Page 101

Another girl bustled through the swinging door to the back, arms laden with sheets of freshly baked cookies. “One-oh-three!”

“Booboo mentioned something about a black bear?” Cam said.

I wandered to his side.

“Over five-hundred pounds and only four guys to pull it out of the woods.” Chelsea shook her head. “He just had his surgery last month!”

“Oh, give the guy a break. He’s been cooped up for months.”

She sighed, and her curious gaze flitted to me.

Cam touched my arm. “Chelsea, this is Shay Honeycutt.”

Her eyes lit up. “I knew I recognized you. Amy, look! It’s the Sweetheart of Sugar Springs!”

My voice caught in my throat, but I managed a smile.

Amy—presumably Chelsea’s sister—paused to look at me. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. The legend herself.”

“People still talk about you, you know,” Chelsea whispered, though everyone in the vicinity was now listening and staring at me.

“They do?” I asked.

“Oh, sure! Poor girl in a rich town, tearing down barriers. Us Sweetwater folks gotta support each other.” She winked at me.

I stepped closer. “You’re from Sweetwater?”

“Born and raised,” Amy said, then shouted, “One-oh-four!”

Chelsea bounced on her toes. “What would y’all like?”

“Oh, I’m one-thirteen.”

“Ain’t nothin’ but a thing,” she said with a grand smile. “I insist.”

I cast a smile at Camden, then said, “I’ll take a blueberry muffin, please. Do you want anything, Shepherd?”

“The honey-almond pastry.”

Honey again.

Chelsea nodded and set to work retrieving our baked goods.

I turned to Cam, and in the face of these salt-of-the-earth girls from my hometown, the accent I’d repressed deep inside sprang forth. “Honey got you good, boy.”

His face softened. “That she did.”

My face warmed, so I hid it under the pretense of pulling out my wallet, but Cam handed Chelsea some cash before I opened it. I shot him a look and tucked it back into my purse. Pastries in hand, we made our way to the sidewalk.

“I could have paid,” I said once we were in the bright sunlight. “It was my idea to come.”

He shook his head. “It goes against every antiquated, chivalrous instinct in my head to let you pay. I can be a feminist and still pay. Just give me this one.”

I burst into giggles. “What happened? In the car, you were suave guy with the smooth lines, and now you’re right back to Southern gentleman.”

“I know.” He shot a troubled look at the sports car parked innocently beside the curb. “Something about that car makes me feel like James Bond.”

“Powerful stuff.”