Chapter 1
In hindsight, I probably should’ve realized I had a crush, but I didn’t.
In my defense, I don’t think I’d ever actually had one before.
Never had that flutter in my belly. That warmth in my chest. That overwhelming bubble of need to simply see someone—for them to look my way.
I was forty-three, for god’s sake, I just…
assumed crushes were something else. Something less, skin-itchy, dry-mouthy.
I figured this was what it always was, just amplified because of the way we’d met.
At first, I chalked it up to the kinda overall excitement I always felt when I had a new challenge. And boy-oh-boy was Mr. Runs a Lot a challenge.
He was stubborn, I could tell. But he wasn’t the only new Bellevillian who had been allergic to my help, and eventually, everyone succumbed to the magic this town held.
I just had to keep pushing, and he’d get there too. He just...had to come into the store first. And then boom—I’d get him.
I always did.
New friend unlocked, just like that.
Newcomers were my favorite.
I lived for the thrill of picking them apart. Using the rumor mill of our small, busy town to discover where they came from, who they were, what they did for a living. Little quirks, bad habits, the lovely puzzle pieces that made up the eclectic mix of townies I called my family.
But more than that, I loved to show people what Belleville had shown me. That this place was special. These people were special.
No other newcomer had ever made my belly flip the way it did when my stranger finally walked through the sliding door at the front of the grocery shop for the first time, all golden hair and surly expression. Nor had anyone ever been so…tricky to get to know.
Apparently, bird-whisperer-guy was just as determined to avoid me as I was to pursue him.
Case in point: the fact that the moment he had finished shopping, he glanced around the store to locate me, then actively dodged me—and used Madison’s register instead of mine. Deliberately avoiding me like he was terrified I was going to sniff out all his secrets like a goddamn bloodhound.
He was fun.
Contrary.
I grinned and waved, just to tease him. He pretended like he didn’t notice me—badly, because he obviously did. His flush betrayed him. When he paid for his giant pile of TV dinners and bolted out the door, grocery bags thumping against his legs, that flutter in my belly exploded.
Like he thought he was James Bond, I stared through the glass as my newest-future-buddy threw everything he’d purchased into the bed of his faded blue pickup truck. Seconds later, he hauled ass into the front seat and drove away as quickly as possible.
“What did you do?” Madison asked with a put-upon sigh, like Joe bolting was my fault. I resented that—even though it was.
“Nothing,” I said, still grinning. “Nothing at all.”
“Why do I not believe you?” She popped her cinnamon gum my way. I hated when she did that.
“Gross.”
“I need coffee to deal with your bullshit this early in the morning,” Madison informed me.
“Ditto,” I replied before sticking my tongue out at her like I was fifteen and not pushing forty-three.
I told myself it didn’t sting when Joe walked out the door. But even I knew that was a lie.
A week later, after the second episode of farmboy-Adonis’s run-and-ride, I came up with a solution. I’d given Madison a little poke and some monetary incentive to “stock the shelves” the third time he came in, determined to get him to actually acknowledge me.
I’ll crack him today, I promised myself. Being overly friendly had never steered me wrong before. He needed a little more time for his guard to drop.
He was just shy last time…
And the time before.
And the time before that.
And—
You know what? It didn’t matter.
To say Blond-and-Beefy was displeased when the next time he came in he discovered I was the only one manning the registers would be the understatement of the century.
He stood at the end of the bread aisle, eyeing the conveyor belt like it was on fire.
I patted it invitingly, knowing I’d already won.
He had no choice.
We were the only store in town that sold TV dinners.
I wasn’t judging. I wasn’t any better. Ninety percent of what I consumed was takeout of some sort.
Or that Weight-Lookers thing I’d subscribed to and kept forgetting to cancel.
Or casseroles people gave me after I’d assisted them in one way or another.
Mr. Reluctant dragged his feet as he walked toward me, basket of—you guessed it—more TV dinners clutched to his chest.
The fizzle in my stomach was back. Nervous energy, the strong desire to make him acknowledge me—rely on me—stealing my breath.
He didn’t, though. He kept his eyes on the whirring black belt, never once glancing up. Powering through the interaction in the most painful way possible for both of us.
Look at me.
I almost wanted to snap my teeth at him to make him jump.
I didn’t, though.
I had a mission today.
Madison knew Beefy-boy’s name, apparently, and she was lording that information over me. She would’ve told me if I asked. But—for some strange reason, I wanted the information to come straight from him. Even if I had to trick it out of him.
“Hey,” I said cheerily, the same way I greeted everyone who shopped here. “How are you today?” And then, when he didn’t reply, I played my wild card. “How’s the orchard?”
He outright dropped the last TV dinner in his grip, but caught it before it could fall to the floor. His eyes snapped to my face, all wide-eyed confusion, like he thought I was a fucking witch.
I grinned.
“How did you—”
“I have my ways.” I tapped the side of my nose, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
Truth be told, I was a little frustrated I’d learned about the farm he’d bought from someone other than him.
Not too annoyed, though, because my comment about it had thrown him off.
He didn’t think twice about giving me his credit card when I held a hand out for it instead of swiping it through the machine like usual.
With everything bagged, I glanced at his card aaaand bingo.
Joe Milton.
It was a nice name.
It suited him.
Strong. Solid. Straight to the point.
A thrill ran through me, my thumb lingering on the raised letters before I handed it back to him.
“Joe Milton,” I hummed. Our fingers brushed, and his cheeks went fiery red again as he shoved his card back into his wallet—one of those weird metal things I’d only ever seen outdoorsy people use. “Nice name.”
“What?” He said, confused. “How—”
“Your card,” I practically purred.
“Oh.” Joe’s eyes narrowed at his wallet like it’d betrayed him.
Then, liquid-quick, before I could trick anything else out of him, Joe grabbed his groceries and stalked out the door.
While he launched himself inside his truck, I performed a victory dance.
Unluckily for me, Madison caught the tail-end of said strutting.
She paused, hovering in the bread aisle where Joe had been only a few seconds prior.
His departure stung even more this time. I tried to ignore it, but there was this…itch beneath my skin.
“Stop judging me,” I complained with a huff.
“Buy me a coffee machine and I will,” she retorted.
The next few times I saw Joe, I didn’t pull any tricks.
Even though I wanted to. I figured poking…
possibly wasn’t the best way to get him to like me.
He was surly when I spoke to him, pale brow furrowed, dark blue eyes guarded.
When I waved goodbye and wished him a good day, as friendly as ever, his shoulders climbed all the way to his ears.
He stared at me like he didn’t understand me.
It made me feel bare in a way I hadn’t since I’d moved here and adopted the persona that’d given my life value.
That should’ve warned me off. Should’ve made me take a step back and reevaluate. However, his prickliness where I was concerned simply made me more determined to get him to accept me.
The more he scowled, the more chipper I became.
My friendliness was a weapon, and I knew exactly how to yield it.
At least…I thought I did.
And when that didn’t work on its own, I figured maybe proving my usefulness might?
“You know, if you’re looking for apple buyers, I know of some interested parties,” I offered after a few visits with no incident. I wanted his guard down. At least enough to listen. It was a far-too-hot day in July, and Joe was shuffling an armful of TV dinners onto the conveyor belt like usual.
I’d sent Madison to the back with promises of more toppings for the new “coffee” station we’d just installed in the break room.
So it was just us.
Joe glared at me.
He didn’t say anything.
That was fine. I had enough words for both of us, and I’d been practicing this pitch in the mirror for over a week. Okay, and also maybe in front of Madison—and Mary, my ex-wife turned best friend—and her husband, Daniel. Oh, and Marybeth, my god-niece.
“Your harvest is coming up,” I began. “Which means you’ll be looking for ways to make a profit.
I know for a fact that Mr. Peterson at the orchard is looking for a supplier for his fruit wine.
The grocery store is always hoping for more local produce to stock.
And! Baxter, down at the bakery, would definitely be interested in buying apples from you, too.
I could talk to them for you? Set something up. Help you meet them—”
I’d already talked to Mr. Peterson, but he didn’t need to know that.
“No thanks,” Joe said gruffly. I was surprised he spoke at all.
I frowned at him.
It was probably the first time I’d done that. “Joe—”
“I told you, I don’t need your help. And I don’t.” Joe slapped his card on the counter, glaring at me. “I can do this by myself.”
“No one said you couldn’t.” I took the card, lingering a little as I swiped it through.
“Only that it’s easier if you don’t.” Since that day when I’d taken it to read his name, he’d always done that—handed me the card.
I liked the way our fingers brushed, so I never complained, even if it did make Madison give me the side-eye every time.
At least when she witnessed it, loitering in the aisles rather than departing to her precious espresso machine.
“Belleville’s a special place. You’ve been here a month max. Maybe you don’t know that we…the people here—the Bellevillians—like to look out for one another. And I just want to—”
Joe was stomping toward the door before I could even finish my sentence. His bags of groceries beat against his thick thighs as he moved. The door slid shut after him, and I realized…maybe belatedly…that pushing him was not an effective friendship tactic.
I sighed, dragging my hands up into my hair.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have poked him so much earlier,” Madison said wisely. She made this godawful slurping sound as she sucked through the straw on her tumbler. I’d gotten it for her for Christmas last year. This red and green atrocity that I’d thought she’d hate-love.
I was right.
Just like she was right.
“I might need a new approach,” I admitted.
I hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be rejected this time around.
The first offer—in the alley—had been one thing.
We hadn’t talked before. Didn’t know each other at all.
And now I was genuinely trying to help and…
fuck. Well. Maybe we still didn’t know each other.
Maybe that was the problem.
“You think?” Madison sucked on her straw again as she took her spot at the register. She turned around and handed me a list. A fucking list. Of creamers and flavor additives and…marshmallows?
I pulled up a website to purchase them on my phone. We didn’t carry the kind of fancy shit she was interested in at the store, so that meant extra work on my end to get it imported.
I didn’t mind a little extra work.