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“We just wandered around.” She picks up a cookbook penned by none other than Snoop Dogg— though I doubt she knows who he is . “Swung by the doctor’s office because that man is obsessed with taking my blood. No better than a common thief, I swear. Then we went to the drugstore to get my pills.”

“What kind of pills?”

Distracted or not, Bitsy Page is no fool. “I don’t know about that fancy city you come from, but out here in Plainview, a woman’s medical information is protected by law. That’s a conversation for her and her doctor.”

I roll my eyes and turn to follow my son. “I was just making conversation. Is that all you two did?”

“Pretty much.” She flips through the pages in front of her. “Did you hear that Gus Darling recently got back from the city, too? He was visiting his daughter for a bit.”

I reach the end of one aisle and move to the next, where Franky selects a book and sits on the floor to read it. “Mr. Darling went to New York?”

“No. Copeland City. It’s been a minute since that girl had come back, and he was done letting her brush him off, so he hopped on a plane and went out there to see her. He only just got back a few days ago.”

“Cool.” Small-town living, where the old folks’ favorite hobby is gossiping about all the things their kids do that annoy them. “How is she doing? What does she do?”

“For work?” She makes a non-committal sound in the back of her throat. “Gus says she’s a doctor of some sort. But if you ask me, I reckon he’s lying. Because any time Barbara—you remember Barbara, right? From bingo?”

Good lord. “Yes, Mom. I remember Barbara.”

“Well, her son is an actual doctor. A surgeon. So when she tries to talk to Gus about it and presses for information, he doesn’t really have a lot to say. And he’s never mentioned hospitals or surgeries or anything like that. So we think he’s lyin’, so he can compete with Barbara’s son.”

“The fact they’re competing boggles my mind.

” I stand over Franky while he reads each line, each page, with efficiency.

He dives gleefully into a fictional world instead of listening to Plainview drama.

A skill I developed long ago, too. He sits directly below an overhanging stack of books, a mistake that promises a headache, so I grab them and set them aside before they fall and ruin his day.

“So what if she’s a doctor—or not—and so what if Barbara’s son is a surgeon?

I bet they’re not competing with each other.

I doubt they even think of the other. They moved away, Mom.

There’s a reason they chose careers outside of Plainview. ”

“Oliver stayed.” She sets her book down with a clatter, then stands with a noisy huff of exhaustion. “He was content to come back here after college and open his own practice.”

“Good for him.” I bend and brush my fingers over Franky’s scuffed knees, winking when he peels his eyes from the book.

Then I straighten again and head back the way I came, if only to stop my mother from interrupting the solitude he craves.

“And since you brought it up,” I stop five feet from the end of the aisle and wait for her eyes, “did the doctor say anything I should know?”

She opens her mouth to argue.

“Set aside your need for privacy. You called me. You asked me to come home. You said you were unwell and needed a little extra help around the house. So how about you stop with the vague BS and just tell me straight? What’s wrong with you, and is it being managed?”

“I don’t need to tell you my private business. I only need to inform you of the animals’ eating routine. You’re here to take care of them, not me.”

“Mom!”

“You sound like Gus’s daughter. Pretending to be a doctor when you’re not. I’m fine, Alana. Focus on feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs before they eat them.”

Frustration and anger wash through my veins, a wave of emotion that sears my fraying mood and almost beats out my hard-earned ability to ignore this woman’s annoying barbs.

Moving away for so long left me a little out of practice.

I paste on a smile we both know is fake, and in my mind, at least, I congratulate the doctor, who is most certainly a doctor, despite Barbara’s competitive streak and tendency to pry.

“You haven’t stopped doing that , I see.” Mom gestures with an up-down flick of her wrist. “I know when you’re having a whole conversation in your head, Alana. It sent me crazy when you were a teen. I doubt it’ll be any less irritating now that you’re an adult.”

“It’s how I filter through my thoughts and keep the especially unkind few to myself.

” I show her a real, sarcastic smirk before I stride past her frail frame and wander to the shop door.

I haven’t had a single customer since I got here, which kind of makes the sign redundant, but I flip it from OPEN to CLOSED anyway, only to catch a hulking shadow eating up the sidewalk in my peripherals.

A muscular chest wrapped in a tank that shows off thick arms and tattoos that almost tempt me to stop and stare.

But in just a single beat of my heart, my eyes catalog everything my mind is not quite ready to.

Short, dark hair and piercing green eyes.

Thick thighs, though they’re partially hidden beneath baggy basketball shorts.

Worst of all, I know there are two of them in this town, identical in every way except their personalities. And because this one walks with a grin, I spin and slam my back to the door, my heart thundering out of control and my stomach readying to hurl all over poor Mrs. Middler’s merchandise.

“Problem?” My mother sashays across the shop and stops on my right to peek through the glass.

Then her eyes flicker with smug satisfaction.

Tommy friggin’ Watkins.

No model wife in sight and no beautiful children in tow.

“Hmmm.” She makes that sound I know too well.

A subtle click in the back of her throat and an annoying flick of her tongue.

It’s the sound of my youth, right before she was about to destroy my self-esteem and ground me into the dirt for daring to hope for a decent day.

“Thomas Watkins. Is there a reason you’re making a scene right now, Alana Bette? ”

“I’m not making a scene!” And yet, I whisper-shout my words. “No one except you can even see me.”

“Would you like me to head on out there and call that boy back? I’m sure he’d love to say hello after all this time.”

“Absolutely not.” I grab her wrist before she thinks to open the door. But I’m careful not to yank her around. Doctor-Patient confidentiality aside, it doesn’t take a medical degree to know the woman is unwell.

“What’s wrong?” She’s devious and mean. Like a bully on the playground, aware my nerves sizzle and anxiety sprouts in my stomach, but instead of protecting me from my troubles, she’d rather treat me like an ant stuck beneath a magnifying glass in the summer heat, laughing while I suffer.

“Tommy Watkins and his brother grew to be decent young men, Alana. Your judgment is showing.”

“ My judgment?” I jam the heels of my palms against my eyes. “How am I judging him? Not wanting a reunion in the middle of Main Street is not judgment. And, wait—” I drop my hands, blinking my eyes clear. “His brother?”

“Hmm?”

“Chris?” Soft contentment spreads through my belly, pushing aside the determined splinters of anxiety. “He’s doing okay?”

“He sure is. Still pretty quiet, if you ask me. Tommy’s the spokesperson for the two of ‘em, but Chris always has a polite hello and holds doors for anyone coming by.” Now that Tommy is gone and her metaphorical magnifying glass is rendered useless, she turns on her heels and ambles back to the couch.

“They come out to the house a few times a week to help with whatever I need.”

“T-to the house?” Panic surges once more. “Your house?”

“Not this week, though. I told them I had a guest and that I wanted them to stay away. Give you time to settle in.”

“You told them I was coming to town?” Oh God. Save me. “You told Tommy Watkins I would be in Plainview and staying at the house?”

“No. I told him I had guests and to stay away for a few days to give you a chance to settle in.” She meets my eyes.

A smug, taunting glitter nestled in the depths of her stare.

“Like I said. He didn’t ask who my guests were, I didn’t say, and though most would be curious enough to sneak a look out at the house, Tommy’s been kind enough to honor my request.”

“So they just…” Breathe, Alana, you vapid idiot. “They stayed in Plainview all this time? They never left?”

“Not sure they’ve been anywhere but here for more than a weekend in all their lives.

Except when they have their fights,” she amends.

“They head off to wherever they gotta go for those. But that’s work, so I figure it hardly counts.

” She grabs a different book—Martha Stewart this time—licks her finger, and leafs through the pages.

Which means it’s her book now, and I’ll have to leave money in the till.

“You don’t watch them on the television?” she asks, faking nonchalance. “It’s broadcast all over the world.”

“No, I…” I swipe a hand across my cheek. Though God knows why. It’s not like I’m crying. “I don’t really watch TV.”

“Not even for the fights?” she presses. “Everyone in Plainview stops to watch when he’s on.

It’s not often one of our own achieves that kind of fame, so when it happens, we pay attention.

” She looks up from her book and shows me her I’m disappointed look, a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“You were his girlfriend for a long time, Alana. You honestly expect me to believe you’ve never once watched, if only to tell your New York friends you used to know him? ”

No, Mother. Because unlike you and Bossy Barbara, some of us are normal, non-coattail-riding jackasses.