason.

The door chimes went off, and she looked up. Had the owner come back for her purse?

A suit-wearing Will in a black wool coat sauntered up to the counter, grinning ear to ear. No, definitely not the owner. “Hey, Will,” she greeted him, moving the purse off to the side. She could work on solving that mystery later. She finally had a customer.

“Hi, Zoe.” He straightened his emerald green tie and leaned against the counter, his thick cologne circling her air, bringing up a cough. It wasn’t that he didn’t smell great, because he did, but whatever he was wearing, it was pretty powerful.

She preferred a lighter, spicy scent.

. . . with a hint of sauce.

. . . sauce made from scratch.

Stop it. She refused to surrender once again to the memory of the night of the blizzard that had boldly taken her thoughts hostage for the last few days. Yeah, she’d noticed Donovan had smelled and tasted like all of those wonderfully delicious things when she’d thrown herself at him.

She couldn’t explain what had come over her, but when he’d suggested they kiss, she didn’t need him to ask her twice.

And his lips on hers had been like tasting for the first time the final result of a new frozen yogurt recipe she’d worked tirelessly perfecting.

Satisfying, amazing, and delicious.

Though far less cold. She bit down a smile. No. She hadn’t been cold with his perfect warm mouth folding over hers.

The next day, she’d convinced herself it was a combination of all the wine she’d downed and the desire not to see Will’s name in the batter that had gotten her riled up. Kissing Donovan had nothing to do with the chef’s yummy scent . . . or the sexy stubble on his chin . . . or his full lips . . . or the way he’d wrapped his arms around her, his strong hands taking her in close . . . sliding up her back . . .

Nothing at all.

Enough! She needed to delete their kiss from playing a continuous loop in her head. What she needed to do was focus on the fact that she’d been incredibly lucky after their spending hours together that he hadn’t recognized her. That would have created a different kind of storm inside the bakery.

Besides, hot kiss or not, he was still the jerk who had fired her.

Determined to stop thinking about Donovan, she shot Will a big smile. “What can I get you?” She picked up a paper frozen yogurt cup, trying not to look too eager or desperate for the $3.99 she’d charge him.

“Um . . . I was kind of hoping I could ask you a favor?”

He wanted something from her? She raised a curious eyebrow. “Does it involve Rachel?”

“No.”

Relieved, she set down the empty paper cup, disappointed he didn’t want any frozen yogurt. It was past noon, and she hadn’t had one single paying customer. “What do you need?”

“Well, my mom signed the boutique up to host this year’s Sweet Match Up, and I could . . . um . . . use some help.”

“What is the Sweet Match Up?”

“It’s an annual event for the seniors in this town.” He paused, adding, “The single seniors.”

She rested her elbows on her counter, giving a short laugh. “Why am I not surprised. Does this town have anything better to do than to butt into the love lives of its residents?”

He returned her laugh. “Not really. But you should be happy. The gossip about us has died down a bit.”

“Says who?” Just last week one of the beauticians at the only salon in town had leaned in and told her to keep an eye on Will, warning her he was a major flirt who broke hearts. “Clearly, you haven’t stepped into the Spring Curls salon lately.”

“No,” he admitted. “Can’t say I have. I’m more of a barber shop kind of guy.” He reached up and scrubbed his head. “So . . . about the event . . . You can say no but hear me out.”

She smiled and straightened the stack of paper cups to her right. Whatever he had to ask her, he was sure taking his sweet ole time. Maybe they needed a caterer for desserts and he’d recommended her. Her shoulders straightened at that wonderful thought. Old people loved her frozen yogurt on the count of it being soft to eat.

Her wheels mentally spun, liking the idea of helping him out. Besides giving her some much-needed cash, maybe she could have the seniors try out her new fair-inspired concoctions that she planned on unveiling this summer. She’d been playing with cotton candy, fried butter, and funnel cake flavors.

A sample group of old fogies to test her new flavors was actually a great idea. If there was one they particularly liked, it would shoot up to the top of her menu. “I’ll do it. How much frozen yogurt will you need?”

“Frozen yogurt?”

Zoe mirrored the confused eyebrow knit that Will was now sporting. “You don’t want me to cater the event?”

“Well, no. Unless you want to. I’m sure they’d love it. I can find out.” He pulled out his phone from his pants pocket and swiped his finger across the screen.

“Thanks.” Zoe cocked her head. “So, what is it that you would like me to do?”

Will continued to text. “I need models,” he said, finally looking up.

“Models?” She bit down on her lip, thoroughly confused. Barely reaching 5’3, she doubted anyone would ever ask her to strut down a runway. “You want me to model?”

“Yeah. I need a few ladies to wear my spring line. I mean, my mom’s line. My mother agreed to do a fashion show a couple of months ago. I need a bride to wear this year’s headlining dress for a pretend wedding.” He stopped himself, chuckling. “They’re calling it the Ultimate Sweet Match Up.”

Of course they were. Zoe pushed off the counter. He wanted her to wear a wedding dress—in front of people? “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

“It’s on Saturday, and it’ll only be a couple of hours. It’ll be fun.” He flashed a grin. “Besides, the whole town thinks we’re getting married anyway.”

“Wait a minute.” She put a hand on her hip. “You’re planning on being the groom?” Why wasn’t she surprised.

“Yep.”

“And you want me to be the bride?” she asked, making sure she understood this favor he was asking.

“Only for an hour or so.” He leaned into the counter, setting his elbows down. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve got a bit of a reputation. The last thing I need is to piss off someone’s husband or boyfriend by asking a taken woman to play the part.”

Zoe smirked. He was probably right.

“I need a single lady.” He winked. “So, what do you say? You in?”

“How could I say no to that romantic proposal?” she joked, rolling her eyes. “You know . . . pretending to get married will fuel the gossip.”

“The heck with this town. I say fill it up.” He grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“I don’t know.” Zoe grabbed a nearby dish rag and began to wipe down the counter. His cute dimple indents weren’t fooling her for one minute. She knew who the woman was that he’d rather have walking toward him in a wedding dress, fake ceremony or not, and it wasn’t her. “What about Rachel? I’m sure she would love to be your bride.”

From the way Will’s gaze dropped to his feet, Zoe could tell she’d aggravated a fresh wound. “Things aren’t going well with Rachel?”

He raised his chin. “You could say that. She won’t even talk to me.”

“I’m sorry. She can’t still believe that we’re going to be together.” Her thoughts went back to opening the antique hope chest in front of Rachel, Adam, and Bethany at the Lakeside Inn right before the holidays.

It wasn’t like the hope chest had flat-out predicted Will was Zoe’s soul mate. When she’d opened it, there was nothing in it. No wedding dress. No note saying that she and Will would be together.

The only remnant from her opening the trunk was a little oil grease on her hand.

Rachel had immediately taken the giant, ridiculous leap that it meant Will was Zoe’s soul mate because he was a mechanic.

Nonsense.

It was an old trunk.

Okay, owned by a dead witch that liked to play matchmaker . . . or so it appeared. And yeah, when Rachel had opened the trunk minutes before her there hadn’t been any grease transferred to her hand.

She ran her thumb across her palm where the grease had been, giving it a good rub. “Maybe Rachel’s going through a phase. I’m sure things will work out.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m used to it. She’ll be back. She knows what she’s missing.” His mouth curved upward.

And cocky Will was back in a flash. Self-assurance he was not lacking. “You get an A plus in the confidence department.”

“I’ve known Rachel all my life. I followed her up and down the Buttermilk Falls High School halls my entire sophomore year, but there’s no way I’m going to chase her around town as a grown man. No. She knows where I work.” He gave Zoe a wink. “So, what do you say? Be my bride for an hour or two?”

Zoe studied him. There were certainly worse things she could do than spend the afternoon wearing a beautiful wedding dress, pretending to marry one of the town’s hottest bachelors. “You know, if I do this, the ‘are they or aren’t they a couple’ gossip will truly never end.”

“Do you want it to?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Yes!” She couldn’t help but laugh at how desperate that came out. “But I’ll still do it. Count me in.”

“You’re the best, and I’ll be sure to follow up with the center to see if they’d like you to bring over some of your frozen yogurt. I’m sure they’d love it.” He adjusted his tie and spun on his heel. “I should probably get back to the shop. Got to help the ladies find their perfect wedding dresses.”

“Remember they’re in there because they’re engaged,” she called out.

Just then the door opened and Zoe’s heart went into massive overdrive as Will fist-pumped an entering Donovan.

She pushed in a deep breath, hoping her heart would get the urgent message that it needed to calm itself down. Now.

What was Donovan doing here?

She doubted he wanted frozen yogurt.

Oh, God. What if he had finally recognized her? He’d been so confident that they’d met before. It was only a matter of time before he’d put two and two together.

Not going to happen today. She grabbed her coat and the lavender purse, beelining for the exit.

“We’re closed,” Zoe snapped over her shoulder and opened the door, holding it for her wanted guest.

Oops! Unwanted guest.

She definitely meant unwanted.

Sure, she could admit that the night of the blizzard the food, the conversation, and the kiss hadn’t sucked, but none of it was going to happen again. Not with this pompous ass. Not after the way he treated her in Denver.

Donovan curled his lips, delivering one hell of a sexy smile. “Probably a good business decision.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. Eyes narrowed, she motioned for him to get out. Sexy or not, she knew a diss when she heard it.

“Just seems a little slow right now.” Donovan took the cue and passed her, pausing to zip up his black leather jacket, his shoulder brushing with hers.

Ignoring the skittles shooting down her arm that his light touch caused, she stepped out into the cold air and pulled her keys out of her coat pocket, shoving one in the lock and turning.

Jerk.

He was right and that sucked. It was no walk in the park to own a frozen yogurt business in the dead of winter in Buttermilk Falls, New York. She probably should have picked a small town in Arizona or somewhere in Southern California.

She raised her head and jutted her chin, determined not to show that he’d rattled her. Her failing shop was none of his business. Be confident, Zoe. Be confident. “Things are picking up. As a matter of fact, I’m going to be catering an event for the senior center on Saturday. People do want frozen yogurt in the winter.”

“Good for you.”

She stepped forward, mustering all of her confidence. So what if she didn’t know yet if she’d actually be catering the event? It was unlikely the thirty-something chef would be there. “Have a good afternoon, Donovan.”

With her perturbed ruffled feathers fully extended, she set course down the street with no desire to look back. “Pompous ass,” she mumbled, letting out a cold breath once she reached the corner. Her gaze rested on the light pole as she waited to cross the street.

Best kiss of her life or not, he was still a jerk.

And what did he know, anyways? Donovan had no clue how hard she worked coming up with her menu and how popular she’d been last year. He wasn’t here for her grand opening where there had been a line halfway down Main Street to taste her frozen yogurt or for the Halloween event she’d thrown only a few months ago where kids couldn’t wait to decorate their frozen cups with ghoulish toppings. Now, that day had been a huge hit.

Sure, she was having a hard time at the moment, but she’d be fine once the temperature rose. She just needed to be frugal.

She crossed the street and stopped in front of the movie theater, thoroughly annoyed. What she needed was to get lost in a half-price matinee for a couple of hours. That would lift her spirits. It always did.

“Catching a flick?”

Her head whipped around, recognizing the familiar voice. “Why are you following me?”

Donovan shrugged and pushed the glass door to the theater open. “I’m not. I’m going here.”

She narrowed her eyes, moving inside. His delicious minty scent now circling her air. There would be no coughing this time, unlike when she took in Will’s cologne. She hurried in before it could intoxicate her. “You’re going to the movies?”

“Yep.”

“In the middle of the day. Don’t you have to be at the bakery?”

“No.”

He unzipped his coat and damn did he look all casual Gap sexy in his V-neck black sweater with white T-shirt underneath. “What? Abby fire you?”

“Sort of. Emma’s coming back this week, and Abby doesn’t need me. I’m officially unemployed.” He nodded toward the concession stand. “If you’d like, I’ll let you buy me nachos. I like mine doused with extra cheese.”

She gave him a long side-glance. It was highly unlikely that seeing a movie had been his intent when he’d followed her down the street.

No matter. It was a big theater. She unbuttoned her coat, taking in the smell of fresh buttery popcorn. One of her favorite things to do was order a large bucket and enjoy the old flicks the theater played on Tuesdays. It reminded her of the times she’d go to the movies with her mom. Donovan’s annoying presence wasn’t going to ruin it.

It was crazy, but sitting by herself in the dark theater, staring up at a black-and-white movie was the only time she didn’t feel alone. She’d made it a point of taking in a matinee every week until she made friends.

Sadly, other than kissing Will at last month’s Holiday Hook Up event, she hadn’t really connected with anyone in Buttermilk Falls, and she certainly didn’t count her brief time with Will as a connection.

Not that the people weren’t friendly, but Abby, Adam, Emma, Josh, Caitlin, Bethany, Bridget, Tom . . . well, they were all close friends with years of history amongst them. Even newcomers Brandon and Jason seemed to seamlessly fit in, probably because Brandon was married to Abby and Jason engaged to Emma.

“Hey, you two.” Caitlin Stevens, the theater owner, greeted them in the main lobby with a wide grin that had all-knowing suspicion written all over it. “Is this a date?”

“No!” Zoe shook her head. “Definitely not. I’ll take my usual, please.” In five minutes she planned to be nestled in her go-to seat in the back row of the theater with a bucket of buttery popcorn and a Coke.

Donovan sauntered up beside her. “Even though this isn’t a date, we could sit together.”

Zoe parted her lips to say no, but once her eyes met his, that word died in her throat. She turned away and slid her hand into her purse to retrieve her wallet.

Oh, crap. She pulled out her hand. This wasn’t her black leather bag, and there wasn’t anything in it. In her rush to get out of her shop, she’d grabbed the lavender purse. “Caitlin, I’m sorry. I left my wallet back at the Ice Heaven. I’ll go get it.” She spun around, but Donovan reached for her arm.

“I’ve got this.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” The last thing she wanted was to owe Donovan Foster money.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t want you to miss any of the movie.” He pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet, and a cream-colored notecard fell to the floor.

“You’re still carrying that?” Zoe asked, recognizing it immediately. Why did Donovan have Mary’s card in his wallet? She’d never found out that night what it said. Truth be told, she’d forgotten all about it after they kissed.

“Yeah.” He picked it up and started to slide it back in his wallet, but Caitlin was too quick and snatched it out of his hands. The mom of triplets apparently had some experience being quick with her fingers.

“Is this the card you two found during your snowstorm rendezvous?” Caitlin asked, nudging Donovan’s hip with her own.

Zoe shook her head. Of course, everyone knew that she’d spent the evening in the bakeshop alone with the hunky chef. Maybe instead of her fledging business, she should be worried about her reputation.

Donovan was the first to speak. “Yep, and it’s addressed to me.”

“What?” Zoe stared hard at Donovan, surprised by that big reveal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you only asked if it was for you, and it wasn’t.” He took it from Caitlin. “Read for yourself,” he said and handed it to Zoe.

Zoe took the card, her hands visibly shaky.

“Want me to do the honors?” Donovan asked.

“No. I can do it.” She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Donovan, Soup’s up. XX, Mary.

Caitlin came up beside Zoe to see. “‘Soup’s up’? What does that mean?”

“Don’t know.” Donovan laughed. Taking the notecard, he folded it and slid it back in his wallet. “Maybe Mary wants some of my famous cheesy tomato bisque. I can’t really blame her. It is to die for . . . although, I guess she’s already accomplished that.”

Zoe stood, terror freezing her in place. Sure, Donovan could make jokes about a deceased witch, and Caitlin could laugh along with him, but they were used to this Buttermilk Falls former resident corresponding amongst the living. Zoe hadn’t been in the town long enough for ghosts to not completely freak her out.

And yeah, she’d admit it. Right now, she was totally freaked out.

She shoved her hands in her coat pockets, watching Caitlin move around the counter to get their refreshments while Donovan paid for their tickets. At least Mary’s message had nothing to do with her. Donovan could supply the dead woman all the tomato soup in the world for all she cared.

The yummy thought made her stomach growl. That and the full bucket of buttery popcorn Caitlin placed on the counter along with her Coke. “You two have fun.” Caitlin’s wink aimed at Zoe.

Zoe took her popcorn bucket and soda, giving Donovan an obligatory polite acknowledgment for buying her ticket and refreshments. “Thank you. I can pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled down at her, and damn if her heart didn’t start to skip again.

Stupid heart.

“Thank you.” She started in the direction of the large auditorium—the only one in the old theater.

“I do have something that I’m going to require.”

She stopped in her tracks. Of course, he did. She glanced back. “What?”

“I’d love company in there. It’s a big theater. I might get scared.”

Somehow, she doubted that a classic love story in black and white was going to scare him. She laughed to herself. Given his reputation as the consummate bachelor, maybe it would. She kept walking, greeting Josh Stevens toward the entrance. Caitlin’s husband appeared to be doing some handiwork, hanging a picture, his feet on the fourth rung of a metal ladder.

“Hey, Zoe. Donovan.”

“Hey, Josh,” Donovan replied. “Little to your left.”

Josh straightened the picture’s frame and slid down the ladder. “Thanks, man. Saved me a trip back up to straighten it because no doubt my wife would have noticed.”

Zoe took a sip of her soda, admiring all the photos in silver frames along the wall. There were several of the Stevens clan as well as customers, some she recognized including Ralph, the owner of Ralph’s Pizzeria. The old man always served a smile with an extra cheesy slice every time she stopped in. “These pictures are great. Look at how big your triplets are,” she remarked, pointing at the one of Josh and Caitlin with their three tots taken in the front row of the auditorium.

“They’re growing like weeds.” He beamed, reaching out and touching the frame. “The pictures on this side represent the present, and the photos on the other side represent the past.”

What a nice idea. Zoe scanned the pictures on the present side. Most had people in them with the exception of the last. Her gaze rested on three streaks of bright light shooting straight up the auditorium screen’s ruby red curtain. “What’s this?”

Josh leaned on his ladder and smiled. “It was a special family wedding. The picture was taken from the balcony of the bride, groom, and maid of honor.” His smile widened, running a finger over the first streak. “The bride was beautiful. This picture captured all three of them perfectly.”

Zoe squinted her eyes to get a better look. As far as she could tell the stage was empty. “I don’t see them.”

“Oh, they’re there. It was Adam’s distant cousin, Mary, and the love of her life. My grandmother was her maid of honor and stood next to them.”

Zoe’s veins turned to ice. This was Mary’s wedding? As if sensing her terror, Donovan came up beside her and placed his palm on her back. Arrogant or not, the chef’s warm hand was exactly what her frozen nerves needed to thaw. “Doesn’t the photo belong on the other side?” she asked.

“No. It was taken last September by Abby.”

“It was?” How could Abby have attended a wedding of a dead woman? Zoe took another sip of her soda. Did she really want to know?

Josh leaned against the ladder. “Long story, less long, Mary’s ghost had been hanging out in the theater, waiting to reunite with her fiancé. Caitlin and Adam were able to make it happen.”

Josh then went on to relay the story about how Mary had committed suicide when she’d learned that her fiancé had been killed in a train robbery. She’d planned on reuniting with him, but he’d crossed over and her ghost had been trapped in the theater for decades.

“I’m glad Mary got her happy ending,” Zoe whispered.

“So, Josh. Question for you,” Donovan started. “Say Mary received some information—rather upsetting information—about a certain magical blue spoon.”

Zoe snapped her head in Donovan’s direction. You’ve got to be kidding me. Why was he bringing that up?

“That you two broke it.” Josh let out a short laugh. “She’d be pissed.”

“Abby told you.” Zoe shook her head.

“Yeah. You might not know yet that my sister can’t keep her mouth shut.” He punched Donovan’s shoulder. “But this guy should. I’m just messing with you about Mary being upset. Now, if you had broken the pink one, all hell would have broken out.” He chuckled, adding, “Among the living. Emma and Aunt Sheila I’m sure will have something to say about it when they get back.”

“Yeah, I might need to skip town,” Donovan admitted. “Is there any way to talk to Mary?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Zoe immediately interjected. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Mary Reed and admit that in a moment of stupid, wine-induced lust for the man now standing next to her she’d broken her magical mixing spoon.

Although maybe if Mary saw how gorgeous Donovan was, she’d cut Zoe some slack.

“Relax.” Donovan shrugged. “Maybe she could tell us how to repair it. That’s all.”

“It’s okay, Zoe.” Josh touched her arm. “Nothing to fear. Mary’s not vindictive. Besides, Caitlin and I haven’t seen her since she crossed over.” He walked over to the other wall and stopped in front of a picture. “Say, Mary. How would one fix a broken magical spoon?”

Curious to what Mary looked like, Zoe stepped up beside him to take a look. Her gaze zeroing in on the beautiful, young woman standing in line outside the theater carrying a box.

The first thing she noticed was how her smile radiated her face. Zoe could see the hint of a dress underneath her coat. “Is she wearing her wedding dress in this picture?”

“Yes.” Josh tapped the wall. “Wore the same dress when she crossed over.” He paused, adding, “And then let Bethany borrow it.”

“What?” Zoe asked, but put her hand up to him. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She turned her attention back to the photo, her eyes resting on a looped chain that draped over Mary’s shoulder.

She dropped her drink, her heart plummeting to her stomach. “It can’t be,” she whispered, not taking her gaze off the photo.

“Zoe . . .” A hand patted her arm. Donovan’s hand.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, stepping out of the small puddle covering her black boots, the soda she dropped now soaking into the carpet.

“Are you okay?” Donovan asked, reaching down to pick up the cup.

“I’m so sorry.” Zoe clutched the purse strap, her fingers gripping it tight.

“It’s just soda.” Josh took the cup from Donovan. “It happens all the time. You should see this place after the seniors get ahold of it,” he joked. “And I’m talking about the older variety. I’ll go get some towels and you a new drink.”

Zoe glanced back at the smiling woman holding the rectangular box. If only she could ask her to turn ever so slightly to confirm the reason she couldn’t speak coherently.

“Zoe.”

This couldn’t be Mary’s, could it?

“Zoe,” the voice repeated.

She snapped out of her fog and shoved her popcorn bucket into Donovan’s chest. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” She raced down the corridor, her boots barely touching the theater carpet as she bolted for the exit, ignoring Josh and Caitlin at the concession counter.

Zoe wasn’t holding just anyone’s purse.

She was holding Mary’s purse.

Holy crap! How did she get it? Mysteriously acquiring one of Mary’s personal belongings was far worse than some stupid card.

Once outside, she yanked the purse from her shoulder and threw it down on the ground. Sinking onto a nearby bench, she buried her head in her cold hands.

Why was any of this happening to her? All she wanted was to open a business and start a new life. Maybe meet someone and fall in love. That’s all.

“Are you okay?”

Zoe lifted her fingers to see a concerned Donovan standing directly in front of her. At least, it looked like concern. Was he capable of that emotion? “I’m fine. I just needed some air. Never mind me. You can go back inside.”

Donovan sat down next to her, stretching his legs out. “Fresh air sound good. We can talk a bit.”

Right. He wanted to shoot the breeze in ten-degree weather like it was the first day of spring. Unlikely. “No, really. I’m fine.” She pointed toward the theater entrance. “Go. Before the movie starts.”

He ignored her, leaning down and picking up the purse. “You dropped this,” he said and started to hand it back.

Blocking his attempt with one hand, she shook her head. “It’s not mine.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. It definitely doesn’t belong to me.” Frustrated, she bit down on her lip. “Leave it. I’m sure the owner will come for it.” And take the purse back with her to the other side if I’m lucky.

“What if there’s something valuable inside?”

Zoe blew out a cold, aggravated breath. “I already checked. It’s empty.”

“You sure about that?” Donovan’s eyebrows furrowed. He held up the bag and placed a hand on the bottom. “It feels like there’s something in there.”

“That can’t be.” Zoe’s eyes went wide, and she snatched the purse from his hands. The new weight obvious. Steadying her trembling fingers, she unlatched the clasp and peered inside. “Oh, for the love of God.”

“Is it your wallet?” Donovan asked.

“No.” She pulled out a metal soup ladle, holding it in the air. “It’s definitely not.”

“Zoe, wait up.” Donovan caught up to her, catching his breath. Only moments ago she’d freaked out, threw the soup ladle at him, and tore off down the sidewalk.

“Leave me alone, Donovan,” she shouted over her shoulder.

He matched her stride because there was no slowing her down. For a short woman, Zoe’s legs could move her from zero to sixty in no time. “Look. I know this bag has spooked you.” He held it out. “Why?”

She stopped, her nostrils flaring. “Did you put the ladle in there?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” She leveled him with a stare, her voice full on accusation. “Did you put it in the purse?”

He gave a short laugh and patted his leather coat. “Yeah, I hid a metal ladle in my jacket and, when you weren’t looking, slipped it into your purse because I knew it would get this reaction out of you. Who doesn’t totally lose it over a cooking utensil?”

He stopped talking the minute he saw that her eyes were watering. Damn, he was just trying to lighten the mood. He hadn’t meant to upset her. “Zoe, I’m sorry. Why don’t you talk to me? What’s got you so scared?”

“I’m not scared.” She looked away.

“Oh, really. I would say the soda on the carpet and the sticky butter stains on my leather jacket from the popcorn bucket you heaved at me tell a different story. Not to mention your meltdown on the bench just now.”

She snapped her head back in his direction, shooting him the mother of all dirty looks. “That was not a meltdown.”

“Care to fill me in on how a purse and a cooking utensil have got you bent out of shape then? Maybe I can help.”

“Doubt it. I’m bent out of shape,” she repeated and paused, forcing a smile toward an old couple passing by. Her voice noticeably lower as she finished her explanation. “I’m bent out of shape because those items aren’t mine and both appeared out of nowhere.”

“What do you mean ‘out of nowhere’?”

She pointed to the purse. “That was tied to the front door of the Ice Heaven when I arrived this morning.” She let out a loud sigh. “And the ladle, it wasn’t in there when I left the shop earlier. The purse was empty.”

Then how did the ladle get in there? He rephrased that internal question, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I checked it this morning to see if there was any identification. That . . . that thing.” She pointed to the ladle. “It was definitely not inside.”

“Okay, then. I’ve got the full story. I can work with that.”

Zoe shook her head and proceeded to walk. “I don’t want you to work with anything. What I want, Donovan, is for you and the woman who that purse belongs to to leave me alone.” She took off down the street.

He was probably risking a slap in the face, but he followed her back to the Ice Heaven, clutching the ladle in one hand and the bag in his other. “Do you know who this belongs to?” He waved the purse. “Because I’d like to save my masculinity and return it.” He added with a wink, “I might keep the ladle.”

Zoe stopped in front of her shop. “I have no clue who it belongs to.”

“But you want her to leave you alone. Am I missing something?” What wasn’t Zoe saying?

She threw her hands in the air. “All right. Fine. I think it was Mary’s, as in Mary Reed’s. That picture in the theater. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the same looped strap was around her shoulder.”

“You saw that in the picture?”

“Yep.”

“In that small black and white photo?” Wow, she must have eagle-eyed vision. He certainly hadn’t caught that detail.

Zoe pulled her coat in tight, blowing out a cold breath. “I don’t know . . . I think so.”

No wonder she had lost it back there. “So, if it’s Mary’s, why would there be a soup ladle in it? It probably belongs to some woman who purchased the ladle recently.”

She started to say something but stopped, turning her back to him and jamming her key in the door. “Just go, Donovan.”

“Okay.” He’d been around women long enough to know when a conversation was done. He wasn’t going to risk pissing her off more than he already had. “Have a good afternoon.”

He all but expected her to storm into her shop, but she stood for a few seconds before spinning around.

Maybe their conversation wasn’t done. “What’s up?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid.

“Don’t you see how weird this is? You get a cryptic message where Mary may or may not be requesting soup, and then we just so happen to find a soup ladle in that vintage bag that was definitely empty when I found it this morning.”

“Hmm.” He’d been so caught up in Zoe running out of the theater he hadn’t connected the dots. His grip around the ladle tensed. “It is odd.”

“It’s more than odd, and I want nothing to do with it.” She turned back to the door.

“It’s not a big deal.” Donovan opened the purse and stuffed the ladle back in. It was time to reassure one wigged-out Buttermilk Falls transplant that magic was part of the town’s welcome package and nothing to be afraid of. “A lot of people we know—from what I hear—have gotten gifts from Mary. Brandon’s got her antique trunk at the Lakeside Inn. Hell, rumor has it Bethany’s entire back storage room in her Christmas shop is full with Mary’s crap.”

“Well, Mary can play her shenanigans on someone else.” She nodded down to the purse. “Can you do me a favor and get rid of it?”

His heart beat a little at her plea. She wanted his help. “That I can do. Consider it done. I’ll take it to the Sugar Spoon. You’ll never have to see it again.”

“Thanks.” She pulled open her door and stepped in, her back propping it open. “Listen, Donovan, I don’t know why Mary seems to be interested in my life, but I don’t need it. I’m a simple frozen yogurt shop owner fro—”

“From Denwood,” he interjected.

“Right.” She broke eye contact, lowering her gaze to the ground.

Guilt washed over him. He wasn’t trying to make her feel bad about herself, but that’s all he seemed to be doing today. Maybe it was time to give her a little pep talk. Make her feel she’d made the right decision to move to Buttermilk Falls. God knows, he didn’t want her to leave.

“Zoe, I think you’re doing a great job. I mean . . . I didn’t mean what I said earlier about your closing being a good decision.” He lowered his head, trying to meet her pretty blue eyes to no avail. “Running a successful business takes time. I’ve been there. I know.”

She lifted her chin, and damn if her glistening baby blues didn’t make his heart melt.

“It is hard,” she admitted. “Which is why I don’t need gifts from ghosts. I need living, breathing customers who can pay me cold, hard cash. Thanks for getting rid of the purse. I’ll see you around.” She stepped inside, the glass door closing behind her.

“See you,” Donovan said to the door and watched a defeated Zoe walk the length of her shop. Her shoulders were slumped, and there was a detectable sadness in her face as she busied herself behind the counter—a far cry from the night of the blizzard when he’d witnessed her jubilant celebration over her frozen yogurt.

He blew out a cold breath. She was right. She didn’t need magic. She needed customers.

Too bad with these frigid temperatures customers would probably prefer something warm rather than frozen in their bellies for at least the next three months. His head dropped to the ladle handle peeking out from the bag. An idea began to form.

With one last glance through the glass door at the pretty, blonde frozen yogurt owner, he

proceeded down the street.

Maybe he could help.