ThatPhoebeis safe.
Which means I’m going to have to make an offer tonight, whether I want to or not. It’s that or watch her walk out of my life again.
I’m only a few steps into the store when it’s clear this won’t be a short trip. Mrs. White, the town librarian, waves at me from across the produce section. Which causes a ripple of turned heads.
Yes, I’m out and about intown.Sound the alarms.
Panicking, I push my cart in the opposite direction, hoping most of what I need is on the other side. I move quickly, trying to avoid Mrs. White, because if she catches up, she’ll ask about the farm and how I’m doing—questions I’m not ready to answer.
My whole life feels like it’s one step away from falling apart.
I stumble onto the baking aisle, and am a third of the way down it before I realize I’ve made a wrong turn. My head really isn’t on groceries. The whole aisle smells like sugar and cinnamon, like Mom’s kitchen smelled the whole week leading up to Opening Day. Add in the random wafts of vanilla that remind me of Chloe, and it’s a dangerous combo.
Since the thought is so fresh, I do a double-take when I think I see Chloe standing three-quarters of the way down the aisle. At first, I figure I’m imagining things, especially since she keeps hijacking ninety-nine percent of my thoughts.
Yet, there she is.
I blink, thinking she’ll disappear, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans over close to Phoebe, speaking in hushed tones. I can tell by their body language that the last thing I need to do is stop and say hello.
I just need to scoot on by and mind my business. But my brain and my heart have been on different wavelengths since she stepped back onto my farm several days ago.
“Mom, we have to get sprinkles and icing. We have to.” Phoebe clutches a handful of assorted red, green, and white sprinkles tight to her chest, her head tilted to the side.
“Phoebe.” Chloe’s voice comes out strained, and she rubs her forehead. “We can’t today, okay?”
“But we need them!” she sniffles, pulling them closer.
“I promise we’ll get this stuff soon, we just can’t today.” Chloe crouches down to her level and kisses her forehead, her hair pulled up again.
I can’t help but notice the sweep of her bare neck. Once upon a time, I knew exactly where to press my lips to make her laugh, and the memory hits harder than it should beside boxed cake mix and frosting pouches.
Phoebe lowers her arms a little, giving up the fight. “How soon?”
“Phoebe.” Chloe dips her head and pauses for a moment.
My instincts tell me to step in, but logic says this is the perfect time to walk away unnoticed.
Storywood Ridge has other plans, though. At the precise moment that I decide to turn my cart around, “Christmas Tree Farm” comes across the speakers, like a magical highlight. If there’s one thing this town is good at, it’s nudging people closer together when they seem to struggle to do it themselves.
Real cute.
Her phone buzzes twice in the cart’s cup holder. Chloe grabs it, then goes still, a thumb hovering over the screen. The color drains from her cheeks.
As par for the course, my brain stops working completely.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Landlord’s voicemail is full,” she says, too bright. “Andanotherclient just asked for a refund.”
The store’s speaker crackles again. This town’s “abilities” should work on timing.
“I’m… sorry about that.”
I wish I knew what else to say.
Chloe’s cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.
“It’s not your fault.” She doesn’t sound natural, but I can tell she’s trying to be.
