“I don’t—” I started, but she was already rushing toward me, eyes bright with a manic energy I’d only seen at author events when fans cornered their favorite writers near the bathroom.
“You were talking to him!” She grabbed my arm with both hands, and I had to resist the urge to shake her off. “I saw you! You two were talking!”
“We weren’t—”
“Oh my God, do you know him?” Her voice pitched higher, and somewhere in the back of the store, I heard the woman behind the deli counter sigh heavily. “Are you friends? Is he staying here? In Ashford Gap? For how long?”
“I don’t actually—”
“What’s he like in person?” She released my arm only to clasp her hands together beneath her chin, practically vibrating. “Is he as charming as he is on the show? He seems charming. Those eyes! And that smile! When he looked at you just now—I mean, I saw sparks, and I was twenty feet away.”
I opened my mouth to explain that I didn’t know who Dr. Brock Blaze was, that my neighbor had introduced himself as Samuel, that until approximately two minutes ago I’d thought he was just an attractive disaster with wet wood and a complete inability to survive mountain living.
But the woman wasn’t done.
“Is it true he’s dating Chandra Reyes?” Her expression shifted from delighted to concerned in a heartbeat. “Because me and the girls—we’re in the same church choir, you know, been singing together for fifteen years—we’ve been praying it’s not true. She plays Dr. Sienna Castellano on the show. Gorgeous woman, but she’s all wrong for Dr. Blaze. The chemistry just isn’t there. We can tell.”
“I really don’t—”
“Oh, God.” Her eyes went wide. “He’s not really gay, is he? Please tell me he’s not gay. We’ve been debating it for months.Jenny—she’s our alto—she’s absolutely convinced he is, but I keep telling her, a man that handsome can’t possibly be—”
Something in my chest clenched, hard and ugly.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said, my voice colder than I intended.
“But you were flirting!” She said it like an accusation. Like flirting with another man was evidence of a crime. “I saw you! You were laughing and touching and—”
“Hope Campbell!” The woman behind the deli counter finally intervened, her voice cutting through the chaos like a machete through particularly dense underbrush. She was in her sixties, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, wearing an apron that said ASK ME ABOUT OUR JERKY. “For the love of all that is holy, calm your tits down and stop scaring away the customers.”
Hope—apparently that was her name, which felt deeply ironic—turned to the deli counter with an expression of wounded dignity. “Loretta, I am not scaring anyone. I’m simply asking this nice young man about—”
“You’re interrogating him about some TV actor like he’s a witness to a murder.” Loretta crossed her arms over her jerky-promoting chest. “The man just wants to drink his coffee in peace. Let him be.”
Hope’s mouth opened and closed several times, like a fish. Finally, she turned back to me with a slightly embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry if I came on a little strong. It’s just—we don’t get celebrities here, you know? The most exciting thing that happened in Ashford Gap last year was when the Methodists and the Baptists had that potluck war, and this is—this is Dr. Brock Blaze.”
“I understand,” I said, not understanding at all. “But I really don’t know him.”
“Of course.” She patted my arm, back to sympathetic now that her initial frenzy had been interrupted. “I’m Hope, by the way. Hope Campbell. My father-in-law owns this store.”
“Farley. Farley Davenport.”
“Well, Farley Davenport.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “If you find out whether Dr. Blaze is single—or, you know, which way he swings—you just let me know, okay? I’ll be in here most days. My number’s on the community board by the door.”
I had no intention of letting her know anything, but I nodded anyway, and she finally, mercifully, drifted off toward the produce section, already texting furiously on her phone.
The woman behind the deli counter caught my eye and shook her head slowly. “Don’t mind Hope. She means well, but she’s got the subtlety of a runaway train.” She nodded toward the menu board behind her. “You look like you could use something to settle your nerves. What can I get you?”
“Ham sandwich?” I managed. “On sourdough, if you have it. Extra mustard.”
“Pickle on the side?”
“Please.”
She smiled, softening her stern features. “City boy with good taste. Give me five minutes.”
She turned away, and I finally had a moment to breathe.
Dr. Brock Blaze.
