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“He’s such an asshole,” Stormy says.

“I agree. I’m not a proctologist but I knew he was an asshole the first time I saw him.” Emberlynn says as she takes a bottle of sweet tea from the bag and offers it to me.

Stormy gasps and in the perfect imitation of our mother clutches her chest and says, “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? That is sacrilegious! Good tea does not come bought in a bottle.”

We all laugh.

“Look at this.” Stormy passes Emberlynn the flyer. “I’m trying to convince Tempest to give it a try.”

“Ooh…anonymous pen pals. I love that idea.” Emberlynn skims the paper. “All that’s required is to email your assigned cowboy at least once a day for the program’s duration. Then when it’s over there’s an end-of-the-program party for all the participants if you want to attend.”

“I don’t know…” I say, but I’m considering it as I get the broom from the closet and start sweeping.

During the day while I stay occupied with the pool hall, everything’s fine. It’s the nights when I’m not busy that are hard to take. I’m alone with just my thoughts and some of those little bastards are hard on my heart.

“Oh no!” Emberlynn slaps her hand to her forehead. “I’m so tired I totally forgot I was supposed stop at the hardware store for my grandmother.”

“You help here and I’ll go for you,” I offer.

“I’m taking you up on that.” She gives me a list of things she needs.

I walk outside and soon regret the trek. It’s July in Texas and twenty degrees hotter than hell. The air bakes my lungs as I walk.

If I had bothered putting on any makeup this morning, it would have melted right off. Taking a hairband from the pocket of my shorts, I scoop my hair up swearing once again that I’ll get a pixie cut for summer. I’ve been swearing the same thing for years. I know I won’t do it.

I don’t like change and yet it seems like that’s all I’ve dealt with lately. One change in my life after another. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.

I pass Perks & Buns, the coffee and cinnamon roll shop and take a deep breath of the sweet aroma. Coffee always knows how to whisper my name.

The ice cream parlor is advertising a buy one scoop get one sale and my sweet tooth makes a mental note of that. The bookstore has the latest releases showcased in the windows and my steps falter before I make myself continue on Gordon’s hardware store.

As soon as I enter, the owner calls out a greeting. Mr. Gordon is in his eighties, plays poker like a pro and knows all the good gossip.

A display of bagged soil on sale catches my eye, and I stop there to contemplate whether I should get some in case I decide to add flowerpots to the space in front of the pool hall.

“Shopping for ingredients for your cauldron?”

I press my teeth together and slowly turn toward the deep voice I’d know anywhere.

For fuck’s sake, he looks shower fresh while I look like a marshmallow half melted in the sun.

One corner of his mouth tips up.

“Maverick,” I say as cordially as possible, determined this time not to let him get under my skin.

“Tempest,” he returns, his mouth curving higher.

Arrogant. Handsome. Scourge of my life. “How’d the blind date go?” I can’t help but reference the last time I saw him.

Maverick drops his smirky smile like it burned him.

And I almost, almost feel sorry for him. Mr. Gordon had spilled all the tea about that date. The woman had brought her husband, her boyfriend and her former lawyer to the dinner.

Despite what he may think, I don’t hate him. I just don’t like him.

Our families never got along thanks to a huge fight over land and “someone’s woman” my granny told me once. That situation hurt pride and feelings and bank accounts, and both sides became sworn enemies.

But I also don’t care for Maverick’s company because he exudes masculine assurance. That attitude combined with those features and body makes my girlie bits feel tingly. And bits should not tingle in the presence of this cowboy. That’s also as sacrilegious as bought-tea in a bottle.