She pulls back with a smile. “I understood why you’ve stayed in hiding, darlin’.”

“I’m not hiding,” I defend myself.

“No? What do you call a month of living here and only leaving your house a handful of times?”

“Adjusting.”

Mrs. Rooney laughs and shakes her head. “You’re something else. Your mama talks about those two little boys constantly. Tell me how old they are now.”

I fill her in a little bit more about my life. She tells me how her husband took a bad fall and broke his leg. She’s been working extra hours to help out. I tell her all about the boys, Philadelphia, and my bakery—all the good things.

However, the elephant in the room is only growing with each passing minute.

“Presley,” she says in a soft voice. “I’m really sorry about your husband passing.”

My lips form a thin line. It’s like every time someone else brings it up, I’m forced back there. Grief is a never-ending battle that drains you of who you once were. I’ll never be the same person I was five months ago. I’ve been forced to toughen up, face life head on, and protect myself at all costs.

“I appreciate that.”

“What happened, honey? You’re so young to have such great loss this early in life.”

I force out a laugh to avoid the question. “I don’t feel that young. I remember everyone saying that your thirties are the best years. I’m thirty-five but feel seventy.” I hope she doesn’t pick up on the deflection. She’s one of the few people I don’t want to give a half-truth. At the same time, it’s the only way to protect my kids, and myself.

“Wait till you’re sixty!” She grins. “Did you see that Zach is living here too? It’s like fate brought you back together. Oh he’s with that Felicia who is still the same scheming girl she always was.” She gives a dramatic sigh. “Have you seen him at all?”

The phone rings, giving me the perfect excuse to not answer her. She hops up and tugs me into her arms again before pushing back to take a look at me. “You always were a pretty girl, but you sure grew to be a beautiful woman. No matter how old you feel, you’re still gorgeous.”

She heads to the back to grab the phone, and I place a twenty on the counter. This place is so different from the city. It’s much more forgiving here. They don’t worry about money because everything is the I’ll-get-you-later mentality.

“You know she’s right,” the voice I’d know anywhere says from behind me.

I turn, grabbing the bag of groceries. “Right about what?”

His deep chuckle slides from his lips. I hold on to the annoyance I felt a few seconds ago. We go from not seeing each other for weeks to him being everywhere. I prefer option A. “That you’re still gorgeous.”

“Really, Zachary?” I say with condescension. “Where’s your girlfriend?” I look around him, pretending I actually want to see the evil bitch. “Leave her at the plastic surgeon? Psychiatrist? Either one is appropriate.”

I insult Felicia for several reasons, but mainly because I want to see what he does. Does he defend her? Does he ignore me again? It seems he doesn’t like bringing her up, and I’d like to know why. Wyatt clearly hates her, as do most people who’ve had to endure being around her.

“Felicia’s at work. I’m sure she’d love for you to stop by.” He raises his brow.

“I’d rather gnaw on my arm. Besides, she didn’t like you and me talking before.”

He grins before leaning in. My heart races as he gets closer. He places a five-dollar bill on top of the bill I put down. “There’s a good reason for that, darlin’.” He’s so close I can’t stop myself from breathing him in. All I can sense is him. The sun, grass, dirt, and all Zach. He smells like home.

The bag in my arms begins to slide out of my grip.

“You need help with that?” he asks.

I was so lost in him that I forgot I was holding something. Dammit. I hike the bag over my shoulder and attempt a smile. “I’m good.”

“Yeah, Pres. You sure are.” I would swear he’s hitting on me.

“Are you trying to make this worse than it is?”

His eyes study me. “By saying you’re still beautiful or by saying you’re doing good? I don’t see how I’m making anything worse.”

Maybe I’m being stupid. “Sorry.”

I need to get away from him. I walk toward the door, but Zach follows. He pushes the door open, forcing me to have to squeeze past him. I pray that Wyatt stayed and will save me.

No such luck.

“How’d you get here?” Zach asks when he notices there are no other cars but his.

Wyatt had to run a few towns over to get some things for Cooper. I needed the truck and he did too. So he said he’d drive me and either pick me up on the way back or I could walk. Of course going a few towns over meant hours that I’d be stuck in town, so I chose to walk. It’s only a few miles and would give me some time to think. But I secretly hoped he would wait.

“Wyatt. Before he apparently left.”

“I just saw him. He said since I was here he could go. I didn’t know he was waiting for you.”

Fucking Wyatt. I swear the bastard planned this. He’s dead. “How nice of him.”

“I can take you back to the ranch,” Zach offers. “It’s your call.”

I don’t really want to walk, but there’s no way I’m getting in that truck. That truck is the truck. The place where so many nights were spent doing things we shouldn’t have been doing. A lot of love was exchanged in that front seat. I don’t think I can be in there with him.

Zach looks over where my eyes are and his shoulders slump. It’s as if we’ve both had the same realization.

“I can walk.” My life is painful and complicated already. I’m not going to make this harder on myself. Being close to him is hard enough because I keep going backward. I know we don’t have a shot. I don’t even want one, but he’s familiar. And I’m alone. He reminds me of comfort.

He looks over with a hint of disappointment. “You sure?”

I smile and nod. “Thanks for the offer.”

He tosses his keys in the air and catches them as he walks away. I take two steps, and the sky opens up. Rain falls hard and fast, soaking my hair and clothes.

I rush to get under the awning, but Zach jumps back out of his truck and grabs the bag from me. “Come on. You’re not walking in this.”

Defeat flows through me. He wins again.

“Y OU COLD?” ZACH ASKS AS I climb in. I’m shaking, but it has nothing to do with being cold. My body is pressed against the door, trying to keep as much distance as possible between us.

“I’m just fine.”

The drive isn’t long, but each second feels like an hour. I look around and smile. “You’re kidding me.” I laugh as my fingers touch the sticker on the dash. When Zach was playing a game in Nashville, I wanted to give him something that would make him remember me. It was only two nights, but I was young and dumb. There was a sticker that read: Love Your Cowgirl. I stuck it on the dash, hoping he wouldn’t get pissed.