Page 36 of Small Town, Big Storm

“How many more do we need?”she asks.

I lift the almost overflowing bag.“I think we have enough, peanut.”

“I’m not a peanut.”

“Okay peanut-who’s-not-a-peanut”—Poppy chuckles—“we have enough.”

Holly nods briskly, my daughter clearly more focused on the gathering ingredients than lame jokes (something I can definitely appreciate).“What else do we need?”

“Garlic,” I say.“And Italian sausage?—”

Her nose wrinkles.“I don’t like sausage.”

I almost tell her we can skip it, but something has my eyes flicking to Poppy’s.

She just looks away from me and says, “I don’t think you’ve ever tried this kind, sweetie.And if you don’t like it,” she adds over the protest forming on Holly’s face, “you can eat around it.”

Holly pauses.Considers that.

Then nods.“Okay.”A beat.“Where’s the sausage?”

I point her in that direction, lips twitching when she bustles over to the case.

A woman smiles as she watches her go by.Then her gaze drifts toward me?—

Her eyes go wide, her mouth drops open, and she nearly plows her cart into a display of apples as she rushes to glance between me and Poppy and Holly.

In an instant, that itch between my shoulder blades I felt as a kid, the tightness in my chest, the shame eating away at my bones…it’s all back.

Or maybe that’s the fucking letter burning a hole in my pocket.

The one the lawyer gave me when he went over my dad’s will with Rain and me.

The one I have absolutely no intention of opening.Ever.

So why’s it in your pocket, asshole?

Because—

“I know,” someone hisses behind me.“Can you believe it?”

Okay, nope.It’s not the letter.It’s this fucking town.

“Do you think heknows?”

“How could he not?”the first woman says.“He’s here with them.”

“That’s true.And Holly was chattering his ear off.”

“I know, and it’s sweet.But do you think he’ll stick around long enough?—”

“Come on,” Poppy says, wrapping her hand around my arm and drawing me forward.“Holly can’t be left to her own devices in a grocery store for long.”

I’m letting her tug me along—and away from those fucking voices, the judgment, theshame—before I actually process what she said.

“She can’t?”I blink.“Why?”

A flick of her gaze, and although it’s short, our eyes barely connecting, I know she heard the women talking too.But she doesn’t comment on that, just says, “Because?—”