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“If you look closer I think you’ll see so much more.” She stood and pressed her cotton dress down the front of her, as I scrunched my face trying to figure out what she meant. “Well, I should go. I have a committee meeting up at the ladies auxiliary.”

After another big hug that I relished, she left a few minutes later, making me promise to eat, and to be there at the cemetery this weekend. I waved from the porch until she was out of view, then plunked down on the first step. In the afternoon heat, I watched the shadows grow long, unable to move for some time. Thinking. Overthinking. Crying.

Finally, I moved into the house and unpacked. And ate. Everything Mama Goodson told me do. I even looked at the photos of Carson and I and saw nothing more. Whatever.

Exhausted, I curled up on the couch in pajama pants and a tank top, half a pint of mint chocolate chip melting in my lap, watching an old movie I didn’t even like. Until a knock came at the door.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. My hair was a mess and there was melted ice cream on my top. Hopefully it wasn’t Carson finally coming to see me at my finest.

But when I opened the door, it was Jasmine.

My old best-friend-who-wasn’t-Carson.

She looked just the same, save for a few more laugh lines around her eyes, but still held that wild sparkle I remembered from our senior year. Her jeans were tight, shirt croppedshowing an envious midriff, fancy cowboy boots, and her grin was pure mischief.

“I heard you were back.” We hugged hard, both shrieking, tilting each other side to side. “Don’t you look amazing, by the way.”

I pointed at my shirt. “Yep, that’s me. In the latest loser fashion.”

“And you’re giving the gossips exactly what they want.” She stepped inside, plopping onto the couch, and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you really want to do that?”

“No. This sucks.” I landed beside her.

“Don’t I know it? In a way I should thank you. My divorce from Mayor Dickhead-who-can’t-keep-it-in-his-pants has been fodder for far too long. Thanks to you and your fresh scandal, the gossip train has officially left my station. Now you carry the torch. So guess what?”

I blinked. “What?”

“We’re going out. You and me. Painting this town just like old times. I hear one too many drinks calling our name down at the old Whiskey Shack.”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood?—”

She held up a hand. “Shush. No excuses, now. I’ve been hiding long enough. This town needs a reminder that I’m still standing. And I’m bringing you down to hell with me, darling.”

I full-belly laughed, the first real one in some time. “Oh my God. I missed you.”

“Missed you too, sweetie, now come on, get fancy,” she said. “Let’s show them who they’re messing with.”

“Fine,” I said, standing up and tossing the ice cream pint in the trash. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

And maybe I could start caring less about the whispers… and more about what—or who—I really wanted.

8

BOOTS AND BREAKDOWN

HUDSON

Branson called,waking me from an exhausted sleep. I was still on shift, it was way past midnight, and my crew and I had spent the past three hours looking for a missing man with Alzheimers after his wife reported a fire at their house. We found him, doused the flames, and did our jobs.

“This better be good,” I groaned into the phone.

“Come get your girl from the Whiskey Shack, or else she’s going to have to spend the night at my jailhouse suite. And as nice as those accommodations are, I’m betting you wouldn’t want that,” Branson yelled into the phone. In the background, I could hear loud country music playing.

“My girl?”

“Yeah. Anderson told me you were hot for Lacey.”

I slapped a hand to my forehead. “Fucking Doc, how in the world can he be so good at Doctor-Patient Confidentiality but so bad at keeping his own brother’s secrets?”