Chapter 2
Blessed air conditioning swept over my skin as I stepped through the automatic doors of Davie Jones Locker—a small-town grocery store thirty minutes from the farm.
The owner had tried to be clever by combining the town name with the fictional character.
I’d lived here in Davie, Minnesota, my entire life, and it was the closest place to home to stock up on supplies.
A grinding screech filled the air as I yanked the cart from the corral, wincing at the squealing tires as I rolled it toward the first aisle.
It figured that I’d managed to choose the noisiest one in the whole store.
Holding back a groan, I pushed forward, starting down the aisle, my mind wandering as I passed bread and condiments, forgetting all about my mom’s torn-up list in my pocket.
Hillbilly country music crackled over the speakers, and the one and only cashier hummed along—quite loudly—to the tune on the other side of the store. Though I wasn’t sure the sound coming out of her mouth could be considered humming. More like a cat screeching, or nails on a chalkboard.
I meandered through the store, allowing myself to take a rare, unrestrained breath.
My chest still ached, the air squeezing up my throat like there was something constricting my lungs, but at least the fear of needing to constantly look over my shoulder was momentarily absent.
At the reminder, I couldn’t help the glance I sent over my shoulder. It was conditioned into me.
Of course my father wasn’t there. Only a guy with dark hair at the end of one of the aisles, staring at a loaf of bread as if it held all the world’s secrets.
Just as I was about to look away and get back to shopping, the man looked up, the strangest shade of brown eyes meeting mine.
Tingles prickled over my skin, but I turned away before it went any further.
Davie was a small town, and I knew almost everyone in it. But I didn’t know that man.
My gut told me it needed to stay that way.
Gripping the cart handle tighter, I turned away, finally remembering my mom’s list and fishing it out of my pocket.
It was in pieces, but thankfully it had ripped in a way where most of the words could still be read.
I hurried through the aisles, mentally crossing items off, and had just gotten to the last thing—deli ham—when my phone rang.
My heart jammed into my throat as my NSYNC ringtone blared loud for all to hear.
All three of us—me, the cashier, and the guy down a few aisles.
My face burst into flames as I frantically tried to dig it out of my purse.
Why on earth was it so loud? I usually kept it silent because my fragile nervous system didn’t handle such loud, unexpected noises well.
The zipper refused to budge, allowing Justin Timberlake to sing, “It’s gonna be me.
” I finally yanked the purse open, pressing the button to silence my phone.
My ears rang, my heart feeling like it was about to rip a hole in my chest. I didn’t bother looking at who was calling, and instead closed my eyes, waiting for the pulsing in my ears to cease, the heat in my cheeks to fade.
There’s no one else here, I told myself. No one but the humming cashier and the guy down on aisle seven. There’s nothing to be embarrassed or scared about. You’re okay.
“Nice song,” a male voice drawled, and I spun on my heel, smacking my hip painfully into the handle of the cart.
“Ouch,” I hissed, pressing my hand against my side before I froze.
The man that had been on the other side of the store now stood in front of me, a slight tilt to his full lips.
His hair was such a dark shade of brown that it could almost pass for black, carefully arranged in a messy style.
He was dressed in an average white t-shirt and light-wash jeans, a beat-up pair of sneakers on his feet.
But all of that faded away as I met his gaze—his piercing brown eyes—somewhere between the color of sand and a light caramel—uniquely rimmed in a ring of gold.
My jaw dropped against my will.
His brow lowered over those entrancing eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yep. Great. Fine.” If I thought my cheeks were ablaze before, it was nothing compared to the inferno consuming them now.
He arched a brow, his lips curling further into a full smirk as his eyes looked me over from head to toe.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot under his burning gaze.
It flicked down for a moment, and I noticed he was looking at my wrist where a huge, angry purple bruise covered the entirety of it.
Instinctively, I covered it with my other hand, reprimanding myself for not putting a sweater on—even though it was at least ninety degrees outside.
That same eerie feeling filled my stomach once again like it had minutes ago when I’d met his gaze across the store. I didn’t understand it, just had the strong sense that I needed to get away from this man.
The stranger opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly cut him off, listening to my gut instinct.
“Great, well...” I gestured to my shopping cart. “Back to it!”
Back to it? What kind of nonsense was that?
Without a backward glance, I pushed forward, wincing at the squealing wheels and practically running to the ham, grabbing it, and high-tailing it to the cashier.
It felt like an eternity as she rang up each item, doing a little dance with each one as she simultaneously jammed to the music overhead, before finally putting it in the bag.
It took her forever, the minutes passing so quickly I wondered if my father would say I had been gone too long.
My nerves were about to snap when she finally finished bagging everything, and my hand shook, making it harder to slide my mom’s card into the terminal to pay.
The receipt ripped as I snatched it from her outstretched hand with barely a thank you.
Then I got the heck out of Davie Jones Locker.
***
Once again, the heat slapped me across the face as I left the grocery store and hurried across the parking lot to my beat-up car, throwing the bags into the backseat with abandon, only stopping long enough to make sure the bread didn’t get squished and the eggs didn’t break.
The engine turned over several times as I twisted the key, struggling to start.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered. It figured that when I was anxious to leave somewhere that my old car wouldn’t cooperate.
My wrist ached as I turned the key over and over.
Finally, after trying at least five times, the engine started with a loud vroom, and I let out a relieved sigh.
Out of instinct, I checked the rearview mirror to make sure grocery store guy wasn’t behind me, before squealing out of the parking lot.
Thankfully, it was Davie, and there was absolutely no one around to witness my ungraceful skid onto the main road.
The air conditioning in my car wasn’t working again—thanks, old car—and the heat inside was unbearable, forcing me to roll the windows down. I made it a half mile down the road when I spotted the small bakery on the corner with a bright neon sign taunting fresh donuts.
Davie was your typical small Minnesota town, boasting the two things found in most small towns across the state: a bar and a gun shop. We were lucky enough to have a bakery too.
I really should have gone straight home, especially knowing my father was in one of his moods, but after that strange encounter and the heat in my car, I needed a second to myself.
There were a few dollars left in my purse that my mom had given me for the movie last night, so I swung into a spot on the side of the street, justifying that I’d only be a few minutes and the cold groceries would survive.
Yanking the keys out of the ignition, I slung my purse over my shoulder and hopped out of the car. I sent a quick text to my mom letting her know I’d gotten everything she needed and would be home soon, then hurried through the bright pink door.
Sweet, cold air enveloped me as I walked into the bakery, a bell chiming overhead. Cinnamon and vanilla mixed with a yeasty smell filled my nostrils, and my shoulders relaxed—just for the moment.
“I’ll be right there,” a voice called from behind a swinging door.
I made for the brightly lit display case with all sorts of desserts and pastries that had my mouth instantly watering. Sugar was my weakness—especially donuts.
I was still trying to decide between the little chocolate caramel tarts or the chocolate glazed donuts with coconut creme filling when the door swung open, revealing Hannah, the owner and baker of the store.
She was my age and had taken over her grandparents’ bakery when they retired last year.
I didn’t know her super well, but we’d bonded a time or two over our mutual love for anything chocolate.
“Howdy, Maren,” she said, her southern drawl revealing that she was not a native Minnesotan.
She tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear, then tightened her ponytail.
“Back for more, are ya?” I didn’t come into town often, but I had treated myself last night when I went out on my own.
More than one donut in twenty-four hours was perfectly acceptable, right?
“You know I could never stay away from your donuts, Han. They are life-giving.” If I had a mirror, I was certain I’d have seen hearts where my eyes used to be.
Hannah laughed. “What’ll it be today?”
Perusing the display once more, I had a difficult time narrowing down my selection, but in the end went with my usual.
“Two chocolate-coconut donuts and a mini lemon creme pie.” The pie was a last-minute thought, but I figured mom, Lila, and Joey might appreciate it.
Maybe that’ll make the day a little less miserable.