Sometimes I found the supermarket a very soothing place. The noises were all consistent, the hum of those machines that clean the floor, the sound of plastic and cardboard being torn open to restock shelves, that for some reason could never be empty. The squeak of the oven door in the bakery, and the constant ding-slide-thunk of the cash register along with the popping gum and low voices of the cashiers. Plus, aisles and aisles of food. What’s not to love?

“I see you’re finally done sulking.” Aunt Mae’s voice startled me out of my zombie-like stupor.

“Sulking? Is someone around here sulking, Aunt Mae?” The old woman was crazy as a bat, but she was cool and honest.

“Don’t try that crap with me, young lady. You’ve been sulking when you should be fighting. Isn’t that what this whole crazy hair and tattoo thing is about, telling everyone how tough you are?” She arched a red brow.

“I’m not sulking. It’s called making a plan, and it requires privacy.” A full week of privacy holed up inside Billie Jo Kramer’s adorable little plantation style B&B, and I had my next move narrowed down to a few places.

“So does hiding. Like a coward.” She gave me that deep soul searching look, as if she could see down into the heart of me. “Well?”

“Well nothing. I’m looking for a place to stay here, or not here.” That was as much of an answer that I could provide at the moment. “See you around, Aunt Mae.”

“I sure hope so. The catfish is fresh.” She walked off in a breeze of flowery perfume and plumes of fabric.

Catfish did sound good, but that would mean returning to Mason’s house which I was definitely not prepared to do. But maybe I could borrow Vivi or Maddie’s grill if I bought enough to share?

If I supply the catfish and corn on the cob, will you supply the grill?

While I waited for Vivi to respond, I picked up some of my favorite dill pickle potato chips, a few chocolate bars and a bottle of Jameson. Billie Jo was a good cook, but the woman served dinner at seven and by ten-thirty I was hungry again.

Still hiding out from your roommate? I rolled my eye’s at Vivi’s message.

Not hiding, plotting my next move. So…catfish?

Sorry honey. Use the grill at your house. Chicken!

Why did I think making friends in a small town was a good idea? Sure they refused to let you wallow in sadness, and they talked you off the ledge when necessary, and had your back when you needed to skate right up to the edge. But damn, they didn’t hold anything back. Ever.

You’re not nice.

And you’re not so tough.

I groaned at Vivi’s last message, and shoved the phone in my back pocket. So much for catfish. That’s fine, I’ll just get some sandwich fixings to store in the mini-fridge in my suite. That would be fine. Better than fine, because it would force me to make a decision about where I would go next. Or maybe I would let fate decide. Send out a few inquiries about people with room for a traveling artist, and see what came back to me. Now that was a plan I could get with.

“Fancy meeting you here.” That voice. Deep and rich, with just a hint of midwestern twang, and smile in every syllable.

I looked up and my gaze slammed into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They were layered, like someone had taken discs of every shade of blue in existence and stacked them on top of one another to create that totally unique color.

“Davis. Not that fancy, since this is the only grocery store in town. Well there’s a brand-new gourmet shop around the corner from High St. Fashions, but you can’t buy kitchen staples there.”

“You’re nervous,” he accused, sounding half amused.

“What do I have to be nervous about?” Arms folded with the shopping cart between us, I glared at the big handsome oaf.

“Nothing.” His lips twitched. Then that smile, the one that had incinerated seven pairs of panties over three days in the desert, spread slowly. Like a wildfire. “Sorry I ran you from your home.”

“Not my home, my brother’s house. And now yours.” His brows rose in question, silently calling me out. “It really isn’t my home. I was crashing there, and that’s why I was pissed, because the first I’d heard that some strange man was moving in, was about twenty minutes before you got there.”

Sympathy filled his blue eyes. “Now I’m really sorry. I’ll take your room at the B&B and you can go back. Seriously, its no big deal.”

“Not necessary. You’ve got all your stuff there, just stay. Besides I think I’m leaving soon.”

“Not because of me, right?”

I grinned. I never met a man as honest, or as forthright with his emotions as Davis. It was probably what attracted me to him in the first place. That and those gorgeous blue eyes, that tight ass, and his almost cowboy-like swagger. His looks attracted me, but it was his honesty that kept me around.

“Not specifically. You, as the strange man who’s now moving into my house, not…you know.”

“Your ex?” He licked his lips, and I dug my fingers deep into my palms to stop the moan that wanted to escape, which was goddamn ridiculous. I hadn’t seen this man in seventeen months. Not that anyone was counting or anything, but there was no way he was affecting me like this. Maybe it was hormones.

“Something like that. See you around, Davis.”

He frowned. “But not really, because you’re leaving.” Again, sat there unspoken. “Too bad.”

“Yeah? You feeling nostalgic, Davis?” Because I could be talked into taking another ride on his big, strong body. It was a work of art, and I’m not talking about those beautiful sculptures in the Louvre. Nope, I’m talking about a body that would make those statues come to life, and weep at its perfection. It had been explosive between us. Every. Single. Time. Unbelievably so. Unfairly so.

“It was magic with us between the sheets, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “It was. What are you doing in Belle Musique?”

“A buddy got injured, and it shook me. I reevaluated, and found a new job. Here.” He grinned, cheeks turning a barely visible shade of pink as he raked a hand through those superhero locks. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You’ll like it. It’s as small town as it gets, but these people are…good. Better than good.”

“High praise.” He gave me that look, the one that said he knew when I wasn’t being genuine.

“Then you should know what that means.”

“That things will be fine?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“What about you, Magenta? What will you do?” His gaze held mine in its grasp and wouldn’t let me look away. It was that same intensity I’d found so endearing in Vegas.

That was the question, wasn’t it? “I will go where the next opportunity opens up.”

“My little Wanderer, roaming around the world.”

I’m not ashamed to say that my knees wobbled a little at the affection in his voice when he used the nickname he’d given me that weekend, as we shared stories about our travels.

“And you’re hanging up your passport.”

“For now, anyway.”

“It’ll stick. This town has a way of getting its hooks in you, and making it impossible to leave.”

He chuckled and dropped a hand on my shoulder. “If that’s the case, you better try very hard to get out, maybe in the dead of night.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread at his gravely serious tone. “Breakfast will be better. That’s when everyone is at the diner, or Belle Bean catching up on gossip they missed yesterday.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Thanks for the tip.” I pushed the cart around him, deciding to go ahead and get a couple fillets of catfish. Maybe Billie Jo will let me use her grill. I was feeling hopeful for once, I just hoped it didn’t turn around and bite me in the ass.

“Good to see you again, Magenta. Really good.”

My whole body heated at the feel of his gaze on my ass, heavy like a caress. Yeah, I needed to get the hell outta here.

Fast.