In this type of situation, it was better to keep his mouth shut. Rigby cradled the phone on his shoulder, methodically brushing paint on the siding as he halfway listed to Monroe rant about the woes of being an agent to someone who didn’t have a clue what it meant to lay low. Frankly, Rigby was surprised the news outlets had picked up the story so quickly. It had only happened the night before.

“Ten thousand dollars for a pie?” Monroe raved. “Heck, if you wanted to throw a few bucks to the wind, you could’ve given them to me.” He let out a long string of curses. “Man, this doesn’t bode well for you. It makes you look frivolous, irresponsible.”

Or desperate to get the attention of the woman I’ve always been in love with, Rigby could’ve added. When he decided to come home to Clementine for a few weeks, he hadn’t intended to try and get Scarlett back. But the minute he saw her, it was like something clicked, and he knew he’d never feel complete unless she was in his life.

“Who is Scarlett Foster? After all, that’s what this is about, isn’t it Rocket? A woman.” He grunted in disgust.

Rigby let out a long breath. “Scarlett’s my next-door neighbor … and former girlfriend.”

“Man, I knew it. You said you were going home to lay low, not pick up chicks. You can’t afford any more mistakes.”

“I don’t think bidding on the pie was a mistake.” Before Monroe could start yelling again, Rigby interrupted him. “Hold it, man. Hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” Monroe growled.

“The money from the auction goes to benefit a ladies’ club affiliated with the local church. They organize events that help the needy.”

“Hmm … interesting,” he mused.

Rigby could tell the tides were turning in his favor.

“So, essentially, by donating ten thousand dollars for the pie, you were really trying to help the ladies’ organization in a roundabout way.”

“Exactly.

Long pause. “Okay, I hear what you clucking, big chicken. That could work, but I’ll need some information about the club for the press release.”

Rigby smiled. Monroe had the quirkiest sayings. “I’ll put you in touch with my grandmother. She heads it up.”

“I think I can make this work … but Rigby, no more funny business. For goodness sake, man, just bide your time for the next few weeks, and then we’re home free—providing you don’t do anything stupid. Oh, and you’ve gotta attend those anger management classes. Did you get that email I sent with the info?”

He sighed. “Yes, I’ve already contacted them. I start classes in Daphne next week.”

“Very good.”

A minute later, Rigby ended the call. He was grateful Monroe had his back, even though he tried to keep Rigby on a tight leash. Aside from the threat of injury, the hardest part about Rigby’s career was minding his p’s and q’s to keep everyone happy. He was supposed to unleash fury on the field, then bottle it up and behave as a model citizen the rest of the time, all while living in a fishbowl and being goaded by the press.

He heard a door open and looked next-door. He hoped it might be Scarlett coming out, but it was Douglas in his robe, getting his morning paper. When he saw Rigby, he paused long enough to shoot him a death-glare before marching back in the house. Irritation crawled up Rigby’s neck as he frowned. The old man hated his guts now as much as ever. The bad blood started when Rigby was in high school. He’d talked Scarlett into skipping classes and going to the beach. Looking back through adult eyes, Rigby could understand why Douglas was upset. But that was years ago. From the way Douglas was acting, Rigby would’ve thought he’d broken Scarlett’s heart instead of the other way around. If anything, Rigby should be the one holding a grudge. Most of the reason Scarlett wouldn’t go with him to Tampa was because she felt responsible for her grandparents and didn’t want to leave them, especially with her grandmother being sick. Now that her grandmother had passed, Scarlett was probably even more protective of Mr. Foster.

Coralee stuck her head out the door. “Are you hungry? I made pancakes.”

“Let me finish this section, and I’ll come in and eat.” It had been wonderful spending time with his grandmother. He’d wondered how she would react to him bidding on Scarlett’s pie and feared she might lecture him for being irresponsible, as Monroe had.

He was surprised when she said, “You’ve caught Scarlett’s attention. Now you need to set things straight with her.” Then she looked at him with penetrating eyes that could make a hardened criminal spill his guts. “Do you still love her?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “I’ve never stopped.”

She pursed her lips, nodding like she already knew. “Don’t squander your time.”

“But what about Vernie Stanley?” he argued.

She peered over her glasses at him the way she always did when she was trying to get her point across. “Scarlett Foster has eyes for only one man … and we both know who that is. Fight for her, Rigby. Show her you love her.”

“But how? She didn’t seem all that impressed with the pie thing,” he grumbled.

She chuckled. “Oh, I suspect she was more impressed than she let on. But to answer your question—I can’t tell you how to make Scarlett love you. You’ll have to figure that out on your own. But I have full confidence that you will.” A smile touched her lips. “After all, you’re my grandson. Just be you. That’ll be enough.”

As good as those words sounded, Rigby didn’t have a clue how to go about winning Scarlett’s heart. After last night, it was obvious the direct approach wasn’t going to work. Rigby couldn’t plow his way to the win like he did on the field. This was going to require strategy and finesse. When Douglas Foster showed up acting like such a pompous jerk, Rigby’s first impulse was to tell the old man off, but he knew that would end disastrously. So, he left before he said something he regretted. It about killed Rigby to hear the laughter and voices floating from the front porch as Scarlett, Vernie, and Douglas ate ice cream. He scowled, detesting the hot jealousy scorching through his veins. Rigby was sure Vernie was a decent enough guy, but he was in the middle of something he had no business being in. Rigby and Scarlett had a long history together, and he knew he was the right guy for her.

Now he had to find a way to convince Scarlett.

* * *

“Are you gonna stand at the window all day watching Rigby paint, or are you going to work?”

Scarlett jumped, her hand going to her chest, as she turned to face her grandfather with a shaky laugh. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

His brows furrowed as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips and took a drink. Then he lowered the mug, eyeing her. “You’ve got a good thing going with Vernon. Don’t throw it away on a pretty face.”

She drew herself up, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Think about what happened the last time you got your heart set on Rigby. Losing him nearly ripped you to pieces. I don’t wanna see you get hurt again.”

She let out a light laugh that sounded false, even to her. “I have no intention of getting involved with Rigby.”

He arched an eyebrow. “When a man pays ten thousand dollars for a pie, a woman’s bound to take notice … even you, Scarlett.”

She adjusted her blouse. “It was Rigby’s choice to bid on the pie. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You had everything to do with it,” Douglas countered. He gave her a tender look. “Rigby lives in a different world than you, honey. That’s not a bad thing, just the way it is. Do you really think you’d be content to be a trophy wife to a celebrated football star?”

“I’m not dating Rigby,” she snapped. “Vernon and I are together now. How many times do I have to keep repeating that?”

“Until it sinks in your head. I saw the way you looked at Rigby last night. The whole blasted town saw it.”

She gulped in a breath. There was nothing she could say to combat that. It was true. She probably had been eyeing him last night. Heck, every female at the fair over the age of sixteen was probably ogling him. “Okay, what do you want? A confession in blood? Yes, I’m attracted to Rigby. And yes, there’s a very small part of me that still cares for him. But I’ve told you I’m not going to act on those feelings. Happy now?”

He nodded, looking vindicated. “Yes, it’s nice to know you’re telling me the truth.” His eyes searched hers. “Please be careful.”

“Okay,” she relented. “I’ve got to get to work.” This conversation squelched the last tendrils of her good mood. As she reached for her purse, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and read a text from Harper. Her heart clutched.

A burst of anger shot through Scarlett, followed by anxiety. She let out a humorless laugh. Had Vernon seen it? The Clementine Connection was a town blog written by Maryanne Wheatley, one of the nosiest women ever to draw breath. Scarlett figured Maryanne would jump at the chance to put the pie incident in her blog, but she’d gotten a picture? Scarlett had been so focused on her conversation with Rigby that it hadn’t entered her mind that Maryanne might be lurking around watching them … or taking a picture. That was the downside of living in a small town. You couldn’t sneeze without everyone knowing the color of your snot.

“What’s wrong?” Douglas asked.

“I’ve got to check something on the computer before I head out.” She rushed to her bedroom and opened her laptop. When she read the headline she gasped, her hand going over her mouth. There it was … the incriminating headline in bold text.

Ten thousand reasons why Scarlett Foster might Choose the Football Player over the Doctor.

Then she saw the picture of her and Rigby leaning in close, his hand over hers. But that wasn’t even the worst—the tortured look in Scarlett’s eyes said it all. Anyone looking at this would know she still had feelings for Rigby.

This was bad.

Really bad.

Vernon was going to blow a cork when he saw this. Scarlett wanted to rush over and wring Maryanne’s skinny neck for meddling in her business, but that would only give Maryanne more material for her blog.

Douglas frowned as she rushed past him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She threw up her hand in a wave, not looking back. “See you tonight.”

Scarlett parked her car on the street in front of the house the night before because Vernon was parked behind the garage. As she darted down the front steps, she stopped when she heard Rigby’s voice.

“It’s okay, just walk on by like you don’t know me. I’ll just be out here painting … all day long … in the hot sun.”

He probably thought he was irresistible in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, his muscles doing their little ripple dance underneath. She put a hand on her hips. “What do you want?”

He grinned. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

Why did he have to be so dang good-looking? He was painting a house, and still managed to look like a gazillion bucks. She couldn’t help but notice how his blue t-shirt highlighted his eyes.

He waved a hand. “Hey, can you come over here for a minute? I wanna get your opinion on something.”

Wariness swept over her. “What?”

“Just come here … please.”

She blew out a breath. “Fine.” She tromped over. “What?”

“Does this paint look white to you … or cream?”

“Cream.”

He frowned. “That’s what I think too, but Brandon at the hardware store swears he matched the paint exactly.”

“No, it’s definitely cream.”

He sighed. “Well, it’s too late now. I have most of this side done.”

“I’m sure it’ll look great when it’s finished.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a broad smile that sent tingles shooting over her. Good grief. Would she ever be able to get over this guy? Or was she a lost cause?

He tipped his head. “So, how was the ice cream last night?”

“Fine.” She caught the edge in his voice. Had he read Maryanne’s blog? Did he even know about The Clementine Connection? He wasn’t acting like it. Before she realized it, her gaze flickered to his t-shirt clinging to his well-formed chest. Her face flamed as she quickly looked at his face instead. “Well, I’d love to stand here shooting the bull all day, but I’ve gotta get to work.”

He flashed a boyish grin. “Stick around, and I’ll give you some real work. I’m sure I can find another brush somewhere around here.”

She laughed despite herself. “Yeah, knowing you, I’m sure you can.” Their eyes locked as her pulse raced.

He stepped up to her. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to the shrimp boil and concert tonight?”

Blood was pounding in her temples. She had the unreasonable urge to throw her arms around him and give him more than a hasty peck on the lips like she had the night before. His hopeful expression caused conflicting emotions to well inside her. Despite everything that happened before, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and go with him. But where would that get her? Like her grandpa said, she couldn’t throw everything away over a pretty face. Yet that’s where her grandpa was wrong. Yes, Rigby was handsome—more handsome than any man ought to be, but it wasn’t just his looks that drew her to him. It was his charisma, his passion for life, his gritty determination. Rigby Breeland was the most exciting man she’d ever been around, and she’d loved seeing the world through his eyes. But, it was time to grow up. She had a life here in Clementine, a business, responsibilities. She couldn’t just drop everything and fall into his arms. What would happen when he went back to Tampa? Her grandpa would never leave Clementine, and she could never leave him.

“Say yes,” Rigby urged, a fierce light in his eyes.

“I can’t,” she uttered.

His jaw tightened. “Can’t or won’t.”

She stepped back. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I have a life here … commitments. I’m involved with someone else.”

An icy look came into his eyes. “Stop fooling yourself, Scarlett. You’ll never be happy with Vernie.”

The comment was the spark that lit the fuse. Her eyes flashed as she leaned in closer to him. “Stop calling him that!”

“Vernie,” he taunted.

Suddenly everything came crashing down on her like a brick wall as tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re such a moron,” she seethed. “Do you realize all the trouble you’ve caused me?”

His brows scrunched together. “What’re you talking about?”

“The Clementine Connection.” Her voice was near yelling, but she didn’t care.

“What’s that?”

“Maryanne Wheatley’s stupid blog.” From the way his jaw went slack, she could tell he didn’t know. She pressed forward, intent on putting Rigby in his place once and for all. “She did a feature story on us, even got a picture of the two of us together last night, your hand over mine.”

A quirky grin slid over his lips. “Is that such a bad thing?”

She belted out a harsh laugh. “Yes! Rigby, this isn’t some game. I’ve built a life for myself here! And unlike you, I don’t have some cushy job to go back to once you grow tired of this game and move onto the next girl.”

He rocked back, his face draining. “Is that what you think? This is not some game, Scarlett. I care about you, just as I always have. I’ve never been anything but honest with you.” His eyes cut into hers. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Oh, never mind,” she muttered.

He squared his jaw. “No, you started this. You’d better explain yourself.”

“He-llo!”

Scarlett didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she saw Sadie Lynn trotting over. “Great! Just what we need.”

A large smile broke over Sadie Lynn’s face as she approached. “Well, look at the two of you,” she cooed, “as tight as two peas in a pod.”

“We’re not together,” Scarlett shot back, and could’ve died when she saw the amusement dancing in Rigby’s eyes. She turned on him. “We’re not!” He only laughed.

Sadie Lynn gave her an insinuating look, her eyes dancing like she couldn’t wait to grab a crumb of juicy gossip. “Lover’s quarrel?” She looked at Rigby. “That was some auction last night.” She shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Poor Vernon tried to keep up, but he was no match for you.”

The look of schoolgirl adoration all over Sadie Lynn’s plump face made Scarlett want to puke. If she stayed here a minute longer, her head would explode. She took another step back.

Rigby reached for her arm. “Hey, don’t—”

She cut him off mid-sentence, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do!” She took another step, her eyes bulging as she tripped over something. She stumbled back, arms flailing. Even as her mind registered what was happening, she fell backwards landing on her rear end, the paint from the tray splattering over her.

“I was trying to tell you not to step back into the paint,” Rigby said, the corners of his lips quivering like he was trying not to laugh.

It was all Scarlett could do not to burst into tears. Somehow, she managed to maintain her composure as she stood, lifting her chin in the air. Her cheeks were so hot they felt sunburned. “If you’ll excuse me …”

Sadie Lynn gave her a censuring look. “Yes, by all means, dear. You need to go inside and get cleaned up before that paint dries and ruins your clothes.”