Chapter Eight

Boone

I sat in my truck, and my hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as I stared at Magnolia Mart. The damn place hadn't changed much in all the years I'd been gone. Sure, the paint might've faded, and the sign had a few more dents, but it was still the same small-town grocery store I remembered. And now it was Dolly's.

I could've driven to the next town over, picked up groceries somewhere else, and avoided this whole situation. But running wasn't what I came back here to do. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life dodging the past, dodging her. So instead, I'd been sitting here for the better part of ten minutes, trying to psych myself up just to walk into the store.

I pushed a breath out, squared my shoulders, and grabbed the door handle. There was no avoiding it now. I needed groceries, and Magnolia Mart was the only place in town. I got out of the truck and shut the door with a solid thud. My boots hit the pavement as I made my way to the entrance. The sidewalk felt a little longer today, each step heavier as the bell above the door chimed when I walked in.

My eyes went straight to her.

Goddamn, she was beautiful.

It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. For a time, while I'd been out on the rodeo circuit, her face had started to blur in my memory. I tried to convince myself I was moving on, forgetting what she looked like. But seeing her now, I realized I hadn't forgotten a damn thing. If anything, my mind had softened the edges, made her less real. But here she was, at the register, looking better than she had any right to.

I nodded at her, trying to keep my face neutral, and grabbed a cart. I'd meant to play it cool, but my nerves were buzzing.

I moved down the first aisle and stared at the shelves but not really seeing them. I'd never been much of a cook, but living on my own now meant I had to figure it out. I'd spent years eating fast food and whatever I could grab from gas stations between rodeos. Thirty-three years old and I was learning to cook like a teenager who'd just moved out of his parents' house.

I pulled out the crumpled list from my pocket. Eggs. Milk. Bread. The basics. I tossed them in the cart, moving along the aisles like I knew what I was doing. Canned soup, pasta, potatoes, some chicken breasts I figured I could throw on a pan and hope for the best. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me through a few meals.

By the time I made it to the checkout, Dolly was ringing up a couple in front of me. I grabbed a magazine from the rack—anything to keep my eyes from following her every move. It wasn't working. I flipped through it without reading a single word, trying not to stare at her the way I wanted to.

"Next," she called, her voice pulling me back to reality. I hadn't even noticed the couple had left.

I tossed the magazine I wasn't reading onto the belt and started unloading my groceries. I kept my hands busy and placed each item on the belt slowly, deliberately. Anything to keep from looking up at her.

"Interesting reading material," Dolly remarked, a small smirk on her lips as she scanned the magazine.

I shrugged and kept my tone casual. "Something that interests me."

Her smirk stayed, but I could tell there was more behind it. She continued scanning my items, moving efficiently like she always did. Even after all these years, she still had that same graceful way of doing things—like she was born to run this place. I watched her hands, her fingers working the keys on the register, and then her face, the way her hair fell over her shoulder.

"One seventeen and sixty-seven cents," she said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I fished out a hundred and a twenty and handed them to her. "Now I just hope I can figure out what to make with all of this."

She gave me a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Something was bothering her. I could feel it in the air between us. Even after all of these years, I could recognize when something was off.

"I'm sure you've got someone who can help you," she said, her voice soft, like she wasn't really talking about the groceries.

I tipped my head to the side, studying her. She knew damn well I didn't have anyone. My parents were long gone to Florida, and I didn't have brothers or sisters. Dolly knew that better than anyone. And lord knows I never cared for any of the buckle bunnies.

"You?" I suggested, my voice casual but serious.

Her eyebrows shot up, surprised. "Oh, uh, well..." she trailed off, clearly caught off guard.

I grinned. "If I remember correctly, you made one hell of a ham salad sandwich when we'd go on picnics."

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You know my mama made that, Boone. I just put it between two slices of bread."

I chuckled and shrugged. "Well, I'm sure she showed you how to make it."

Dolly laughed softly, shaking her head. That laugh—damn, I'd missed it more than I realized. She handed me my change, and I couldn't help but hold on to that moment a little longer.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," she said, still smiling but with a hint of something else—something sad or maybe distant.

I wanted to ask her what was really going on, what was going on in that head of hers.

"Guess I'll have to," I replied, tucking the change into my pocket and grabbing my bags. "If anything, I can come buy a bunch of TV dinners to keep me full."

"They'll be on sale next week for two for five dollars. Wait to stock up until then," she advised.

"Hopefully, I can make it that long." I lingered there for a second longer than I should've, hoping she'd say something else, something that would make me believe we hadn't lost everything between us. But she just nodded, her eyes flicked down to the register, back to her work.

"Take care, Boone," she said quietly.

I nodded, giving her a half-smile before turning and walking out of the store. The bell chimed above me again as the door swung shut behind me, and I felt like I'd just left something important behind.

Back in the truck, I stared down at the bags of groceries on the passenger seat. I wasn't sure if I'd ever figure out how to cook a decent meal. But what bothered me more was the feeling that I had no idea what was going on with Dolly, but I felt like it had to do with me.

For a second, I was going to ask her if she was okay and if there was anything I could do to help, but I hadn't.

At least today, I hadn't.