Or should I sayDeputyCalvin Rhodes these days.
I’m amazed that he got anyone to marry him. Especially Chloe Quinn. She was always the sweetest when I sat next to her in math class.
“Miss Marsh,” he says, with a voice that feels like nails scraping over a chalkboard.
“Calvin,” I say, politely as I can manage without actually vomiting on him.
His smug smile is still the same, the kind of smile that makes you want to throw your coffee at him just to see if it’ll stick. He looks me up and down as if I’m the most inconvenient thing he’s had to deal with all week.
“You back in town for good, or just playing tourist?” he sneers, hands tucked into the pockets of his stupid uniform.
“Playing tourist,” I snap, because honestly, what else am I supposed to say to that? I’m not here to explain myself to him.
His eyes narrow, and I can already tell he’s about to go full“holier than thou.” I really don’t need this today, but of course, that’s when people like him show up.
“So, what, you just here to visit?” he asks, his tone dripping with that passive-aggressive BS he’s always used. “Or are you trying to work some magic and make the past disappear?”
I grit my teeth, fists curling.Breathe, Lo.“I’m here to mind my business, Calvin. I’m not interested in whatever twisted version of the past you’ve been telling yourself.”
He laughs far too loudly. “You’re a real piece of work, Miss Marsh. Always were.”
Of course I was. How could I forget? I can feel my patience fraying with every word out of his mouth, but I keep my cool even though my fingers itch to do something a little less civilized.
“Don’t worry, Calvin. I’m not planning on sticking around long enough to ruin anyone’s day.”
He steps forward, the stink of his cologne and judgment filling the air. “That’s probably for the best. It’s funny how the Marsh family always seems to find a way to make things more… interesting.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to contain the rage burning within me. But I’m not about to let him see how much he gets to me.
“Look, if you have nothing else to say, I’m gonna go find someone who doesn’t still call me ‘Miss Marsh’ and act like I’m still in high school.”
I turn and start walking, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words have gotten under my skin. As I push past him, I feel his eyes on me, burning holes in my back.
But I don’t care. Not anymore.
Before I can get inside the bakery, before I can even take a damn breath, my day takes a turn for the worse.
A toolbox slams into my foot.
Hard.
The jolt of pain shoots straight up my leg, and I stifle a yelp, hopping back on one foot like a damn idiot, clutching at my now-throbbing toes. Goddamn it, could this day get any worse?
“Shit!” The voice that comes with the toolbox is deep, apologetic, and way too familiar. “You okay? Didn’t mean to?—”
But who is this man attached to the face?
I know that face. Iknowthat face. The tall, broad-shouldered guy with the quiet eyes, the kind of face you see every day but never quite remember to look at.
At first, it’s a punch to the gut. Because yeah, it’s familiar, but something’s off. I can’t quite place it.
He’s looking at me as if he’s seen a ghost, or maybe it’s the other way around. His brows furrow with immediate regret. He opens his mouth, probably trying to apologize, but all I can do is blink back at him, trying to connect the dots.
And then it clicks.
Ford Maddox.
I almost groan out loud. Ford. Damn. I should’ve known.
