A handful of people were coming in or going out, and Cori didn’t know any of them. Which was good. She didn't want to get sidetracked from her task. It had taken two days of staking out the joint, while trying to hide, to make her plan. She was exhausted from the sheer covertness of it. To give her strength, she would scroll through the many texts Fort had sent or listen to his voicemail. Her favorite was the one where he said, “Dammit, Cori. Pick up the phone.” Then would growl in frustration before hanging up. In one message alone, she knew he wasn’t mad, and therein lied hope. So she stayed focus on what she needed to accomplish here before she could tackle the problem of making Fort fall for her.

She made her way to the grocery section of the store and circled the aisles. Feeling much like a stalker, she grabbed a cart and began throwing the items from her mental grocery list into the cart.

She made another round and considered the milk she'd put in. It was getting warm from all her laps around the food section. Darn it all, she did not have all day for these people to show up. She debated putting the milk back, hopefully remembering to grab it again when she was done, but worried about the ethics of doing so. She didn't want to be that person, too. The one that walked around with a ton of perishable and then left them in the tampon aisle. Or worse, put them back where they belonged so the now spoiled food could make someone sick. She'd read somewhere that she had four hours before anything was considered “spoiled.” If that was true, then she was safe returning the milk. This did not apply to her mood, though. It was going south fast. She needed her targets to show up already!

Cori talked herself down from the ledge of panic. The thing about growing up in Brewster and having spent the last 10 years trying to make it up to the town, she was really knowledgeable about the local's habits, and her stakeout over the past two days confirmed she knew the routines of people. It would be unlike Mrs. McAdams if she did not show up for her weekly milk, eggs, and bread. The milk truck came yesterday, the egg and bread guy today. Mrs. McAdams liked her stuff fresh. If she could get these deliverymen to bring it to her house, she'd totally do that. Mr. Miller was no different, only his prey was the beer man. He always came in for a six-pack. Cori made another round and found Mrs. McAdams in the bread aisle, her hand on a pack of sliders buns. Cori backed out of the aisle and peeked down the lane to the beer. Mr. Miller was coming around the corner, six-pack in hand.

She took a deep breath, then pushed the cart toward Mrs. McAdams, a pageant smile plastered on her face.

Mrs. McAdams glanced at her then back at the buns, clearly not registering who she was. But then she jerked her attention back to Cori. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. McAdams asked. “I thought when you left, you granted us a gift. Are you back to torture us some more?”

Cori smiled and faced the rack of bread. While pretending to study the bagels, she cut her eyes to the side to look for Mr. Miller so often she was getting dizzy.

Please let him walk by, she prayed. Time crawled.

“I'm talking to you,” Mrs. McAdams said.

Finally, Mr. Miller came shuffling by and Cori called out his name. He jumped, startled, and gave her a puzzled look. She waved for him to come down the aisle.

“Did you need something for me, Cori?” he asked and shifted the six-pack to the other hand.

“Actually,” Cori said while turning so she could see Mrs. McAdams and address her. “Did you know that Mr. Miller has a zero-turn lawnmower?”

Mrs. McAdams narrowed her eyes. Her already thin mouth was pressed tightly together. “So? Like I care. What's that have to do with anything that concerns me? That's your problem, Corinne Walters, you are in everyone else's business.”

“I mention it because ever since Mr. Miller had to move to the trailer, he's had little opportunity to use his zero-turn. Mr. Miller sure loves that mower. Don't you?” She smiled widely at Mr. Miller.

“Sure do. Named her Peg. Used to date a woman named Peg who was fiery. The mower reminds me of her. Sure do miss using it. Miss it. Miss it. Can't bring myself to sell it.”

Mrs. McAdams rested her hands on her lower back. “Again, I ask what this has to do with me? Why I should care?”

Cori pointed to Mrs. McAdams position. “That's why I think you should care. Your back bothers you. It's never been right since you had that accident twenty years ago. Has it? And with your son gone a lot, you have to do more work around the house.”

“And that's your business, how?” Mrs. McAdams asked, though some of the bluster was gone from her bite.

“I was thinking,” Cori said, “maybe Mr. Miller could come over and mow your yard every week. It would really help with your back.”

“And why would he do that?” Mrs. McAdams asked.

Cori smiled. She knew if she got Mrs. McAdams to bite, there would be nothing left but to reel her in. “Because Mr. Miller loves your blackberry pie. Has said over the years how it is one of the best, if not the best, blackberry pie he's had his entire life. He misses your blackberry pie, Mrs. McAdams,” Cori said.

“I sure do,” Mr. Miller said, nodding then licking his lips. “I miss that pie.”

Cori patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe Mr. Miller can mow your yard and you can make him a blackberry pie as payment. If I remember correctly, you love to bake pies. Used to always win at the fairs, too.”

Mrs. McAdams puffed out her chest. “I took All-State three years in a row. Of course, any dumb-dumb can make blackberry pie. It’s the easiest.”

“That's not true,” Cori said, throwing herself under the bus. “I've tried, and mine aren't good at all. I've tried others, too, but they're simply not as good as yours. There's something special about yours.”

The corners or Mrs. McAdams lips twitched, almost as if she was going to smile.

“So what do you say? Mr. Miller misses your pie. The town does frankly. How about you get back to doing what you love and Mr. Miller can do what he loves with his zero-turn. Care to make a deal?” Cori crossed her fingers behind her back.

Mr. Miller stepped closer. “It is blackberry season. All those berries ready to be picked. Going to waste.” He tsked.

Mrs. McAdams held up a finger. “What about when blackberry season is over?”

“Pumpkin,” Mr. Miller said. “It's my second favorite, and then there's that mean chocolate pie you make with all those shavings on top.”

Mrs. McAdams chuckled. “Oh Lord, I haven't made one of those in years.”

It was the first time Cori had seen her smile in forever. “I'll let you two work out the specifics,” Cori said and backed quietly down the aisle, leaving the two to talk. She walked right into what she thought was an end cap and spun to catch what she knew would be falling glass jars of something.

Instead, her hands found the rock-hard body of Fort.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and stepped back. Her senses reeled from being so close to him. She wanted to run her hands down his body, having missed touching him.

Arms akimbo, he looked down at her and laughed. “Is that what you're going with? What am I doing here? The question is, what are you doing here?”

“I...” She didn't want to say she couldn't face the good people of Wolf Creek, that she needed one more try here. After having spent those weeks in Wolf Creek, she knew what she needed to do for closure with the people and town of Brewster. But mostly, she couldn't say that somewhere along the line she'd fallen for Fortune Be-so-lame, and after having spent years in a town being unwanted, she couldn't bear to be in his wonderful town being unwanted by him.

He took her chin in his hand. “It's time to come home, Cori,” he said, then lowered his lips to hers. It was heaven, familiar and kind, gentle and needy. His kiss spoke to parts of her that couldn't hear words. Reached deep into her soul and filled the empty space, the cracks and crevices.

Home he had said.

She heard someone gasp, and they eased apart. Fort looked over her head and smiled. “How ya been, Mrs. McAdams?”

“Well, not—”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Though it’s like my momma always says, ‘You can be a victim or you can be happy.’ I hope you've been happy.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to get my bride. She was staying away too long. I was getting worried.” He brought his attention back to Cori and winked.

Cori searched for the right words. What to tell him first? She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to run because to stay one more second meant she was opening herself up to hurt. She was also opening herself up to love. There was so much to say she tried to sort through the multitude of words desperate to spill from her. There was only one thing she could.

“I love you. I tried really hard not to.” Her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

Fort chuckled. “I know the feeling. What do you say about us trying really hard to do the opposite?” He wagged his brows and in one swift motion, lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder. She laughed and knew better to squirm. Instead she tucked her hands in his back pockets and waited to see what was going to happen next.

“It’s been good seeing y'all, but we've got to go. I've got to get this girl to her wedding. She needs to make an honest man out of me.” He turned foot and walked calmly from the store.