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Emberly snorts and elbows me in the ribs. I swear I see the muscle move in Chad Tucker’s jaw, and I bet he’s grinning. It almost makes me second-guess my straight-laced thoughts about him…

My uncle drones on reciting a noticeably specific, guilt-inducing prayer I’m sure he hopes causes all the wayward sheep who’ve stumbled into this place to repent—specifically me.

Dream on, Uncle Bob.

I think about Chad and how I’ve done my best to avoid him ever since the night he stood by watching as I climbed, humiliated, out of Elmer Pepper’s ancient motel pool.

It was the same night I saw the billboard that changed everything. Start a new career in web design and change your life!

Turns out you actually need money up front to change your life, but I like web design. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always dreamed of traveling, seeing the world—getting out of this dumb town—and after a year,

it’s all coming together.

“Ah-Men.”

It’s finally over, and we all make a beeline for the back door. “Thank the lord for fresh air,” I say inhaling deeply.

Betty Pepper intercepts us on the front lawn. We’re waiting for Coco to get out of Sunday school, and I guess I should check in with my blackmailer.

Betty is going on about how Emberly should consider dating her stinky son Bucky, the creepy taxidermist, when I see Chad appear at the top of the steps. An old lady is on his arm as if he’s an Eagle Scout.

All the old ladies want to hold his arm. They act like they’re so feeble they can’t walk to their cars without his help. The truth is they’re just pervy and want to stroke his muscles.

He catches my eye and hands Gwendolyn Smith off to a noodle-armed old man before slowly walking down the steps to where I’m standing. Today, I’m dressed in a demure yellow sundress, sandals, and I’ve traded my signature red-velvet lipstick for a nude matte. My eyes are still done, though. Duh.

That smug grin on his face shouldn’t be so sexy at church. “Good morning, Miss Green, I trust you had a restful night.”

“I’m a little tired, actually.” I pretend to yawn, looking over my shoulder at the gardenia bushes.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Not really. I drove down to Fireside and played poker with the truckers off the Interstate for a while after you left. I guess it was about four when I got to bed. If I hadn’t promised to be here today, I’d probably have slept until noon.”

His eyes narrow, and I know he’s trying to decide if I’m lying.

Of course, I’m lying, but I’m not about to say I slipped into a warm bath and rubbed one out to the memory of his sexy bod until I was so relaxed, I slept like a baby.

Standing in front of him in my sandals, my head only reaches the top of his broad shoulders, and up close, in broad daylight, it’s hard to look him straight in the face. He has a rugged manner like a soldier, but his features are elegant, refined—a straight nose, square jaw, and light brown eyes.

When he smiles, those dimples just push it all over the top. Not to mention he smells like heaven, all fresh and clean and manly.

He really is too sexy to be our future sheriff. I foresee a rise in petty crime among the blue-haired Sunday school ladies. Oh, Sheriff Tucker! Did I do that?

He lets my story about playing poker with the truckers pass. “How did you like the service?” he asks instead.

“It was okay, I guess.” I’m acting bored. I should get an Oscar—or at least a Daytime Emmy. “Uncle Bob used to have more fire when I was a kid. He seems to be cooling down now. How can anyone be expected to have anxiety and indigestion all week on that milquetoast? I’ll be lucky if I even need a Tums after lunch.”

Chad grins at that. A little glint hits his pretty, pretty eyes, and I notice he has one crooked tooth on the side. It’s right in line with that cheek dimple, and when my gaze meets his, my panties melt right off.

“Have lunch with me.” He says it so fast, I’m pretty sure the invitation surprises him as much as it does me.

My breath leaves my lungs, and it takes a second for me to remember why this is a bad idea. “I’m having lunch with Emberly.”

His dark brow furrows. “Don’t you have lunch with Emberly every day?”

He’s right. I work at the bakery, so I spend every day of the week with my best friend.

“Yes… well… today’s special.” I glance over to where she’s still talking to Betty Pepper. “We’re supposed to be planning out a way to attract more of the tourists up this way.”