Seven very long hours later, the breakfast crowd had slowed but the lunch rush hadn’t yet started, so Verna stole a few minutes to consult with Blakely.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” she said to the woman who sat across from her looking like a queen on her throne, even amid the kitschy wall decorations and heavy steel chairs that had been inside Love’s for as long as Verna could remember.

“You’re welcome,” Blakely said, glancing around the room. “This is a lot different than I recall, but still strangely familiar.”

Verna raised an eyebrow in surprise. “We did some renovations but kept the same decor. You’ve been to Thornehill Springs before?”

Blakely laughed, the pitch-perfect sound and accompanying smile giving her features a softness and warmth that Verna hadn’t seen in their previous meeting.

“Oh, yes. I spent the first eighteen years of my life here,” Blakely said matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. I don’t remember you, and the only Bishops I know are—”

“You wouldn’t.” Blakely cut her off, the warmth fading in an instant. “And yes, those Bishops,” she said with finality that Verna didn’t dare ignore.

“Umm, well, here are the fabrics I thought might be good options,” she said, switching gears, not only because she didn’t want to risk losing her very first client—an embarrassing outcome that sent shudders of dread through her at the very thought—but also because of the way Blakely had shut down. It seemed she’d touched a sensitive topic, and Verna understood all too well how uncomfortable that could be.

“No, no, no,” Blakely said as she flipped through the images and swatches Verna had laid out on the table. “Yes to this one, this one, and this one,” she said, pointing at her selections. “Do you need anything else?”

“Well…” Verna considered, tilting her head. “No,” she said after a moment.

“Good. Very efficient. I like that. And you’ll meet the three-week schedule and let me know if challenges or delays arise?” Blakeley said, the precision of her words similar to that of her steps.

“Of course,” Verna said.

Blakely nodded and then stared at her. Verna had planned for a long and detailed consultation, oohing and awwing over fabrics and patterns, although as she looked over at Blakely, she couldn’t imagine why. Blakely didn’t strike her as the type of woman who oohed. But Verna looked on the bright side. If she could produce something that would meet Blakely’s exacting standards, other clients would be cake.

She extended a hand. “I’m so excited, and I hope you like what I make. And please, stay and have a bite.”

Blakely shook Verna’s offered hand and smiled slightly. “Do you still serve those amazing pancakes?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure do. Same recipe since the place opened.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll have them right up,” Verna said as she stood.

As she walked away, she felt her father’s watchful glare. He didn’t like it when Verna “talked the ears off” customers, but she wouldn’t dream of telling him that Blakely was her own personal client. She could practically hear him shitting all over the very idea before she even got it out. Nope, Vernon had made it clear that his youngest daughter’s sole purpose, the only thing she could ever be good at, was working at the cafeteria. But not running it. Never that. Verna felt the first pangs of melancholy since her initial encounter with Blakely, but that wasn’t unexpected given the direction of her thoughts. She loved her father, but he had the unique ability to make her feel awful without saying a single word.

Trying to shake off any bad vibes and keep her spirits up, she refreshed coffee and delivered orders, chuckling at the pure bliss in Blakely’s eyes when she bit into her first pancake.

“Even better than I remember,” the other woman called to Verna, who responded with a thumbs-up.

When she crossed the dining-room floor, she felt a strange prick of sensation and knew immediately what it was.

Joe was here.

She didn’t have to see him to know it was true. No, that sizzle of awareness, the way the air in a room that he’d entered felt heavier, the way that everyone and everything around her seemed to fade just a bit were all indications that he was near. She called it “asshole detection” in her head, and had, on more occasions than she could count, prayed that that was what it was, and not something else, something ridiculous, and dangerous, like attraction.

“Today, please, Verna,” Joe said.

Annoyingly, and as usual, she heard him even though he hadn’t raised his voice at all, and she sauntered over to the booth where he sat with Dr. Mathias Poole.

“Good morning, Dr. Poole,” she said, making a great show of ignoring Joe. “Coffee today?” she asked, extending the pot she held.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled at him for a moment, noting that he appeared as relaxed and at ease as Joe did tense.

“And for you, Joe?” she asked sweetly.

“What, no ‘Mr. MacDermid’ for me?” he said gruffly.

“Nope. I have to look at your stupid truck every day. Your ‘mister’ privileges have been revoked.”

“Wait,” Dr. Poole cut in, “is Verna Love that neighbor from hell you always talk about?” His eyes twinkled with mirth, and Verna almost laughed out loud when Joe looked up at her guiltily.

“I don’t know what rumors ‘Mr. MacDermid’ has been spreading, Dr. Poole, but let me assure you, I am an angel, the best neighbor one could hope for. Why he can’t see that, I don’t know,” she said, laying it on thick.

Joe grumbled something unintelligibly, “bullshit” being the only word she could clearly make out, at which she laughed.

“See, Dr. Poole? This is what I have to deal with.”

Mathias’s smile faded a bit, and Verna followed his gaze to the front door, where he eyed the departing patron with undisguised interest.

“Oh, that’s—”

“Blakely Bishop,” he finished, not taking his eyes off her even as she retreated down Maple. “Blakely Bishop is back in town,” he said with a shake of his head.

Though friendly, Dr. Poole always played it close to the vest, but it was clear he and Blakely had some kind of connection, though he didn’t appear forthcoming in explaining what it was. In fact, he changed the subject completely.

“I must confess, Verna. I’m to blame for any trouble this one gives you,” he said, nodding toward Joe.

“Do tell.” Verna leaned closer.

“Given how he treats you, I’m sorry to say that I’m responsible for Mac’s presence here in our lovely hamlet.”

Verna threw a hand against her chest in mock horror, and Joe grunted again.

“It’s true. I told him it was a great town with great restaurants and very nice waitresses. I didn’t think he’d come in and sully the place.”

Dr. Poole shook his head sadly.

“I’m happy that you owned up to your mistake,” Verna said, “but there have to be consequences for such a grievous offense. No more coffee for you this morning, sir.”

Mathias looked wounded and then threw a glare at Joe. “See what you’ve done, MacDermid?”

Joe started to respond but stopped when her father yelled, “Verna, get over here now!”

She rolled her eyes.

“Gentleman”—she nodded at Dr. Poole—“and Joe, it’s been a pleasure, but duty bellows. Anything to eat for you, Dr. Poole?”

“No, coffee’s fine.”

“And I’ll have your usual up in a bit, Joe.”

With that, she walked away, hoping that her father would keep whatever lecture he had in store brief for once.

---

Joe watched Verna’s retreating form, thinking again of how much his estimation of her father was lowered whenever he saw the way Vernon treated his daughter. But that wasn’t his business—Verna wasn’t his business—so he turned to face Poole and tried to keep thoughts of the Loves at bay. Sommers had been called off to handle an emergency, so rather than breakfast, Joe had opted for lunch with his old friend.

“You’d led me to believe your neighbor was Satan incarnate, but I know for a fact that Verna’s a sweet kid.”

“Kid?”

“Well, she was what, six, seven years behind me in school? She’ll always be a kid to me. I can remember when she was a little bitty thing, probably still in elementary school, and old Mr. Love had her in here busing tables one plate at a time. But she’s always been nice. Now that sister of hers…” Poole trailed off and took a sip of his coffee, shaking his head. “But we didn’t come here to talk about Verna and her family.”

They certainly hadn’t, though Joe couldn’t say that he liked their planned conversation any better.

“No, we did not,” he finally said, stalling, something he knew Matt knew he was doing.

“Have you given the change any thought?”

He’d thought of little else. In fact, the only time he hadn’t been thinking about it was when Verna was causing trouble or riling him up.

“I don’t know, man,” he said, brushing his hands over his hair in a show of frustration. “I just don’t know.”

“And that’s okay. You don’t have to know right now; you just need to decide what you want to do.”

“That’s the point, Poole. I can’t decide!” he said, frustrated.

“You have to. And the only way you’re going to be able to and not let it haunt you is if you acknowledge that taking a different job is not a sign of weakness. You don’t have to be in the thick of the action to serve a purpose, Joe. I’m proof enough of that. I loved our missions as much as you did, but I knew it was time to go, and I’ve found a vocation that’s just as rewarding.”

“Yeah, one where you talk about people’s feelings all day.”

Poole looked like he wanted to slug Joe for a moment but then regained his cool.

“No, I provide a safe place for soldiers who’ve been through shit that regular people couldn’t begin to comprehend to share the things that would eat them alive if they didn’t get them out. That’s honorable work, something I’m proud to do, and if you look hard enough and open yourself to new possibilities, you can find that, too.”

He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood.

“Something to think about. Now I gotta go catch up with an old friend. You know where to find me,” he said.

Joe nodded his good-bye and then stayed seated, considering his friend’s words. After the things they’d been through together, Matt was more than a friend; he was a brother who had saved Joe’s life on more than one occasion. But Joe couldn’t make himself completely trust the other man on this subject. He’d never really contemplated a life that didn’t involve being right on the front lines, heavily in the mix. But now, that life stared him in the face, and it was not blinking.

Matt was right; he’d encouraged Joe to come to Thornehill Springs, try the whole settling-down thing. And Joe, to his surprise, had taken to it; he’d even bought a house, for God’s sake, and as much as Joe tried to pretend otherwise, he liked the routine, he liked knowing that, at the drop of a dime, he probably wouldn’t be called into a war zone or some other hellhole with no real expectation that he and his team would make it out alive. Still, something held him back and until he decided what he finally wanted to do, he’d exist in this tortured limbo.

“Here you are, sir,” one of the waitresses said as she placed a plate in front of him. “Two egg whites, steak, and toast, no butter.”

“And—”

“Yes, Verna said to tell you the eggs are cage-free, the beef has no hormones, and the grains are whole and organic.”

Joe narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the waitress, who smiled nervously.

“And what else did she say?” he asked, brow raised.

The girl looked over at Verna and smiled a bit brighter.

“Come on,” Joe prodded.

“And she also said, ‘Like they are every time you fuckin’ ask me.’”

The girl broke into a fit of giggles and glanced away.

“That sounds about right,” Joe said, letting a begrudging smile cross his lips and trying to ignore the little spark of happiness in his chest that lay just beneath the irritation at Verna’s secondhand jab.

“You need anything else?” the waitress asked.

“No. Thank you,” he said and began eating, pushing down his bizarre disappointment that Verna hadn’t delivered the meal, or the smart-aleck remark, personally.

The restaurant was busy; it always was, but even when she had been running around from place to place, she’d always made it a point to drop his plate off. Perversely, it was one of the reasons he came here so often. The food was great, and he’d tried to pretend that was the extent of it, but that wasn’t completely true. As much as he tried to deny it, his day never quite felt right if he didn’t get a little ribbing from her, and even though he’d seen her at home this morning and just a few minutes ago with Poole, he found himself a little wistful that he wouldn’t have another chance to spar with her.

As he ate, he thought about what Poole had said, but then, after he paid and left, he tried to push those thoughts away, certain that a resolution was not in sight. He spent the day completing his list of errands, something he meticulously planned every morning so as to avoid sitting around all day doing nothing, which would lead to him thinking about the step he was afraid he’d lost, which would lead to him feeling sorry for himself, which was unacceptable.

Around eight forty-five that evening, he’d run out of things to fill the time and had decided to head home, but his gaze was riveted to the plate-glass window when he’d stopped at the traffic light just outside of Love’s Cafeteria.

The place was closed, had been for hours if he remembered correctly, but all the lights were on, and he saw Verna, starkly illuminated by the bright lights, sweeping the floor, her movements practiced and efficient, but her mind seemingly elsewhere. Stray hairs had escaped her usually neat ponytail, and she slapped away at them in frustration. After a moment, she gave up and once she’d carefully leaned the broom against a chair, she reached up and pulled off the band that had been holding her hair up and ran her fingers through the freed strands, a look of relief on her face. He’d never seen Verna without her hair pulled back and was surprised at how the thick, pouffy mass pooled around her shoulders like a cloud.

She ran her fingers through her hair again and kept her hand rested on her forehead as a huge yawn overtook her. As she yawned, she stood on her tiptoes and stretched her body, the long day clearly having taken a toll. She was shrouded in her standard baggy T-shirt and jeans, but as she stretched, she seemed to transform before his eyes. She was tall and voluptuous, but as she extended her body, her broad shoulders, which she usually hunched in, were pulled back and helped emphasize her surprisingly narrow waist and the sharp flare of her full, rounded hips. She stretched up even higher, the motion pulling her shirt tight across large, enticing breasts that he’d somehow never noticed. For an instant, he imagined himself peeling away her clothes, smoothing his hands over the curves and hollows that were wrapped in beautiful brown skin, tracing over her curves, down the nip of her waist, over her soft belly, down farther…

He blinked, wiping his tingling palms on his pants, and then he let out a rueful snort. Who knew Verna was actually hiding a woman under all that fabric, or that he’d have such a strong reaction to even the merest hint of it?

He’d known she was insecure about her weight and height from the first. It hadn’t taken a rocket scientist to figure it out, either. She’d always given off the vibe that she was uncomfortable in her own skin, at least to him, and some of her jokes only reinforced it, but he hadn’t given it much thought. As he watched her though, he noticed for the very first time that she had potential, would be pretty cute, maybe even sexy, if she took a moment to give a damn about her appearance. But that was not his problem, and he shook his head as if doing so would erase his earlier thoughts, though he hoped someone would give her a heads-up.

The moment passed, and she resumed her sweeping. Joe had known she often worked late, but it didn’t seem fair that she was left alone, and at this hour, to do such heavy labor. He hopped out of his truck and strode to the front door. He exhaled hard, wondering what crazy impulse had him willingly subjecting himself to Verna, who he had no doubt would go out of her way to annoy him. Of course, the alternative was going home to climb the walls, and even Verna was preferable to that. Two quick knocks on the door had her jumping, the suspicion in her eyes fading when she saw it was him. She scurried over and unlocked the door.

“Sign says closed,” she said, her voice ringing with that same teasing tone, though up close, he could see the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes.

“So it does. Figured I could lend a helping hand, payback for startling you twice in one day.”

The look of relief that crossed her face was almost heartbreaking, as was the fact that she didn’t even pretend not to want his help. She stepped aside to let him pass and then locked the door behind him.

“You’re in luck, Jojo. It’s time to swab the decks,” she said with a tired-sounding laugh.

“Not quite, but this is a lovely little flashback.”

“Right this way,” she said.

After she drew a pail of warm, soapy water and handed him an extra mop, they made quick work of the floor, working in silent tandem like they’d done this a thousand times before. It was odd, being with Verna without her chatting away, but he chalked it up to her tiredness, something that became more apparent with each minute that passed.

“So you can lock up and we’ll head out?” he asked once they’d finished.

“Not yet. We have a delivery coming”—she looked up and watched as a small delivery truck drove around the building—“right now. A quick inventory, and then I’m done. Thanks for your help, Joe. I really appreciate it,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.

“You’ve had a long day. Can’t someone else handle the inventory tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “There is no one else. And it won’t take but a minute. I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll stay.”

“There’s no need—”

“I’m staying, Verna.”

She nodded and walked toward the back as he followed, noting that her step had no spring at all, let alone the energy that he was accustomed to seeing from Verna. Although she’d barely insulted him and had given him the peace and quiet he’d thought he wanted, he decided he didn’t like this energy-sapped version of her and found himself rather unhappy that her usual sparkle, as annoying as it could be, was dimmed. When they reached the back door, they found the delivery driver leaning against his truck waiting, dolly at the ready.

“Evening, Verna. Here’s this week’s load,” he said as he handed her an inventory list.

She hoisted herself into the truck, moving with surprising agility, and began checking off items on the list.

“Wait,” she called to the driver. “I ordered a different brand of flour. We made the change last month.”

“Uh, Mr. Love called and changed it back, said we needed to deliver the old stuff.”

Verna rubbed her forehead, considering for a moment. Then she looked over to the driver and nodded.

“I need you to take this back and bring the other brand. We have enough for two days, so can you run it by tomorrow or the day after?”

“No problem.”

“Thank you,” she said.

The rest of the list proceeded without incident, and when she’d checked off the last item, Verna grabbed a box, a heavy one from the look of it, and started to jump off the truck.

“What are you doing?” Joe said, snapping into action.

“I’m getting off the truck,” she said, brows knitted together in confusion.

“Put that box down, Verna,” he said gruffly.

When she did, he extended a hand toward her. She stared at it and looked at him, his expression, he knew, unyielding. After a moment, she took his hand, and he helped her off the truck. Once she reached the ground, she glanced at him, her face a mask of confusion that only intensified when he jumped up to take her place.

“We’ll unload the truck; you make sure the stuff gets where it needs to be,” he said.

She nodded, and, with the help of the delivery driver, Joe unloaded the truck and Verna directed him where to go, them working together with that same coordinated efficiency the origin of which remained unknown to Joe. When they finished, Verna saw the driver off with a reminder about items they still needed. Joe walked over to her, and she gave him a faint smile, her gratitude undeniable.

“So are we done now?” he asked.

“Oh yes. Thank goodness,” she said wearily. “And thank you again, Joe.”

He shrugged. “You just have to promise to tell Poole what a nice guy I am.”

He waited for the inevitable retort, and felt himself frowning when she simply said, “I promise. Let’s get out of here.”

Once she’d checked all of the doors, she headed toward her car, her steps slower than they had been before, her shoulders drooping, and the sight of her so muted and beaten down that his chest ached with sympathy.

“Verna,” he called, and she stopped and turned. “You’re practically out on your feet. I don’t think you should be driving.”

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Verna…”

“Okay. If you insist.”

“I insist,” he said.

She changed course and walked toward his truck.

“This is so not fair,” she said as she got inside.

“What?” he asked as he cranked the truck and then drove off.

“I’m getting to ride in this thing, and I don’t have the energy to talk about how it’s an…” She trailed off, her mouth seeming to fail her for the first time he could recall.

He laughed. “How does this sound? You don’t have the energy to talk about how my truck is an embodiment of my masculine insecurity and how I use it to deflect from my tiny penis.”

She brightened and for a moment felt like the Verna he was familiar with. “Exactly,” she said with a brisk nod.

“Ha. Well, lucky me.” He glanced at her and smiled. “And besides, we both know neither of those things is true,” he said.

“I know nothing about your penis, Joey.”

“I guess you’ll have to take my word for it,” he said.

She laughed but then went quiet, resting her head on the headrest with her eyes closed. They popped open immediately when he pulled into the driveway, but she appeared a little disoriented.

“Home sweet home,” he said.

“Seriously. Thanks again, Joe.”

“Night. Get some rest, Verna.”

“Night,” she responded as she walked over to her house and entered the front door.

Once she’d closed it, Joe went inside his own home feeling conflicted. He was halfway convinced that Verna viewed driving him insane as a part-time job, so he couldn’t quite decide why he’d gone out of his way to help her, or why he’d been so disappointed that she’d been so quiet, what he would have considered nice if he hadn’t known how tired she was. Or why he’d reacted, briefly, but so strongly, to the sight of her bathed in light and standing on tiptoe.

A few minutes later, he peeked out of his window and saw that Verna had her guest room light on. He knew exactly what she was doing and reached for his phone, dialing her number, which he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten. She answered on the second ring.

“You’re going to put your eye out if you try to sew right now,” he said before she could speak. “Go to bed, Verna!”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said sleepily.

He hung up and about thirty seconds later, the light snapped off.

As he fell asleep, it occurred to him that mopping floors with a nearly silent Verna was the most fun he’d had in as long as he could remember.