“Heard you had a pretty nurse taking care of you.” His eyes twinkle. “New girl. The one who inherited Pierce Acres.”
“We’re just neighbors.”
“Uh-huh.” Tiddy’s tone says he doesn’t believe that for a second. “That’s what Ethel says about her and Wesley.” He ambles off to check on the fryer, and I take a long pull of my beer.
The bar is maybe half full, which counts as bustling for a weeknight in Fork Lick. I recognize most of the faces—farmers, tradespeople, and a few folks who work remotely like me and emerged from their caves for human contact.
Hank Morrison is playing darts badly in the corner. The Delgado sisters are sharing a plate of nachos by the window. Old Pete is asleep in his usual booth, an empty glass in front of him and his John Deere cap pulled low over his eyes. I haven’t been here in ages, but the great thing about a small town like this is that not much changes.
Tiddy returns with a basket of fried pickles, golden and glistening. The smell alone makes my stomach growl. I grab one and bite into it.
“These would be good with maple syrup,” I say without thinking.
Ethan stares at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shove another pickle into my mouth to stop myself from talking. But the thought is already there. Eva, standing in the sugar shack, talking about the evaporator pans. Eva, getting excited about the old equipment. Everything comes back to her.
But she’s not from here, and she’s not staying.
We’re halfway through the pickles when Burt Halverson stops by to clap Ethan on the shoulder. “Ethan! Looking forward to the strawberry harvest this year. Doreen’s already planning her jam operation.”
“Should be a good season,” Ethan says. “Assuming the rain holds off.”
“Fingers crossed. Tell Lia I said hi.” Burt notices me and does a double-take. “Asher? Damn, son. Thought you’d died up there.”
“Still breathing.”
“Good to see you out. Don’t be a stranger.” He moves on, and I feel Ethan watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just noticing that everyone’s surprised to see you.”
“Your point?”
“You used to come here before you could buy beer legally. You used to be part of this town. Now people act like you’re a ghost.”
I don’t have a response to that, so I drink my beer instead.
The jalapeño poppers arrive, and they’re perfect—crispy, creamy, with just enough heat. Mabel’s recipe is legendary. I eat three of them before I realize Ethan hasn’t touched any food. He’s just sitting there, watching me with that patient expression that means he’s working up to something.
“Just say it,” I tell him.
“Say what?”
“Whatever intervention speech Lia scripted for you. I know that’s why we’re here.”
Ethan almost smiles. “Lia didn’t script anything. She just threatened to withhold sex if I didn’t get you out of that house.”
I wrinkle my nose in disgust as my friend references sex with my sister. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“Consider it payback for all the years you made my life difficult.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Remember when you lied to me for ten years?”
The question catches me off guard. “That was a long time ago.”
“You sat there right next door, drifting further and further away.”
“I was being protective.”
