I browsed the grocery shelves and consulted my list, frowning at Jonah’s handwriting. I was cooking for Scarlett tonight. Jonah had given me a protein-heavy menu that “even an idiot could make.” I glared at the selection of chicken breasts. I was too distracted to pick the proper poultry.

“You keep staring at the chicken like that, and they’re all gonna get up and fly away,” Opal Bodine said. She was wearing overalls over her tall, lean frame. Her short dark hair was tucked under a ball cap.

I relaxed my face and offered her a smile. “Cooking stresses me out,” I said lamely.

“That’s what they make take-out for,” Opal said with a wink. She reached across me for a pack of chicken thighs and dumped them in her basket. “See ya at the game!”

I hadn’t played another inning for the Bootleg Cock Spurs. The hangover wasn’t worth it. But I had attended a few games since—and kept well hydrated.

I pushed the cart down the aisle, moving on to the spices portion of Jonah’s list, and my mind wandered back to Scarlett.

As an attorney, I’d developed a certain sense for when people were holding out on me. As a politician, that sense sharpened to a razor’s edge. Scarlett was keeping something from me. Something that had made her edgy and nervous. Something that kept her so tied up in her own mind that she’d checked out on me.

Was it even any of my business? I wondered, grabbing a jar of thyme and throwing it into the cart. Scarlett had, for all intents and purposes, broken up with me as soon as I headed back to Annapolis. She was convinced she’d be a hindrance to me, to my ambitions. And I didn’t understand how she’d come to that conclusion. Or why she hadn’t at least demanded a compromise. Yes, people had talked during and after the barbecue. However, very little of it had been negative. She was refreshing, honest, and interesting. That made her stand out.

Why couldn’t we try the long-distance thing at first? Or why hadn’t she demanded that I give up everything and move here. I had to admit, I’d at least consider it. Scarlett made me happy in a way I had never experienced before. But she was hell-bent on the idea that she was bad for me.

Her behavior had changed even before the barbecue. I thought back to the day at her father’s house. I wondered if I’d missed something.

I picked up a bottle of dried rosemary and held it up against the fresh sprigs Jonah had put on the list.

“What’s the damn difference?” I muttered.

“The one in the plastic packaging is fresh. The other is dried, giving it a strong flavor in smaller quantity.”

“Hi, June,” I said, shoving the herb back on the shelf.

“Hello.” She picked up a bottle of dill weed and tossed it in her basket.

“Know much about cooking?” I asked, making small talk.

“I know a lot about a lot of subjects.”

“Well, hi there handsome,” someone else purred from behind me.

I turned and found Misty Lynn in cutoffs that would be considered indecent in a strip club and a belly-baring t-shirt. She had a pack of Nicorette gum and a box of platinum blonde hair dye in her cart.

“Hello, Misty Lynn,” I said flatly. No matter what was going on between me and Scarlett, I wasn’t about to get tangled up in whatever web Misty Lynn was spinning.

“And look! It’s Bootleg’s favorite robot, JuneBot.” Misty Lynn’s smile turned to a sneer.

June sighed beside me. She ignored Misty Lynn and plucked a bottle of lemon pepper off the shelf.

“I hope she’s not bothering you,” Misty Lynn said to me in a stage whisper. “She’s just not good with people. I think she’s on the S-P-E-K-T-R-O-M.”

I blinked, trying to process.

“She means spectrum,” June filled in for me. “She’s claiming that I’ve been diagnosed with a form of autism when really she’s just threatened by my superior intellect. While I was weighing college scholarship offers as a junior in high school, Misty Lynn was offering oral sex in exchange for Cs.”

June didn’t seem like the type to lie. And, judging from Misty Lynn’s scowl, she’d just delivered the truth.

“Now that’s a low down, dirty lie, June Tucker! You take it back!”

June looked perplexed. “Mr. Hower the trigonometry teacher was terminated because of your relationship. Don’t you remember? Mrs. Hower filed for a divorce—”

“You shut the hell up right now! You hear me?” Misty Lynn poked a purple finger nail into June’s chest.

I stepped between them. “Why don’t we all just take a breath?” I suggested before Misty Lynn went for June’s eyes with those talons.

Misty Lynn’s face transformed to flirtation. A social chameleon. “Don’t listen to Juney. She’s not right in the head, if you know what I mean,” she drawled, twirling a finger around her ear. “You know, Devlin. I sure would like to get to know you better.” She lowered her lashes in a screen siren-worthy wink.

I cleared my throat. What was it with women this week? “I’m with Scarlett,” I reminded her. Temporary though it may be, I was committed to our relationship.

And Misty Lynn terrified me.

She pouted. “I’m just bein’ friendly,” she assured me, running her fingernails down my forearm.

Fuck. There was no Scarlett here to bail me out this time.

I grabbed Misty Lynn’s hand off my arm and dropped it. “Look, Misty Lynn, I’m just not interested.”

“Not interested?” Her mouth was open so wide I could see her gum. Apparently, she wasn’t on the receiving end of “not interested” often.

I stomped down the need to soften the blow.

“That’s right. Not interested. Now, how about we all get on with our shopping?”

Misty Lynn glared at June who was staring blankly at her.

“What the hell are you looking at?” she hissed, knocking into June’s shoulder as she stormed past.

“A woman who seems incapable of taking a hint,” June said flatly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and hoped the jibe wouldn’t bring her back. But Misty Lynn just flipped us the bird over her shoulder and stomped away, her flip-flops flapping against the tile floor.

Between Scarlett, Johanna, and Misty Lynn, I’d had my fill of estrogen-fueled theatrics for the week.

“Goodbye,” June said abruptly and wandered off, leaving me alone with my herbs and spices.

I finished off the rest of the shopping and successfully avoided any other unnecessary human contact until the cashier.

Marge, as her name tag read, cheerfully scanned and bagged while carrying on a gossip session with every customer. Myself included.

My gaze drifted to the Missing poster that hung under her register lane light. I nodded, half listening to the latest news about a falling out between the dueling banjo trio made up of the mayor, the police chief, and Mrs. Morganson the third-grade teacher.

Marge followed my gaze. “Such a shame, isn’t it?” she said. That’s how all conversations about Callie’s disappearance started. “The anniversary of her kidnappin’ slash murder is comin’ up in a couple of weeks. Her daddy’s back in town for a little bit at least. He’s a judge, but he usually takes a month or so here in the summers. What do you think happened to her?” Marge asked cheerfully.

I opened my mouth to answer when the text caught my eye.