Page 56

Ew. Apparently, it’s not just my arms that get weird but my brain.

Trey offers me a smile that’s a little too genuine, then says, “I can see you haven’t changed.”

Though I don’t think he means this to be offensive, I’m offended all the same. But I choose to be the better person andhold my tongue rather than make a snarky comment about his attempt at a man bun.

“So, I hear you’re back in town,” I say.

“I am.” He pauses, his expression shifting. “Did you also hear that I’m engaged?”

Again, there’s nothing painful about hearing his words, but the awkward-o-meter is now reaching maximum levels. I mean, did hehaveto bring it up? He’s basically creating a new, horrible core memory in my favorite grocery store.

“Congrats,” I say, hating that the word sounds insincere.

The last thing I want is for Trey to think I’m not over him. I don’t want him to imagine me pining over him for the last four years. Which would be acutely embarrassing. And untrue.

“That’s really great. Is she French?”

He laughs, and I’m not sure why this is a funny question. Then he stops abruptly, staring in a way that makes me even more uncomfortable.

It’s shock mixed with a little bit of what looks like guilt.

“I thought your mom would have told you,” Trey says.

“Told me what?”

But before he can drop the anvil of whatever horrible truth my mother failed in her maternal duty to tell me, a throat clears.

I turn, and Archer has left his cart and is now standing at my elbow. Though I still think it’s ridiculous he’s wearing a suit in a grocery store, he does wear it well. And I meanwell.

Archer clears his throat again, his gaze never leaving mine. His face is always hard to read—a problem when your jaw seems chiseled from stone and permanently set in a frown—but I try anyway. And fail. Whatever he’s trying to silently convey, I’m not getting the message.

Wait, is he … trying to rescue me from this clearly uncomfortable situation?

Nothing in my interactions with Archer has given me the impression he likes tohelppeople. Me, in particular.

“How long will this take?” he demands.

I suspect Archer didn’t intend for this question to come out so harshly, in a cracked whip of words. But the man is a snapping turtle in a suit.

I find myself grinning. Why is his grouchiness suddenly so amusing to me?

Oh, right—because he’s wedging it right between my ex and me like a solid wall of protective grump.

There’s a good chance Archer isn’t trying to save me at all but is actually in a hurry to get done shopping and has decided he does want my help. That seems more likely given our interactions, but either way, I’ll take it.

Now, Trey is the one clearing his throat, bringing me back to myself.

“Right. Archer, this is Trey Fletcher. Trey, Archer Gaines.”

I don’t offer up any titles or explanations. At this point, they don’t seem necessary and could only make things more awkward.

“There you are! I thought I lost you.” Another voice, almost—no,more—unwelcome than Trey’s cuts in.

The woman walking toward us is all brown doe eyes and a bubblegum smile—until she sees me. Then the smile slips right off her face as her gaze shifts to Trey. I can’t miss the ring on her finger. The thing could be used to direct planes to the right runway.

“Hey, Mel,” I say. “It’s been a while.”

Long enough for you to get engaged to my ex.