Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes (Little Miss #1)

Chapter 1

SADIE

I gently wipe the dust off the shelves, which have housed every friend who has known me beyond flesh and fleeting feelings. I’m not surprised Ginny hasn’t kept up with the library. She’s here for the paycheck, not the praise. I wonder what that’s like . . .

I sigh, my gaze dropping to the stack of books in my arms.

Little Women for Jo, obviously.

The Bodyguard because Katherine Center is a literary genius.

Hunger Games to lend my support to Team Peeta.

The Notebook because Allie kissing Noah is as close to unbridled passion as I’ve had in the last decade.

These are comfort reads—reads that allow my mind, body, and soul to swim in something I’ve already known, where I’ve already been. People who have made me feel seen when I felt like a ghost of myself and places that lend their magic to my mundane.

My mundane, which lately has felt stifling, as if I’m a candle that’s been snuffed out by the last of the liquid wax. Nothing left to burn even though I’m still here. Still present. Still alive.

I sink to the burgundy shag carpet and open Little Women, inhaling the yellowed paper. It smells of dried-up tears, hope, and a hint of dark chocolate. I wonder what would have happened if Jo married Laurie.

Personal opinion: I think Jo loved him more than she let on; she just didn’t know how to be herself and be in love.

I hear my phone buzz in my purse. Sometimes I wish responsibility was still attached to a cord, where it couldn’t find you when you weren’t at home. I ignore the buzzing even though my fingers ache to respond.

It’s been an exhausting week, and if I could morph myself into fibers and become one with this aged carpet, I would.

But downtown closes in ten minutes, and I still need to run to the bank.

I stand and weave back through the aisles of books to the front counter, where I notice Ginny’s jaw is slack and bright color has flushed her enthusiastic expression, which is now directed at me instead of her phone screen.

“Sadie Summers. Oh, girl! Did you hear?”

I shake my head. I don’t gossip, but it’s just the thing Genevieve Johnson has been doing since second grade.

Ginny isn’t exactly a friend. She’s my librarian, which makes her important, but we didn’t grow up whispering secrets in each other’s ears or exchanging BFF necklaces that left green stains on our skin.

It’s a strange stretching process growing up in the same small town and then never leaving.

Well, basically never leaving. Two years away at college doesn’t count.

But what does count?

Every mistake you made or didn’t make. Who you once were—who everyone remembers you to be—is permanently inked upon your forehead.

For Ginny, it’s her mistakes. For me, it’s the lack of them.

Even though I know I’ve made mistakes. People just choose not to see them. Not when those mistakes aren’t loud or uncomfortable.

“Milo’s back in town.” Her voice is low as she leans over, and her eyes are wide in anticipation as she watches me very carefully.

I stare at Ginny with a steadiness I’ve learned how to harness even when my pulse is in my ears and my heart is twisting within—like what’s happening right now.

Milo Carter is in Dusty Hollow.

I raise one brow as I set my stack of books down on the counter. “Oh, he is?”

She leans over even more, her chin resting heavily in her hands as she continues to study me.

“Oh, he is. Looks like he took a job at the school. Dusty Hollow High just made the announcement.” She blows a huge pink bubble that matches the rims of her glasses, and then it loudly pops, echoing through the emptiness of the library on a Friday afternoon.

“Oh.” It comes out more of a sigh than a word.

He’s not just in Dusty Hollow. He’s back. To live.

The roaring in my ears grows a few decibels, and it takes a lot more effort to look composed, but I manage to fix a smile on my face and add, “That’s nice.”

Ginny tilts her head. “Is it?” She pauses. “Is it nice? Or does it complicate some things?”

I bite my tongue, choosing politeness like always.

“I don’t know why it’d complicate things.” I shove my books toward Ginny’s elbows, forcing her to back up.

She stands and starts scanning the books reluctantly. “So you’d be okay if I asked him out? As far as I can tell, he’s single and he looks amazing.”

Her gaze warms through my thin skin, but I won’t give Ginny the satisfaction of the reaction she’s looking for. I blink, trying to erase the instant image of bright blond hair, blue eyes, and an easy grin.

Milo Carter isn’t just some guy.

He’s practically Dusty Hollow royalty.

In high school every girl moved a little differently and giggled an octave higher when he was around.

Every guy wanted to either be him or be his best friend.

Every single person who lived in Dusty Hollow smiled as soon as they saw him, slapping him on the back, giving him a high five, or tipping their hat while they told him, “Good game last Friday.”

And he was mine.

Until he was offered a full-ride scholarship to Notre Dame, and he would have been an absolute fool not to take it.

I swallow down the memory of him leaving and focus on the smile still plastered on my face. “You can sure ask him.”

“Interesting,” she mutters as she scans The Bodyguard.

“Nothing is interesting,” I say too quickly, covering up my faux pas with a laugh. “Not everything has to include drama, Ginny.”

She matches my laugh, her blonde curls bouncing. “Sadie, when are you going to learn? Living here in Dusty Hollow, drama is the only thing that makes it interesting.”

I pick up my stack of books. “These make it interesting.”

She points at the stories that have stitched themselves into my very essence. “Those aren’t real.”

Her words are like daggers to my soul, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I stretch out my smile even farther. “Have a great weekend, Ginny.”

She returns my smile, but it’s not a “have a great weekend” smile. It’s something different, as if Genevieve Johnson is disappointed, which really shouldn’t bother me at all. I don’t want to be like Ginny, and yet something swirls in my stomach that feels like bile and cement.

“Enjoy your books,” she mutters, already back to scrolling on her phone.

I back away from the counter, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat, open the glass door with my bum, and spin around to let the humid heat of Dusty Hollow swallow me whole. My skin instantly swelters and soaks through my yellow sundress.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the sun and hoping it’ll spark something within me.

I walk past pale pink petunias dangling from flowerpots outside the coffee shop and chalk drawings outside the café, heading toward the bank to check off my last item on my to-do list.

“Sadie!”

I turn to see Mr. Waters waving at me from across the street.

I fix a smile back on my face, and after looking both ways, walk toward him.

“Hi, Mr. Waters,” I reply.

“I wish you’d call me Matt.” He laughs, his freckled face folding gently into wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “You make me feel old.”

Mr. Waters owns Waters Grocery & Feed and wears one of those adorable old-fashioned aprons. He’s only eleven years older than me, but it’s old enough that he was an adult while I was still a kid, and calling him by his first name seems inappropriate.

I shrug. “Sorry, Mr. Waters, but my brain is trained to think of you as an elder.”

“Ouch!” He mocks hurt, putting his hands over his chest.

“I’m sorry.” I apologize with a smirk. “You aren’t old. You are timeless.”

“That doesn’t sound much better.”

“Ageless?”

He raises a brow as he tugs at his thinning orange hair. “Found a gray hair last week.”

I shrug again. “Well then, it seems we are at an impasse.”

“I suppose so,” he says. “However, I think we can both agree on Firefly Farms. Are you still able to take some expired produce out for the hogs?”

“Have I ever missed a Friday?”

“You have not.” He chuckles, wiping his hands on his apron. “Thanks, Sadie. Do you want to take it now or come back later?”

“I’ve got to run to the bank, then I’ll be back.”

He nods. “Sounds good.”

I walk the rest of the way to the bank, make the same deposit I make every other Friday—and then my grip tightens around my books when I see a familiar green truck parked outside the grocery store.

I’ve thought about this moment a million times before, playing different versions of myself in each scenario.

The scorned ex-girlfriend who’s mad he didn’t fight a little harder for her even when she told him not to.

The flirty ex-girlfriend who longs to feel the things she once felt when she was with him.

The polite ex-girlfriend who says all the right words to make him feel validated in his choices, including the one where he didn’t come back when she needed him most. The time she needed someone to hold her when she was trying to keep her world from falling apart.

I inhale deeply as I walk into the grocery store, forcing myself to loosen my jaw and let my shoulders fall away from my ears.

I spot Mr. Waters with Milo.

In all my scenarios, this is not the setting for any of them. Dusty Hollow will be set ablaze with gossip, which means I know I’m going to choose the polite version of myself.

Milo turns to me before I reach them, and it takes every ounce of the strength I have left—which is not much these days—to secure a snug smile on my face.

“Sadie.” His voice is deeper and a bit rougher than it once was, but he still sounds like the boy I knew.

“Milo. I heard you were back in town.”

His easy grin widens, wrinkling his blue eyes. “Oh, you did? Been stalking me?”

I slide my stack of books from one sweaty arm to the other. “I just found out ten minutes ago.”

“Oh,” he says softly. “Well, here I am.”

“Well, here you are,” I say, my smile still tight.