21
I’m humming as I stroll through the produce section of the grocery store. My parents are coming for dinner tomorrow night, and I’ve decided to make paneer curry. It’s warm and comforting, and my dad’s favorite.
I probably should have written a shopping list, but there’s something oddly soothing about wandering the aisles, letting my mind wander with me as I track down ingredients one by one.
Somehow, thinking about food always makes me think of my friends.
Kate, of course, has the store layout memorized and organizes her list by aisle. Tess makes a list too but usually forgets it at home and ends up winging it. And Sofia approaches grocery shopping like a choose-your-own-adventure, deciding dinner based on what catches her eye.
We’re so different, but I love that about us.
I drop a bunch of fresh cilantro and a bag of salad mix into my cart, then make a mental note to double back for chickpeas. That’s when I hear high-pitched shouting coming from the next aisle over.
I round the corner and spot Alix Constable frowning at a young mom and her son standing in front of the freezer section.
I’ve seen the mom around town, but we’ve never spoken.
Her son, who appears to be around nine or ten, is pointing excitedly at something inside one of the freezer doors, making loud, enthusiastic noises.
Alix’s lips are pursed and her eyes narrowed in disapproval. My stomach dips. Why is it easier for people to judge rather than help?
I walk toward them, pushing my cart ahead of me. The mom is juggling a handbasket while trying to gently coax her son forward. He’s agitated now, tugging on her arm as he fixates on whatever he saw behind the glass.
She speaks to him in a low, steady voice, trying to redirect him, but it’s not working.
As I get closer, I see her face. It’s the picture of love and exhaustion, and my heart goes out to her.
I don’t know her story, or her son’s specific needs, but I do know what it’s like to have one of those days.
From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Rodney, the assistant manager, stepping out of the back stockroom. He frowns as he takes in the scene, clearly gearing up to intervene.
I step quickly toward the mom. “Hi,” I say brightly. “I’m Kenzie.”
She looks up, startled. Her son presses closer to her side, still buzzing with energy.
“Reagan,” she says, her voice cautious but polite. “This is Jacob.”
“Hi, Jacob,” I say, crouching slightly so I’m nearer to his eye level without crowding him. I keep my voice soft. “That freezer’s pretty cool, huh? What did you see in there?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes flick to mine, then back to the freezer. He’s still bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“I see something green,” I say casually. “Peas, maybe? Or dinosaur nuggets?”
He doesn’t speak, but his movements slow a little.
Rodney, watching from a distance, seems to reconsider and disappears back into the stockroom.
“Jacob’s very visual,” Reagan explains in a quiet voice. “He likes packaging and pictures. Lots of color.”
I straighten. “Sometimes just looking at stuff is half the fun.” I glance at her basket. “Can I give you a hand? My cart’s basically empty.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” she says automatically, like she’s had to say it too many times before.
“You’re not,” I assure her. “You’d actually be helping me. I get bored shopping alone.”
After a slight hesitation, she nods and places her basket in my cart. “Thank you.”
Alix is still standing nearby, still radiating disapproval, like she’s the store’s official morality monitor.
I give her a small wave. “Morning, Alix,” I call out. “Isn’t it something how much patience love requires?”
She doesn’t reply, just clicks her tongue and walks away.
My heart lifts when I glimpse the twitch of a smile on Reagan’s lips.
“I’m making paneer curry tonight,” I say conversationally as we begin walking slowly down the aisle. “Any idea what you’re cooking?”
“Jacob doesn’t like his foods mixed,” she answers with a tired smile. “Everything needs to be separate.”
“I get that.”
“I’m not sure you want to shop with me,” Reagan adds. “We take a while. Jacob likes to stop and look at things that catch his eye.”
“No problem,” I tell her cheerfully. “I’m not in a rush. And I’d love the company.”
“I keep thinking I should just shop online,” she admits. “But sometimes this is the only outing I get all week.”
I smile gently. “It’s not always about convenience, is it? Sometimes it’s about feeling human.”
We make our way through the store at Jacob’s pace. We stop when he stops. He points out cereal boxes and colorful packets of biscuits. I ask him questions and give him my full attention while Reagan fills her basket.
It takes us an hour to complete the shop. People glance our way, but they keep walking. No one frowns. No one mutters.
When we finish, I walk them to their car and help load the groceries into the trunk. I watch as Reagan buckles Jacob in. He waves at me through the window. I wave back.
“I can’t thank you enough for all your help,” Reagan says, her eyes shiny with emotion.
I touch her arm gently. “You’re doing a great job. Truly.”
Tears spring to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I really needed to hear that today.”
After shopping, I treat myself to a takeaway coffee and a warm cinnamon roll from Beth’s Bakery.
My groceries are packed in insulated bags and will be fine for another half hour or so.
The day has warmed up, and the sun touches my skin like a soft caress as I stroll down Main Street.
Saturdays in Brown Oaks are always busy, with tourists and locals weaving down the cobbled walkways, pausing to browse vintage clothing racks or linger outside artisan cafés.
I sip my coffee and tear off a piece of cinnamon roll, letting the cinnamon and sugar melt on my tongue as I soak in the lively atmosphere.
“Hi, Kenzie,” a voice calls from Dusti’s sandwich shop.
“Hi, Ms. Snel. How are you?”
“Nothing to complain about,” she says cheerfully, stepping onto the sidewalk with a giant sandwich clutched in her hand. “How’s that handsome fiancé of yours?”
“He’s...”
...Stepping out of Frank’s Hardware store, directly across the street.
“Well, would you look at that,” she says, her green eyes twinkling. “Isn’t that perfect timing?”
“Isn’t it just,” I manage, my cheeks warming.
“Off you go, then,” she urges, waving me along. “I wouldn’t want to keep you two lovebirds apart.”
My heart speeds up at the word lovebirds . We’re not, of course, but my heart is good at ignoring inconvenient truths.
I swallow a sigh and start across the street toward Joel. I don’t have much of a choice, not with Trish Snel watching me with an indulgent smile, like she’s waiting for us to reenact a scene in a Hallmark movie.
My steps falter as I get closer. How does he manage to look that good in jeans and a plain T-shirt? As if that isn’t already unfair, he’s added an unshaved jaw and rumpled, sexy hair to the mix, making me feel like I’m on uneven ground before I’ve even said hello.
I’m clearly not the only one who’s noticed him. A few women nearby sneak second glances. One even pretends to check her phone while watching him from the corner of her eye.
My grip tightens on the pastry bag. I haven’t seen or spoken to Joel since the embarrassing fainting episode at the gym. I’m hit with the unsettling realization of just how much I’ve missed him.
“Hi.”
He blinks at me, as though coming out of a daze. “Kenzie. Hey.”
I take a sip of coffee to cover up my nerves. Every time I’m around him, it’s as if the air carries more of a charge.
Then I register his bewildered expression. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Joel shakes his head like he’s still not sure. “Frank’s offered to fix my truck.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. I keep my next question light and casual. “Fixing what?”
He holds up a receipt like it just whispered something threatening to him. “The serpentine belt,” he says slowly. “He said it’s starting to wear. I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Frank’s got a sixth sense for that kind of thing,” I tell him. “He once diagnosed my alternator by the sound it made backing out of a parking space.”
Joel rubs the back of his neck. “He offered to fix it free of charge and told me to bring it by next week.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He doesn’t respond right away. His brow furrows, like he’s working through something that has nothing to do with serpentine belts. Like kindness is a language he’s never had to translate. “I didn’t think he even knew my name.”
I bump him lightly with my elbow. “Of course, he knows your name.”
Joel looks down at the receipt again, then folds it carefully and slips it into his pocket. He looks back toward the store. “I didn’t ask for help.”
“That’s kind of how it works here,” I say gently. “People show up for each other. Whether you ask them to or not.”
He doesn’t reply, but I catch the tension in his jaw, almost as if he’s bracing for the fine print. Maybe Joel Adams doesn’t know how to belong, but Brown Oaks might have a thing or two to teach him.
As if to prove my point, Ross Clement, retired postmaster and part-time porch-sitter, ambles up holding a brown paper bag.
“Joel, right?” he asks gruffly.
“Yeah,” Joel answers cautiously.
Ross hands him the bag. “Best trail mix in town. Made it myself. Got dried cherries and those fancy nuts that aren’t peanuts.”
Joel blinks and takes the bag from him. “Thanks.”
Ross simply grunts and walks off without another word.
Joel watches him go, then looks at me like I’m the one who can explain this town.
I can’t resist. “I have a feeling someone will gift you a goat next.”
He looks so horrified, I burst out laughing.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he grumbles.
“A little,” I admit. “Okay, a lot,” I amend, still laughing. “I think Ross and Frank might be vying for the title of honorary father-in-law.”
Joel’s shoulders loosen a little at my teasing. “Or they could be trying to get rid me. Frank could cut my brake line and Ross could have added poisonous berries to his trail mix.”
I grin. “Only one way to find out.”
A group of teenagers whiz past us on their skateboards, loud and noisy, their wheels clattering over the sidewalk. Joel moves fast, pulling me out of their path. I glance up at him. Which is a mistake. There’s a hunger in his eyes so fierce it steals the breath from my lungs.
He holds absolutely still, then he swallows and shifts his gaze over my shoulder. His body stiffens. “Why is that woman staring at us and frowning?”
Alarm scrambles up my throat. “Is she wearing a bright pink sweatsuit and holding a sandwich?”
“Yup.”
I sigh. “Trish Snel. Self-appointed town matriarch.”
“Why won’t she stop staring?” he asks in a low voice. “What’s going on?”
“We’re not selling it,” I murmur. “The fake engagement. I think she’s waiting for a kiss, or...I don’t know...something to show we’re madly in love.”
“Now she’s talking to someone and pointing at us,” he mutters. “What is it with this town?”
I worry my bottom lip. “Maybe it’s time to come clean.”
“It’s too soon.” His eyes take on a sudden gleam. “If she wants a show, I’ll give her a show.”
He takes my coffee and pastry bag from my hands and sets them on a nearby bench. Then he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him.
My hands land on his chest and my breathing quickens. “What are you doing?”
“Giving them what they want.” He dips his head. “But on my terms.”
Nervous anticipation curls in my stomach.
“Joel...”
“Yes, Kenzie...”
His hand captures mine, and his thumb lightly traces the inside of my wrist. My skin is on fire.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “I don’t believe you have.”
The hand that’s low on my back travels up my spine and his fingers slide into my hair. His eyes lock on mine. “You know what gets me about you? The way your eyes hold all that blue. It’s like staring into the sky just before a storm. Beautiful and a little dangerous.”
My toes curl in my shoes. No one’s ever called me dangerous before. I kind of like it.
His hand tightens in my hair and he gives it a little tug.
I melt against him, my blood thick and sluggish in my veins.
“Your hair drives me insane. The way it catches the light and falls down your back.” A flicker of something raw and intense flashes in his eyes.
“You don’t want to know the things I’m thinking. ”
Goosebumps break out across my arms.
Oh, I want to know.
And I want him to kiss me again more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” he says in a rough voice.
“Like what?” I ask breathlessly, pretending innocence. I know exactly what he means, and I like playing with him like this.
“Just remember,” he whispers, “I know what your mouth tastes like. I know how you feel in my arms. I’ve heard the sounds you make when you let yourself go.”
Just like that, the dynamic shifts. He’s the one in control again. And I’m the one unraveling.
Ever so slowly, he leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth. He holds it there for one...two ... three unbearable seconds. Just long enough for my pulse to be all over the place.
“I told you,” he murmurs against my skin, “the next time I kiss you, another man’s name won’t be on your lips.”
We’re only inches apart. His lips brush over mine. It’s a whisper of a kiss, it barely counts. And yet, to anyone watching, we look like two people completely lost in each other.
Everything in me screams with the ache of not closing the distance.
We keep staring at each other, neither of us moving. His breathing is shallow, and so is mine. My palm rests flat against his chest. I can feel the rapid thud of his heart. Or maybe it’s mine. I’m not sure anymore.
Then he lets me go as smoothly as he’d pulled me to him. “Where are you parked?”
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “The grocery store.”
He picks up my coffee and pastry bag, and hands them to me. I take them in a daze.
“I’ll walk you.”
I manage a nod. Across the street, I catch a glimpse of Trish Snel still watching us, but now with a pleased smile, her curiosity apparently satisfied.
We walk in silence, not touching. My car is parked at the back of the lot, under the dappled shade of an old maple.
As we near it, Joel stops in his tracks.
“Kenzie,” he says quietly, staring at my car, his jaw tight.
I follow his gaze and freeze in shock.
Spray-painted across my windshield, in harsh red letters, is a single word.
WHORE.