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“Is that what you think? That you ruined our friendship?” She choked back a startled laugh and dropped the shriveled lime into her drink.

“I won’t lie—I thought about forever- afters.

A long walk down the aisle with Reverend Macon waiting to unite us before God and family.

A size six, flowing white gown I shouldn’t be wearing because I wasn’t a virgin.

Posies in my hair—mostly natural blonde back then, mind you—my heart in my eyes. ”

“It isn’t funny, Tam.”

“Gracious, Camp, we only took what was ours for the taking. I never objected. Why would I? I wanted it almost as badly as you did. And later”—she paused, lids sweeping low, fingers tightening around her glass—“later, every woman in town was hoping to make a mark. To be the hometown girl you fell in love with.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He jammed the toothpick between his teeth.

At her touch, he made a powerless sound of protest and rocked back, proving just how far he was off his game.

A wounded expression flickered in her eyes, like an animal searching for cover. “You’re of a different mind,” she said, withdrawing her hand with as much dignity as she could muster. “Isn’t all age, either. You care enough about someone”—she lifted her glass, her smile uneven behind it—“to care.”

“I don’t care about anything except my photographs.”

“Not caring about anything is what has you here, searching for answers?”

He rolled the toothpick back and forth, jaw popping. The situation was complicated, like he’d told Fontana earlier. A fucking mess, even after studying it from every angle, and he had examined them all over the past few days.

But he was stuck.

Attracted. Curious. Still humming like electric current, hours after impact.

And surprise, surprise, he understood that trying to steady himself with a throwaway act—like sleeping with the woman across from him, right now, in this town—would only erode the last salvageable scrap of his soul.

“If there were someone…on the off chance there is, would, um—” He drummed his fingers on the table, a bead of sweat working its way down his back.

Was he thinking what he thought he was thinking ?

Yes . And thinking it seriously enough to make him sweat.

“Spit it out, Camp.”

After throwing a ridiculous glance over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. “Is sex enough?” Tossing his toothpick to the floor, he propped his elbows on the table, a wailing George Jones ballad nearly swallowing his next words. “Satisfied? I asked it. Is sex enough?”

Tammi’s lips quirked, teeth flashing. “My, that’s one question I didn’t figure on hearing.”

“Forget it,” he said and started to rise, his knee knocking the table into violent motion.

Her nails dug into his wrist, followed by a strong tug and a command to sit that sounded so like his mother’s Campbell obeyed without thinking twice.

Tammi shifted just beyond the dim ginger haze cast from the neon sign above her head. From this angle, he could only see the face of the past.

He wondered if Fontana’s was the face of the future.

“Camp?”

He shook his head, refocused. Tammi’s smile had definitely drifted into murky, melancholy waters.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, wishing he had a cigarette. Just one quick drag to steady his nerves.

Toothpicks were bullshit.

“Can’t help it.” With her thumb and forefinger, she wiped her lips from the corners in, a practiced, lipstick-containing swipe.

“I have a profitable business, my own home, a nice chunk of change in mutual funds, and enough rejected marriage proposals to make me think I’m not a complete failure in the game of love.

Still, this is a day when dreams die. Dreams planted in our heads by those fairy tales we read over and over.

Except the lucky girl you’re sitting here stewing about, she’s the princess. ”

Women , Campbell thought with a sigh. “I just asked a simple question. Fairy tales and dreams? Where did that come from?”

“Oh, Camp, you dope. Sometimes sex is enough. You know the feeling—like you’re a slick, fast machine.

A ’67 Mustang or a GT Cruiser. A smooth, hair-whipping ride.

Me?” She paused, tapping her temple as if a world of wisdom was locked inside.

“I never felt guilty for taking what I wanted. Unless I stopped to ask myself if sex was enough. Then I knew it wasn’t, and I stayed away.

Or, I went ahead and had my fun, knowing I was in for some serious heartache. A sure-fire pity party.”

He managed to keep his smile cool as he whispered, “I think I got invited to the pity party.”

“All men are blinded by whatever block in their brains comes with having a penis. Like it or not, you’re just”—she tossed back the rest of her drink—“ caring . Might as well go with it now.”

When Willie Nelson started singing about blue eyes and rain , Campbell’s mind went straight to Fontana—and he had to fight the impulse to order another scotch. A double, this time. “I just wondered what women think about sex on the fly.”

Tammi burst out laughing, loud enough to turn heads at the next booth. “You mean, you’ve never before thought to ask?”

He answered with a grunt—a classic male response.

“You want my advice, Camp? Go ahead, screw her silly. As I see it, miracle of all miracles, you’re on the short end of the stick this time. Be a powerful lesson for you.”

“So sure I’ll get the short end?”

“She isn’t the one asking questions, is she?”

“No,” he found himself admitting, “she seems pretty sure.”

Tammi signaled the waitress, her amused gaze never leaving his.

“What’s the worst that can happen? I can hardly believe I’m saying this to love ’em and leave ’em True, but really—what’s the absolute worst?

You fall in love, and she doesn’t?” She lifted her glass, clinked it against his.

Empty, but the sentiment stood. “Recoverable, trust me.”

Drawing an agitated breath, Campbell scrubbed at a chemical stain on his hand, avoiding the knowing look in Tammi’s eyes.

He had at least twenty rolls of film to develop, contact sheets to review for a California client who wanted the perfect full moon shot, and two—maybe three—hundred negatives to file.

A New York Times travel editor had put in a call to his agent, an offer he’d love to explore.

His publisher wanted to discuss a book he’d pitched on disappearing structures scattered across the South.

Barns, abandoned houses, sheds—places he longed to capture before they vanished.

Yet here he sat, mooning over a woman who had made a brutally honest offer. The worst case of sexual vacillation in his life.

“Fontana’s a big girl. Smart. Shrewd. If she says she can handle you, she can handle you.”

Campbell dropped his head into his hands.

Goddamn, gossiping small town .

“Beyond adding a little harmless fuel to the fire, my lips are sealed, I swear to you. Darn if I’m not jealous enough to yank out a handful of that glossy hair of hers but, she’s a nice girl. I don’t know her well, she doesn’t allow it, but I’m in the people business. ”

He glanced up, curious, although he wasn’t courageous enough to ask for more.

Tammi bit into a lime, then dropped it back in her glass.

“She comes by the shop. Only place in town for women who don’t want to get scalped by Jimmy, waiting for a lousy haircut in a room smelling like cheap aftershave and motor oil.

Why, I offer flavored coffee all year and apple cider during the holidays.

Sweet tea in the summer. Fontana leaves a fair tip, too, and never bitches about a teensy wait. ”

Campbell blinked. “O-kay.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Glad to know her tipping habits rank high on your list.”

“It’s a challenging cut. She has thick hair—easier to control if I wet it.

A shampoo’s better for that type, but she doesn’t usually go for the extra five bucks.

I can see why, supporting herself and Hannah on her own.

” She paused, smiling, toying with him. Cat and mouse—he could tell.

“Her color’s natural, in case you wondered. ”

“I didn’t.”

And he hadn’t.

But the tidbit sparked visions Campbell was sure he didn’t need swimming around in his head.

“Some aura or something hanging round her. I went to a psychic in Charlotte, Mrs. Dolly, who told me about mine. Gold for serenity, with flashes of red. Those being temper and the usual strife of life. Bills to pay, rent on the shop, a mortgage.” She clacked her nails against her glass.

“Now, I try to gauge the aura of every woman who sits in my chair, from old Miss Harmon, the high school librarian—if you remember—to, say...Fontana.”

A pause. Another knowing look. “Seems like her only friends are her partner in crime, Jaime, and lovesick Henry, who still hasn’t figured out he’s not getting any. Ever .”

Campbell locked eyes with Tammi and, proving just how infatuated he was, asked, “Her aura? What color do you see? ”

“Oh, I can’t see colors. That’s for professionals like Mrs. Dolly.

” She laid both hands on the table, splaying her fingers wide.

“I feel emotions.” She touched her forefinger and thumb together on each hand, forming a loose triangle.

“Plus, I ask a lot of questions. Some may call it meddling, but I figure it’s part of my service.

The advice portion of the beautification routine. ”

“Of course,” he agreed, thinking this might be the oddest conversation of his life.

“There’s this… sadness about her. Something soft beneath those unfortunate clothes. But also something sturdy enough, capable enough, to make you hesitate before prying.” Her brow wrinkled in deliberation. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “It does.”

“I’m not surprised, you know.”

He tilted his head, trailing his finger along a phone number— Scott, 555-1676 —scratched into the wood. “About?”

“That it’s Fontana.”

Campbell let out a short laugh and lifted a hand, physically shoving the idea away. “Hold on, you’ve got the wrong idea.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Listen,” he said, annoyed—when a month ago, this conversation would have amused him. “Any differences in my modus operandi are on me, and nothing but. Call it old age if you want, but I’m just evaluating my business methods.”

“Business methods? Jeez, Camp, you’re a case.

” Tammi spun her glass on the table, grinning.

“You and Fontana’ll be great together. Two turtles who don’t want to share their shells.

Loners, when it comes right down to it.” She shrugged.

“Cameras and trees. Really not much difference. Something to hide behind.”

“That isn’ t it.”

“What is it then, sugar?”

“I’m just…it’s”—he paused long enough to down the remains of his watery scotch—“I’m not.

..I’m not sure I want to be me anymore. Campbell True, ace photographer.

Able to leap small buildings in a single bound, screw like Casanova, and compose pictures like Gustave Le Gray.

But a horrible guy when it comes to the rest. The important stuff. ”

“Gustoff Le who?”

“Never mind. Coming home induces a troubled mental state. Forget I mentioned it.” He set his empty glass down with a quiet thunk , then ran his finger absently over the phone number scratched into the table.

Scott was just another poor fool looking for love.

“Hell, honestly, I’m exhausted. Mostly with myself. ”

Tammi reached for his hand. This time he noticed the difference—warmth without heat—and he didn’t pull away. “Your father did a number on you with his mumbo-jumbo crap. What a bad boy you were. How much grief you caused him once he married Celia.”

She let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around his.

“I know what a truly awful human being she was. I felt her poison clear to my toes whenever she came into the shop to buy her fancy conditioner. Never stopped for a cut or color. The place wasn’t near good enough for her.

The people weren’t good enough.” She gathered a breath, and he was almost afraid of what she was gearing up to say.

“I had her ticket a long time ago. I watched her whenever the two of you were in the same room. Her eyes ate you up like a slice of pie. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” he said, his stomach starting to churn. “No, you didn’t.”

“Reminded me of a spider spinning a web. Lor-dy , she couldn’t forget I got to you first.”

“She never got to me.” He yanked his hand free, the pulse in his head running wild.

“I didn’t say she did.”

“But you believe it. Everyone in town believes it.”

“To the devil with what everyone believes. Just follow your heart, Camp.”

He barely covered his amazement. “My heart ? Tam, are you crazy?”

“Of course I am. How stupid of me.” She let out a muted laugh, swiped her lipstick again, and gave him a lopsided smile. “Go forth and conquer, Campbell. And try—for me, for old times’ sake—to be happy.”

Rising from the booth, he looked down at her, flashes of the past flickering through his mind. And, for once, that felt okay. “Those days, I want you to know I wouldn’t trade them for anything. You were a safe haven in the midst of chaos.”

“Go.” Tammi waved him off with a flick of her fingers. “Seeing how growing boys and grouchy old farts sleep later than the rest of us, you have until morning. And, anyway, you’ll be just across the field.”

She made the familiar pick-a-lock gesture against her lips, golden eyes glistening.

“Until morning,” he whispered as the Nook’s door swung shut behind him, the humid rush of air against his face carrying the promise of rain.

He tipped his head back, studying the endless night sky, stars peeking through like jewels scattered across black velvet.

A late-night jog might be in order, to help clear his mind.

Mary Francis had decided to stay at the Rise, so the boys weren’t alone.

Could he keep it casual? Because he wasn’t sure he could turn a blind eye to instinct, ignore the steadfast urge to protect himself from Fontana.

Not to mention dealing with this newfound feeling of wanting to protect her .

Jesus , was he cracked?

He hadn’t been this consumed, this tormented, since—well, since never.

An alarmingly vivid, painter-pant-and-ponytail picture of Fontana popped into his mind, tensing every muscle in his body.

The attendant thrum of excitement rocked him, strong enough to have him palming the side of his car.

He could have sworn he smelled honeysuckle, a plant that wouldn’t bloom again until April.

Campbell shook his head in futile denial.

Fuck it, he was nuts.

He was also whistling when he gunned the engine and tore out of the parking lot.