Luck must have been on my side because a sign for Chuck’s Grocery Store stood out like a beacon in the middle of a hurricane.

Pulling my truck into the lot, I parked a good distance from the entrance, not that the parking lot was huge. There were only a handful of other vehicles in the lot, one being a little red car parked across from me a lane over.

Approaching the store, I gave myself a pep talk and tried to remember that this was not the big city. Things were going to be different. Not bad, but different.

I passed by the shopping cart area and paused a few feet inside the store. There weren’t many aisles to choose from, but there was a decent floral area and from what I could tell, a remarkable bakery section. The scent of fresh bread and chocolate had my stomach growling the second the smells wafted across my nose.

Immediately, my body began moving toward the intoxicating fragrance on its own accord. I was just a passenger along for the ride. My feet were moving and before I knew it, I was standing in front of the bakery stand without any knowledge of how I’d come to be there.

“Can I help you, sir?”

There were so many choices. More than I’d ever seen at a small grocery store, which New York had plenty of. The options were endless. Breads, cakes, and pies. I wanted it all.

“I don’t suppose you know which dessert Lily Chisolm likes the best, do you?”

“Well, now. You must be the hockey player coming to stay with her and Mr. Chisolm,” the older lady said with a sweet southern drawl. She had kind eyes that reminded me of a grandmother. The type you’d see in the movies since I’d never had one myself.

“Apparently word gets around.”

She had the decency to laugh as her cheeks reddened. Those same kind eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Sorry, ma’am,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just been a long drive.”

“It’s nothing, young man. I apologize for saying it out loud. You’re pretty popular around these parts. Coach’s protégé and all that jazz. We’re just excited to have you in our town.

“Now, to answer your question. Mrs. Lily likes anything with custard or cherries. I have a Boston cream pie that she would absolutely love. If you want to look around the store, I’ll get that all set up for you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you. . .”

“You can call me Betsy.”

“Well, Betsy, I’m sure you’ll be seeing me plenty. Got to find a way to stay on Lily’s good side while I overcrowd their home.”

She laughed genuinely that time. Those eyes crinkling at the corners, the valleys growing deeper with time. “Well, you’re absolutely headed in the right direction.”

Leaving the bakery stand, I searched around for a bathroom to clean myself up a bit after the long drive. I was surprised to find it immaculately tidy. I’m not sure why I expected anything different. The entire store was neat and polished from top to bottom. The owner must have taken great pride in his business.

Something I understood.

When I finished, I took a few minutes to walk around the store, watching a few people grab their canned goods and local meats. A magazine rack near the entrance caught my eye and I glanced over the selections. They were over a week old, except for the hottest tabloid fodder.

Quickly, I grabbed a copy and scoured through the pages. I wasn’t front news anymore since my ex, Nina, sank her claws into someone else and she settled the lawsuit I had against her, but when it was a slow news week in the sports world something about me always popped up.

It was times like that I was glad I didn’t know my parents. I’d hate to know the embarrassment I would have caused them, even though none of it was my fault. I would have disgraced them either way.

I returned the magazine back to the rack when a couple started ushering their brood over to the single register. Moseying back to the entrance, I stopped at the floral stand.

Flowers were always a nice gesture. But I was completely overwhelmed as I took in the selection.

Maybe just a pie would be fine.

Chapter Three - Autumn

Quickly, I slid onto the driver’s seat of my car and tossed my bag on the floor of the passenger side. The ignition rumbled as it came alive after I pressed the start button. I stared at my rearview mirror watching protectively for Rory to get into her car. It may be the middle of the day in an overall safe town, but I’d spent too many days and nights in New York looking over my shoulder to do anything less.

Once I saw her brake lights turn on, I backed out of the parking spot and turned the vehicle out of the lot heading for the store at the edge of town. The drive was no more than five minutes since only a handful of lights existed down the main thoroughfare and they were all green. Apparently today was my lucky day.

Once I parked the car, I dug into the bag and retrieved my wallet and the list of groceries Mom had requested. All of the ingredients for chicken korma graced the white paper in my mom’s delicate cursive handwriting. Her penmanship was something I’d always been jealous of.

Inside the store, it didn’t take long for me to find what I needed. The layout hadn’t changed in the six years since I left and I doubted it would in the next sixty. Unlike the big grocery chains, Chuck’s Grocery didn’t have the latest technology where you could scan your items as you went and then pay via a mobile app. They were old school and still tagged each individual item with the price tag. There wasn’t even a self-checkout to be found.

Mr. Granger stood at the register, his face wrinkled with smile and laugh lines. The kind you hope for as you age. The kind that showed you lived a good life. He waved at the family that had just finished checking out before turning back to the register. His eyes shot up when he noticed me standing there.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Autumn Easterly,” he said as I began placing my items on his tiny conveyor belt. “I’d heard you were back in town, but I learned long ago not to believe everything you hear.”

I didn’t have to force a smile for Mr. Granger. My happiness to see him was honest and sincere. It helped that I used to work part time in the grocery store when I was in high school to help buy my first laptop and he’d paid me a little extra under the table when I’d tutored his grandson.

“It’s the truth this time. Mark that one in the history books,” I said and admired his gravely chuckle. I’d missed that sound.

“I can only hope the reason for your visit is nothing more than the telephone game then.” He started sliding my goods across the scanner as I narrowed my eyes at him shrewdly.

“What are they saying?” I said apprehensively. It wasn’t that I cared what the town said about my return. I knew how Ashfield gossip worked. But I didn’t want to cause any damage to my parents or their reputation, especially if it wasn’t within miles of the truth.

Mr. Granger had the decency to blush as he released a nervous chortle under his breath. The type where you’re embarrassed for someone else, but you aren’t quite sure how to tell them.

“Well, you and I both know it wasn’t anything salacious. So, you might as well spill the beans.”

I listened as he loudly whispered what some rumors were of my return. If I were in a lesser frame of mind, I would retreat to the only home I’d known with my tail tucked between my legs, but it was all too sensational to give it more than a giggle in passing.

Once Mr. Granger had finished bagging the items and I’d paid with my card instead of Mom’s cash, surprised to see he had finally upgraded to a credit card reader, I left him with a smile and a wave. I couldn’t help the snicker as I turned to exit. His old cheeks were still a ruddy, blotched mess from our conversation.

I was too busy looking over my shoulder at my old employer to notice the solid wall of muscle in my pathway.

“Oomph,” I mumbled as I impulsively pressed a hand to the mass as I took a step back. Luckily, I held the bag of groceries in my other or else there would have been a mess to clean up on aisle three.

But as I turned my gaze from Mr. Granger to the form I’d bounced off of, I realized there was still a chance for a mess on aisle three. I wasn’t sure if it was pure unadulterated lust or just my synapses not firing on all cylinders, but my hand clenched the stranger’s white t-shirt in my fist as I stared up at him slack-jawed. Maybe I had been gone too long and I was seeing a mirage, as if I’d been lost in the desert searching for water. And he was certainly a tall drink of water.

Double my height and a wall of pure muscle, the man before me lifted the edge of his mouth in a smirk as I blinked uncontrollably. I didn’t recall seeing him before, but again, I had been gone for long enough that new residents made Ashfield their home.

“Um. . .sorry,” I said, reluctantly unclenching my hand and releasing his shirt. I winced at the clump of wrinkles I left behind. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“That’s okay. No harm done.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to choosing a flower arrangement.” I was already overstaying my welcome, and as he turned his attention back to the display, it was clear that he didn’t need me lingering.

But obviously my brain was still a muddled mess and I asked, “Need any help?” I may not be a botanist, but with my event planner job, I’d put together a few floral arrangements in my day.

He huffed out a laugh and it wrapped around me like a warm, heavy blanket. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in its comfort.