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So she closed her eyes and hit “call,” waiting as one, two, three rings passed.

Shit.Who would she call next if he didn’t answer?

“Well, I should buy a lottery ticket,” Owen’s husky but amused voice joked on the other end. Her heart rate fluctuated wildly, not sure whether to relax now that she potentially had a ride, or amp up as she listened to the voice that made her feel like all her morning cups of coffee never could.

Alive.

“I get to talk to you twice in one day. How’d I get so lucky?” Yep, heart rate speeding up.

“Actually, I need a favor, but it means seeing me twice in the same day, so maybe we can pick up some Powerball tickets on the way.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A ride. I still haven’t been cleared to drive, so…” She hoped he wouldn’t ask questions, just drive her to the appointment and bring her back like Brad would.

“You bet. Now?” She cringed, picturing him cleaning up his picnic, shaking off the blanket, spending his lunch in the cab of a truck instead of basking in the pre-Labor Day heat.

Just one more way being with her was unfair to him.

“Please. If it isn’t too much trouble,” she added, wanting to give him an out.

“I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes. Let me close down my work site and I’ll swing by. Say twelve thirty?”

“Thanks so much, Owen, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. You got me out of trimming back the berry bushes that are pushing up next to the fields. If they catch on in that soil, I’ll be selling blackberries until I retire or die. Plus, now I get to spend the day with the prettiest girl in Banberry. See you in a sec.”

The line clicked and this time she didn’t mind someone being the first to hang up.

Owen, no matter what else, always had a way of making her feel special and beautiful. The heat from her cheeks spread to her stomach. Is this what made a couple? She’d never teetered this close to the edge, even in the beginning. But could it last? What happened when he woke up one morning and saw a line of drool hanging from her lips? Would he still want her then?

Instead of calling Dr. Metcalf and telling him she’d be more like thirty minutes, she ran her hands through her hair, adding some mousse as an afterthought, just in case.

That same line of thinking had her adding a light touch of mascara and some blush to pinken up her cheeks used to a more tropical glow.

At twelve thirty on the dot, Owen knocked. The only thing stopping her from sprinting down the stairs was the fact that it might be the last thing she was able to do that week if she jarred her ribs that much.

She opened the door to an armful of daisies staring her in the face.

“I saw these growing wild in the brush across the street from our places. Thought you might like to appreciate them as much as I do.”

Did she ever. Especially when Owen appeared from behind the bouquet. It was all Paige could do to not to jump him. Damn, this injury was really getting in the way of her love life.

“Thanks, Owen—they’re beautiful.” She looked up the stairs after he handed over the bouquet and before she could think about having to navigate those stairs—again—Owen had them back in his arms and was bounding up the stairs two at a time. “The vase is on top of the fridge,” she called out. She could hear the glass drag across the plastic and then the sound of the sink. In seconds, Owen was back next to her, planting his lips on hers.

When she’d met him at the welcome home party, she’d thought he was shy and frankly, a brooding country boy not unlike the ones she grew up with.

Now though, as they drove through the small downtown of Banberry, he waved at Mitch, the hardware store owner while they waited at the one stoplight in town. He chatted away about how much he appreciated the small-town feel, with neighbors—he winked at her, then—and shop owners he could trust.

“What makes a small-town shop owner more trustworthy than a city one?” she wanted to know.

“Well,” he said, putting a hand on her knee, “a shop owner in a small town can’t cheat you. He has to look you in the eye at the one supermarket within twenty miles of his shop, he has to see you every time you come back to give him your business, because you will, if you live in a small town. That’s how they, and we, survive. Sure, we could all go online and get what we need, but sometimes it’s worth paying a few more dollars to know what you’re getting and who you’re getting it from. Cities have too much cutthroat, too much turnover. You can’t rely on anyone to be there when you start with a problem and still be the one you can get stuff from when you’re wrapping up the project. Too impersonal for me to trust. To them, I’m just a number. To Mitch, I’m a neighbor.”

Well, damn.

“You’ve thought about this,” she said, the town now visible through his eyes. She saw Mitch wave back as they moved on, saw Connie Hamshire walk in Simerly’s with her husband, Roy, neither looking very pleased. Less than a block later, her fourth-grade teacher and Julia’s mom, Betsy, walked out of the salon.

It was her town, and the greatest flaw she’d always found was that it would never change. Now, though, she delighted in seeing some familiar—albeit not altogether friendly—faces.