“That was fabulous, but if I eat one more bite I think I’ll pop.” Normally, Rigby followed a strict eating plan during the season that didn’t include his grandmother’s sausage gravy, biscuits, eggs, and cheese grits. He certainly couldn’t eat like this the whole time he was here or he’d be shot for the rest of the season. But it was nice to have some down-home cooking for a change. Despite the circumstance, it was good to be home. He’d forgotten how much he missed it.

His grandma, Coralee, was sitting across from him. She took the last bite of biscuit on her plate, then pushed it away. “So, what’s on your agenda today?”

Rigby bit back a smile, feeling a bit like a teenager again. The one thing Coralee detested above all else was idleness. Even though she was approaching seventy, she looked like she was in her early sixties. She kept herself busy with the ladies’ club at the church, knitting, and painting landscapes. She didn’t want Rigby sitting around the house for the next eight weeks feeling sorry for himself. He leaned back in his chair, keeping a straight face. “You know, I’m feeling a little tired. I thought I might lay back down for a few hours, maybe watch some TV.”

The mortified look on Coralee’s face instantly rewarded him for his joke as he laughed. When she realized he was joking, she shook her head.

“You and your teasing.” She arched an eyebrow. “You are funny, but not as funny as you think you are.”

He loved his grandma’s wit. She was a striking woman with snow-white hair rounding just below her ears. For as long as he could remember, she’d worn the same style glasses—blocky like Velma on the Scooby Doo cartoon. She’d been a little over five feet tall in her prime, but had shrunk to under that now. She was thin and wiry with a slight tummy. And like most Southern women, refused to leave the house unless her makeup was flawless and she was dressed to the nines. Her husband and Rigby’s grandfather had died suddenly of a heart attack when Coralee was fifty-five. Rigby was ten at the time. He remembered his grandfather as being kind and quiet. He enjoyed building furniture in his shed in the backyard. And while Rigby had fond remembrances of his grandfather, Coralee was the one who raised him. She was everything—a mother, father, grandmother—all rolled into one. After his grandfather passed, Rigby wondered if Coralee might get married again, but she seemed to do okay on her own.

“What’re your plans for the day?” Coralee asked again, clearing away the food and dishes from the table.

“I thought I’d run down to the hardware store and get some paint for the house. It’s looking pretty haggard.”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea. This old place needs a new coat of paint.” She chuckled wryly. “If only it were that easy for old folks. I wouldn’t mind having a makeover.”

“You look beautiful, as always.”

She flashed an appreciative smile. “Thanks, but you always were a terrible liar. I’m old and wrinkled.” She sighed. “But I’ve earned every one of these lines.”

He stood and kissed her cheek. “Yes, you have. And you should get extra credit for putting up with me.” Coralee hadn’t pressed him for details about the suspension. Rigby figured she was waiting until he’d been here for a few days to delve into it. And that was fine with him. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore than he had to. “Would you like some help cleaning this up?”

“I’ve got it,” she said cheerfully. “I thought I’d pack up a bit of it to take to Douglas.”

Rigby made a face. “What?”

“It’s been hard for him to lose Julie. I try to help out where I can.”

“But he has Scarlett to cook for him.” He didn’t like the idea of Coralee getting cozy with Douglas Foster.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s busy with her restaurant.”

“And her upcoming wedding.” The snide remark escaped his lips before he had time to think about it, and he felt like Coralee could read him easy as a book as she turned, a funny expression on her face.

“Scarlett’s engaged?”

“That’s what Sadie Lynn said.”

“When did you see Sadie Lynn?”

“Yesterday, right after I arrived.”

Coralee cocked her head. “That’s strange. Douglas didn’t say anything about it to me. I knew they were dating, but I didn’t realize they’d gotten engaged.”

“So, are you and Douglas pretty close?” His heart dropped when she blushed. Then she got this goofy grin.

“We’re just friends.”

His brows darted together. It certainly didn’t seem like they were just friends. He’d have to keep an eye on the situation. “Do you want me to paint the house white again, or would you prefer another color?”

She grew thoughtful. “Hmm … I’ve often thought about doing it a creamy beige with a hint of yellow, but Harold really liked the white.”

“I can bring home a few samples from the hardware store.”

“No, I think we should keep it white. Harold would like that.”

“White it is.” He was relieved Coralee was talking about his grandfather. Maybe she was simply being a concerned neighbor and looking out for Douglas Foster, just as she said. Rigby was about to leave the kitchen when she stopped him.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I signed you up to participate in the pie toss tonight.”

His jaw went slack. “The what?”

“At the fair tonight.”

He’d forgotten it was that time of year. When he was a kid, he loved the fair. But the idea of going there tonight, putting on a good face for the townsfolk, didn’t sound the least bit appealing. “So, when you say pie toss, do you mean that I’ll be the one tossing the pie or getting the pie tossed at me?” He could tell from the sheepish grin on her face it was the latter. “You know, I don’t think I’m up for that right now. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just bow out—” He stopped when he saw her unyielding expression. Coralee was the most stubborn woman he knew, and most of the time he ended up giving in to avoid an argument. But he really didn’t want to do this tonight.

“It’ll be good for you.” She began scraping the dishes over the disposal. “And it’s a great way to give back to the community. The fair helps raise a lot of money for the Ladies’ Club, and we do a lot of good with that money throughout the year.”

He let out a long sigh. “Fine, I’ll just donate some money. How much do you need?” When he saw the fire sparking in her eyes, he regretted saying anything.

She lifted her chin, looking him in the eye. “Rigby Breeland, you have so much more to offer than just money. And the sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, feeling like he was ten again. “I just wish you would’ve asked me first.”

She nodded. “I should have, but the ladies need someone—a celebrity—that people will get excited about pieing in the face.”

“I’m sure a lot of people would love to pie my face,” he said darkly.

She smiled. “That’s what we’re banking on.”

He chuckled despite himself. One thing he could always count on was his grandmother to tell it like it was. “Fine, I’ll do the pie toss. Everyone in the dang town can line up and throw one in my face. Why not?” Rigby was certain there was a long list of people in Tampa—starting with Miles Devlin—who would jump at the chance to throw pie and a few other things in his face. The morning had started out so well, but now the thunderclouds were crowding in.

“Oh, not everyone … only one person.”

“Huh?”

“People participate in all of the events. They win tickets for how well they do. The winner gets to throw the pie at you with the whole town watching.” She laughed, a twinkle in her eye. “See, aren’t you so glad you came home?”

“Only in Clementine. I can hardly wait,” he said dryly. “I’ll be back soon. I’m going to get the paint.”

“Okay. Sounds great. I’ve got to bake a few desserts for tonight, and I need to make sure the cow’s lined up.”

“The cow?” he asked dubiously.

“For the Cow Patty Bingo. It’s a new addition to the festivities this year. It was Ashley Swindleton’s idea. You paint an area into blocks and number them like a bingo card. Then people make guesses as to where the cow will drop the … you know, it’s patty.”

Rigby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Clementine was such a far cry from Tampa that it felt like another planet with its festivals and tight-knit citizens. “Okay, that sounds strange … and gross.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, it kind of does. We’ll have to see how it goes. Just make sure you’re at the fairgrounds by five pm to check in. Then you can spend a few hours enjoying the events. The pie toss takes place at eight, right before the dessert auction.”

“So, I get to wander around the fair, trying to look busy for three long hours while I wait to get pie thrown in my face?”

She scrunched her nose. “If you choose to see it that way.” She grew thoughtful. “You could always help with the Cow Patty Bingo. We need people to scoop away the cow patties in between sessions.”

No matter how old Rigby was he felt like a kid again when he came home. He’d learned the hard way to never say he was bored, because Coralee would put him to work. When he complained about going to church on Sundays, her automatic reply was always, “Well, you have two choices—You can go to church and like it, or you can go to church and not like it. Your decision.”

He knew exactly what she was doing—going by the same old playbook she always had. Adopting her famous Tough it up, you mamby pamby mantra. And it worked now just as effectively as it always had. He couldn’t help but feel a tender spot for his feisty grandma who held herself to the same standards. She’d pulled herself up by her bootstraps, raising a grandson as her own son when her daughter got pregnant and left. And then she’d had to do it again when she became a widow. Coralee was part of the reason Rigby was so tough. “No, I’ll just walk around the fair, keep myself busy that way.”

She winked. “I thought you might say that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Like I said, I can hardly wait.”