Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

NOVA

Arcadia Creek looked like something out of a 1950s movie. Idyllic homes wrapped in porches lined the road leading to Main Street, which was emblazoned with red and gold flags bearing panthers mid-leap—obviously the high school mascot. All it was missing was a parade down the center of the road with the mayor waving from the back seat of a red convertible. One word popped into my mind when I saw this place for the first time yesterday: quaint.

Ironic, since that’s the word my ex most frequently used to describe me, a born and bred New Yorker. If I was quaint, this place was primitive.

I’d only been in town for twenty-four hours and already felt out of my element. The slow northern Texas twang was soft here, lilting, and entirely the opposite of the brisk New Yorker speech I was used to.

It was like stepping back in time, which I still wasn’t sure was a good thing. Certainly not for Ben and Alice, who had been removed from an elite private school in Manhattan. Yesterday, I peeked at the elementary school they would be enrolled at down the road, and it was—you guessed it—quaint .

“Mom, can we get ice cream?” eight-year-old Ben asked, hanging onto my cart with both hands, his round brown eyes peering up at me. We were walking the aisles of the small town market, the wheel swiveling like a spasm every few feet.

“I want root beer floats!” Alice said, joining her brother’s campaign.

“Gigi probably has ice cream,” I told them, pushing the grocery cart away from the frozen foods aisle and back toward the snacks. Carter had always been a stickler for organic foods and avoiding high fructose corn syrup. It was important, he’d said, to keep our bodies clean from toxins and our kids free of harmful dyes. I tossed a box of Fruit by the Foot into my cart alongside the Captain Crunch we picked out earlier.

Ben shifted his eyes to me suspiciously. “Does Gigi have root beer too?” He’d jumped on Alice’s dessert train, apparently. It wasn’t often my kids joined forces and agreed. Usually their bickering forced them to opposing sides, where they each dug trenches and held strong.

It almost made me want to fold on the ice cream. A quick calculation of what I had in the cart proved I’d already spent more than I could afford by hate-buying the junk food. Besides, now I had to balance those choices with something better. “Let’s swing by the produce again,” I said, earning scowls from both of my blond-haired little sprites. I didn’t know why they were so short when I was a solid five-foot-ten. No, I knew. They got their height genes from their dad.

Ben groaned, dragging his feet like I was forcing him to the dentist, but Alice skipped along, holding on to my cart and clutching her pink monkey to her side. It was one of those long-limbed stuffies with the Velcro paws that could fasten around her neck, but she mostly carried it around like a toddler on her hip, arms flipping about.

The aisle with household necessities like toilet paper and Hot Wheels caught Ben’s eye, and I groaned inwardly. His gaze flashed to me. “Can I look at the cars?”

“Yes, but we aren’t buying any today.”

He agreed, though I knew he was already working on his pitch to change my mind.

“Me too!” Alice squealed, following him toward the Hot Wheels.

“I’ll get the carrots and be right back.”

Produce was two aisles away and we were almost the only ones in the shop. We’d passed a tall guy looking at cat food earlier, but otherwise the only sounds were the tinny country music from the overhead speakers and a woman stocking soup cans. I’d never have left them in another aisle in New York, but this place felt different.

How many vegetables did one need to eat to reduce the harm caused by Captain Crunch and Fruit by the Foot? I threw a bag of baby carrots into my cart and searched the fluorescent-lit shelves for something else my kids would reasonably eat, something that wouldn’t end up as brown soup in the veggie drawer.

Cucumber, maybe? Broccoli if it was cooked and doused in teriyaki sauce. I chose both of those and threw in some celery for good measure. I could maybe persuade Alice to eat ants on a log.

The kids and I had gotten into the habit of eating on our own at least a year before Carter asked for a divorce. He usually left for work before the rest of us woke and didn’t get home until the kids were preparing for bed. I had still kept our meals to his dietary specifications on the off-chance he might join us but, by the end, that wasn’t even occasional.

The end . It was such a dramatic way to look at the death of a ten-year relationship, but so fitting. Occasionally, while I was packing our things in New York to vacate the apartment, I found memories of moments that panged my stone heart. Things that made me nostalgic for the way he used to be in college. That version of Carter had disappeared by the time Alice was born. My kids only experienced the overworked and impatient Carter, not the one who used to text me ridiculous haikus about my hands and went out of his way to bring me my favorite pad thai on his way home from work.

My blood heated anew, simultaneously angry and saddened that I’d been forced to leave my life behind—my home, my friends, my brother, my husband…my ex- husband—and go at life on my own.

Passing an endcap covered in Pringles, I tossed a few canisters on top of the broccoli. Forget my budget today. Rage-buying junk food Carter would never see was the lowest form of revenge, but it felt amazing.

If he wanted a say in our children’s lives, he should have fought for more parental rights. How easily he’d given them up made me see red when I thought about it for too long. He was supposed to get the kids for two weeks during the summer, but I had a feeling if I never booked their tickets to New York, Carter wouldn’t enforce it.

The idea of sending my babies to him for any length of time might make me break out in hives. It was a new thing my skin was doing. Super attractive, especially during legal proceedings with my ex and the lawyer he was seeing now.

I could hear my kids talking, so I knew I had another minute before they missed me. I rounded the aisle toward the ice cream, wholly committed to this new junky version of myself, and nearly collided with Cat Food Guy. “Sorry,” I said perfunctorily, moving out of his way.

He gave me a once-over so quick I almost missed it, then his face broke out in a wide smile, catching me off guard. He was one of the types who knew exactly how attractive he was, with a square jawline so sharp you could peel a cucumber with it. He was much taller than me, which was a feat in itself, and his arms were muscled in a way that was visible beneath his navy blue Arcadia Fire Department shirt.

This guy was exactly the sort of man who would have made Carter puff up his chest and flash his five-thousand-dollar watch to assert his manliness.

My eyes dropped to Cat Food Guy’s watch. Plain, black, and looked like it probably came from Walmart.

Of that, at least, I approved. Mostly because I knew Carter wouldn’t.

His light brown eyes danced with interest as they raked over me.

That was where he lost me.

My current status was: mom. Not single, not looking for love, not content being on my own, just mom . My kids took my entire focus right now. Getting checked out in the market gave me the ick.

I pushed my cart further away from him and scanned the ice cream for a good, cheap brand.

He came to stand beside me. “Have we met?”

“No,” I said and kept looking. The prices were so low here compared to what I was used to paying in New York. It surprised me what I could get for under five dollars.

“You sure?” he pressed. “I know your face.”

I quickly glanced down at his hand—no ring, so it probably was a stupid pickup line. “Let me guess. You’ve seen it in your dreams?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm like a dark chocolate brownie. “If I wanted to flirt with you, I wouldn’t have started with that.”

Noted.

I opened the freezer and pulled out the cheapest vanilla ice cream.

“You didn’t go to Arcadia High, did you?” he asked.

I glanced at him. So he was from here, a born and bred Texan. It wasn’t a surprise. He had that slow way of talking the rest of them had, like he felt around all the words instead of spitting them out at maximum efficiency.

“I’m not from here.” I started to walk away. “And if I wanted to meet a guy, it wouldn’t be in the ice cream aisle.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond when I kept walking right out of the aisle.

Oh, rice. I would need rice if I was going to make teriyaki chicken. I peeked at the kids, found them still looking at tiny cars, and went to find rice.

By the time I found the rice, I remembered more things I needed for dinner and went back to the produce section for green onions and garlic. A loud crash echoed through the store. I dropped the garlic and ran for the household necessities aisle.

Ben was on the floor surrounded by blue Hot Wheels packages, his face beet red, and Cat Food Guy kneeling beside him.

Alice stood behind them, clutching her pink monkey and biting her thumb with wide blue eyes. At six, she was too old for that. I was supposed to stop it when I caught her—which was seldom as it was—but all I saw now was a girl halfway across the country from home and stressed about getting in trouble.

Cat Food Guy picked up the long silver hooks that most of the cars had probably fallen from. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said to Ben. “I pulled the wrong orange out of a pyramid a few weeks ago and oranges rolled everywhere. Mrs. Jefferson was fixin’ to swat me with her broom.”

What was he even doing in this aisle?

“Who’s Mrs. Jefferson?” Ben asked, starting to gather the cars. The red stain on his cheeks was already beginning to fade.

“Did you see the lady with the glasses in the soup aisle?”

Ben nodded eagerly. Had they not noticed me join them? I was surprised Alice hadn’t run to clutch my legs already.

“That’s her.” Cat Food Guy lowered his voice while he slid the hooks back into their slats. “She’s been working here since I was a kid, and she used to chase us out with her broom when she thought we were up to no good.”

“But you’re a grown up,” Ben said with wide-eyed fascination.

“I am, but she still scares me. You better believe I picked up every one of those oranges before she could fetch her broom.”

Ben started picking up the cars faster and Alice joined him.

Cat Food Guy met my eyes and winked.

The gall of it. I knelt down and started picking up cars.

“Sorry, Mom,” Ben said.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Just clean up your mess.”

“We need to hurry before Mrs. Jefferson gets her broom,” Alice whispered, panicked.

Cat Food Guy cleared his throat. “She’s a nice lady,” he said, seeming to realize he’d put fear into my children.

“I’ve got this,” I said to him in a subtle dismissal.

He reached for another car and slid it onto the hook. “Almost there.”

“Are you a firefighter?” Ben asked, looking at his shirt. “I’m going to be a police officer when I grow up.”

“Why would you want to do that? They don’t get to climb ladders or fetch kittens from trees.”

Was that why he had five different kinds of cat food in his basket?

Ben looked thoughtful. “No, but I’ll get to catch bad guys.”

Cat Food Guy lifted a police car from the pile on the floor and handed it to Ben. “Cops are pretty cool.” I had a feeling he was lying for the sake of my kid, which was oddly sweet of him. But still, I didn’t need his help. It wasn’t his mess, after all.

“Really,” I repeated. “I’ve got this.”

He glanced up, leveling me with honey brown eyes. He seemed to realize I meant it and got to his feet, lifting his shopping basket .

Cat Food Guy ran a hand over his jaw and smiled. “Y’all have a pleasant day.” Then he moved down the aisle and selected a roll of paper towels before leaving.

Alice shyly waved, but Ben was staring at the police car.

He held it to his chest. “Mom, can I get this?”

“Not today. Finish cleaning these up so we can get on our way.”

Ben scowled, but he obeyed.

By the time the mess was picked up and we’d reached our cart, I was on a one-track to get out of there. This errand had already taken twice as long as it needed to and Gigi was expecting me before the dinner crowd rolled in. It was our deal—she let me live in the apartment behind the diner, and I cooked for her diner. She planned to get me on a daytime schedule while the kids were in school, but tonight I was going in to be trained.

We made our purchase and carried everything out. The market was only a block from the diner, so we’d walked.

“Oh, ma’am,” the white-haired checker said, calling to me. “You left this.” She was waving a blue Hot Wheels package.

“We didn’t buy that,” I said with a smile. Ben was going to get an earful when we got home about not sneaking things onto the conveyor belt.

“Dusty left it for you. I was supposed to slip it in your bag, but I plum forgot.”

So Cat Food Man had a name. Dusty. Was that really on his birth certificate? “You must be mistaken.”

Her white eyebrow shot up. “He paid for it, ma’am. You might as well take it.”

“For me?” Ben asked, his voice all breathy and excited.

“Go on then,” I said, resigned. “Take it so she can return to the store.”

Ben ran the distance and accepted the Hot Wheels car. When he reached my side again, I could see it wasn’t the police car I had been expecting.

It was a firetruck.

The sound that left my mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“There was a message too,” she said, chewing her lip. “Something about considering your options.”

“Alright, thank you.” I adjusted my grip on my reusable grocery bags and ruffled Ben’s blond hair. “Come on, guys. Let’s get back to Gigi’s.”

Ben beamed, sending a twinge of sadness through me. It didn’t take much to make this kid feel like a million bucks. This stranger had already given Ben more joy and attention than his own dad had in the last year.

My blood simmered, and it took great care to chill my breathing.

We skirted the diner and slipped through the alley leading to our building. It was a squat fourplex behind the diner, with tall metal stairs leading up to our front door.

A memory of Dusty winking flashed through my mind. Had he done this out of a warped sense of flirtation, or just to tease Ben about his current career choice? Which one of us did he want to consider our options?

“Don’t open that,” I said, before Ben could ruin the package.

“Why not?”

“Do we accept gifts from strangers?”

He looked bewildered. It wasn’t something we’d had to go over before. “Yes?”

“No. We don’t.” I was glad he didn’t immediately throw Halloween in my face. “Keep it wrapped up, please.”

“But Mom!”

“Ben, we don’t know what kind of person that guy was.”

“But you let me take it!”

I had, hadn’t I? Where was the manual now when I needed it? Divorcee 101: How to Handle Your Children as the Sole Parent. Subsection: Enforcing Rules.

Sighing, I dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and looked into Ben’s eyes. “Let me talk to Aunt Gigi before you open it, please.”

Ben grunted in frustration and went off to his room, closing the door with force. It wasn’t quite a slam, so I let it slide.

Probably because I hadn’t quite turned the firetruck down yet.

Alice climbed up on the counter stool and peeled off the lid to the Pringles. I was glad she didn’t throw a fit about not getting a car, too. She put a chip in her mouth, grinning around her bite, and I didn’t have the energy to tell her to put it away until she had a real dinner in her. I reached over and took a chip, popping it in my mouth.

I’d been solo parenting for years now, so why had it suddenly become so much more exhausting?

Crunching down, I sighed.

“What’s for dinner?” Alice asked.

“Teriyaki chi—” Shoot. Guess it was Pringles for dinner tonight, because I forgot the chicken.

Story of my life.