"Marianne, you can't keep ghosting on Trent!" Sabrina said disapprovingly.

Marianne almost dropped her phone at the other woman's accusation. Nearly a week had passed since the incident at the Honky Tonk; in that time, she had barely spoken more than two words to Trent Wild, but she hardly thought that warranted being accused of avoiding him!

"I'm not ghosting," Marianne said in exasperation. She made a third pass around her barely-used kitchen as she hunted for her car keys. She located them in the sink, of all places. "I've just been busy prepping for Battle of the Brews tomorrow.” Her keys leapt out of her hand like someone had greased them, and Marianne lunged after them. “Once that's over, I'll be able to sit down with Trent and talk," she concluded in the aftermath of her narrow catch.

"What happened between the two of you, anyway?" Sabrina asked. "Trent said it was something to do with him coming around the brewpub, and that's why you won't let him in anymore."

An easy excuse caught in her throat. The truth of the matter was, Marianne had no idea what she was to Trent or what he was to her. She had a feeling he had come to mean more to her than anyone else in this town—maybe anyone else, anywhere—and the possibility terrified her so much she was afraid to look at it further. The romance between them had sparked and started before she could decide if she had any room for it in her life, and she was still uncertain what it meant. Was it a distraction? An impediment to her already tenuously-building success? Was it worth dropping everything for so she could figure it out definitively?

No. It was too much. Better to just avoid this new complication altogether while she got everything else sorted out first.

"I won't let him in because I haven't been around when he drops by unannounced," Marianne said finally. "I have my own schedule to keep, Sabrina, completely unrelated to Trent, and I…oh, shit."

She had just stepped out onto the front porch to find the handsome, fully-uniformed sheriff leaning up against her car. He waved to her casually, and Marianne gripped her phone.

"Sabrina, I'll call you back."

"He's right there, isn't he?" Sabrina asked gleefully, but Marianne hung up before Sabrina could enthuse anymore about the coincidence. In the back of her brain, she wondered if Sabrina wasn't the one who had given away her location to Trent while she was distracted.

"Trent!" Marianne exclaimed. "What are you—?"

"Don't act so surprised." Trent shifted against her car. The loose line of his usual smile looked slightly pensive. "You think the sheriff of Lockhart Bend doesn't know where to find you when you've been avoiding him? You live right next door to me…when you're not living at the Honky Tonk and locking me out."

"It's not just you I'm locking out," Marianne answered feebly. "I mean, there's still a lot to do before tomorrow. I can't afford any more distractions."

"Can't afford them, maybe," Trent agreed, "but you're about to get one. C'mon."

"Wait! I can't…where are we…" Trent's hand was on her wrist before she could articulate a real protest. He didn't drag her far from the easy escape of her car—just through the gate and into his own backyard. Now she had nowhere to look where Trent wasn't in evidence. His imprint lived in that empty chair; the press of his lips lingered on every crumpled beer can.

He stood right in front of her, waiting for an explanation.

"Don't do this, Marianne," he murmured. "Don't shut me out. Let me help you—let me be more than just your friend-with-benefits, neighbor-lay who you occasionally allow into your life. Let me be your partner."

"Simon." The name fell from her lips like a bitter fruit. "My ex-husband's name is Simon. He's the one whose name you found in that old book of recipes. He used to be my partner."

"He didn’t treat you right," Trent guessed. Obviously he was used to quickly putting the pieces of a broader puzzle together. It was too easy to look at that all-American chin, those rugged, handsome looks, and forget that Trent made his living as a sheriff at least partially on his instinct and deductive reasoning.

"It was…more than that. And less. I don't know." Marianne tucked a piece of hair back behind her hair and shifted uncomfortably. "Just a lot of stuff I didn't realize until it was too late."

"He ever hit you?"

The question was an unexpected blow in and of itself. She gazed at him, the denial drying to dust in her throat. Her mother knew, of course, and so did Aunt Celia, but no one had ever guessed the truth about Simon, much less come out and asked her. Trent stared back at her evenly, patiently; his face was an impassive mask as he awaited her response, although she noticed a muscle in the lower corner of his jaw start to clench as her silence endured.

"Yes. Simon hit me. A few years into our marriage, and it was only once. But it was enough." Marianne let out a quiet, mirthless little laugh, just to fill the air between them with something that wasn't her personal tragedy. "I'm almost glad he did now, as crazy as it sounds…it woke me the hell up. And that's something I've only ever said to my therapist," she added quickly. "It's not something you can just come out and tell people…at least, not most people."

"And you came down to Lockhart Bend to get away from him."

"I came down here because I needed a fresh start," Marianne corrected. "It took me a year after the divorce to get all my affairs together, and when Aunt Celia called me up to tell me she was moving, and I had the money to buy the bar…it seemed like serendipity. Of course, it doesn't hurt that I don't stand a chance in hell of running into Simon here. I heard he moved to Wyoming after the divorce, anyway…I guess the rumors of why we split up dogged him despite the fact I tried to keep a lid on it."

"You should have shouted it to the world," Trent insisted. "They were damn right to run him out of town. And they lost a hell of a brewer in the aftermath."

His words confused Marianne, until he reached between them and took her hand. Suddenly she realized his meaning, and her heart tremored.

"That was the hardest part," she said. "Looking back on all the years we worked together, all the times he derided or downplayed my ideas, and I never even noticed. I thought Simon just had a way with people, you know? I thought I had to work harder to catch up to him. It was only after he took credit for one of my ideas—an idea that he originally shot down in front of all our friends—that I realized what was going on. The night I confronted him about it was the same night…well, everything came to a head that night. I walked away from him after that, and I never looked back."

"You're the bravest woman I know." Trent pulled her into his arms, clutching her, and Marianne hung onto him like her new life depended on it. Maybe it did. "And…I get it now," he added quietly. "Why all of this is so important to you. It isn't just another brewing project for you."

Marianne buried her face in his chest and shook her head.

"I'm sorry if I ever thought…" Trent expelled a long breath that gusted past her ear. "It's just that you rode in here with such confidence…you made it all look so easy, like you'd done this a million times before on your own. I thought Lockhart Bend didn't mean anything to you. I wanted to show you every aspect of the town I love."

"It wasn't easy. And you just happened to be there every time it wasn't," Marianne whispered. "Which, I may as well face it, was from the beginning. I just wanted this to be something I succeed at on my own."

"You have succeeded." Trent pushed off from her and gripped her shoulders, levelling her with a look. "Marianne, what you've done here is remarkable. One thing you should know about small towns is nobody's going to let you do anything on your own. Everyone's going to stick their nose in your business and have an opinion—and whether or not you give them a say? That's your choice, and it always has been."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn't let them slip free, not yet. She didn't know what to say to him. How could she convey to Trent how happy he had just made her—just by saying that one small, seemingly insignificant thing?

"C'mon." Trent draped an arm around her shoulder, and she had never felt so safe, so warm. No one had ever made her feel so protected and simultaneously free to be herself. "Let me drive you down to the brewpub."

Marianne gasped a laugh and wiped her eyes. "You just want to look around and get a hint of what ingredients I'm using," she accused as they walked together toward his car.

"Nah." Trent grinned. "I didn't say I was going to come in with you. You're locking me out, remember?"

Marianne punched him playfully as he opened the door for her. "You always find a way in no matter what I do."