Page 4 of Love Expert

“Sure. But the one thing folks around here hate more than out-of-towners waltzing through are townies who left.” She clicks her tongue. “I was manhandled, had a gun pointed at my face, shouted at, and almost arrested, all within twenty minutes of crossing the railroad tracks.” She whistles under her breath. “I justknewPlainview would welcome me back with open arms.”

ROUND THREE

MAGGIE

I stay hidden within the dusty, messy walls of my paternal grandmother’s house fordaysafter my run-in with the yin and yang detectives Caster and Devereaux.

One is grumpy; the other is overly yappy and nice.

One glares; the other grins.

One strokes his gun for fun; the other allows his eyes to do all the stroking.

And isn’t ashamed of it.

One is my next-door neighbor, and the other drops by twice more in the days after our midnight rendezvous.

Cars pass my house on a near-constant rotation,towniesdesperate for a glimpse inside poor Mrs. Sava’s home now that her traitorous granddaughter has returned to enjoy the spoils of an uncontested will.

That gold-digging, ungrateful bitch… is probably what they’re saying.

I avoid Main Street like my life depends on it, electing to order the things I need online—small-town no-no number two—and since Ramone is so eager to assist, I talk him into helping me cart my new fridge inside, haul the old one out,andhead on down to grab me some groceries.

You want sugar, Maggie? Well sure, it would be my pleasure!

What about a couple of steaks, too? I’ll get us a bag-o-salad, and a bottle of something in the ten-to-twenty-dollar range, then I’ll fire up the grill, and we can toast to old friendships. Maybe invite your new neighbors, since Billy is way too proud to ask for an invitation.

Pass.

I spend every spare moment I have going through my grandma’s things, combing through the house room by room, not to clear the place of valuables, but to clear it of clutter. I counted seventy-something teapots before I gave up, wrapped each one in a tea towel, then packed them away for storage. There were over three thousand books on shelves lining the walls, but almost every single one suffered some kind of weird spotting issue that looked terrifyingly like mold, so I pulled them down, packed them in plastic boxes, and stored them in the garage for later inspection.

My grandmother’s closet still had clothes from the turn of the century, and smelled stale, kinda like salt and vinegar chips, so that, too, was cleaned out, and when I pulled the old sheets off her bed and discovered sweat stains in the shape of her body, I carted that monstrosity down the stairs and all the way to the curb for collection.

Sorry, Grandma. But I won’t be holding on to that.

I work myself to exhaustion for days, humming to whatever music comes on my Spotify playlist, and fielding phone calls from prospective employers,because a gal needs to work to live.But on my seventh day in town—eighth?—when the looky-loo drive-bys slow and the gossip mill hasprobablydied off a little, I stare into my fridge, my stomach growling from hunger, and finally admit: I’ve run out of food.

I lived on Greek yogurt yesterday, which is high in protein and all, but eating it for three meals in a row gets old fast, and the day before that, I polished off the last of the carbs.

Exhaling a long sigh, I slam my fridge and spin on my heels. Snatching my phone off the charger, then my keys off the hook, I swing my front door wide, only to skitter to a stop when I almost trample a sweet little boy whose hand was—is—up, ready to knock.

“Oh my gosh!” I jump back a step and press my palm over my pounding chest. Panic floods my veins in an instant because I know this face. Good Lord, I know who this kid is! Adrenaline attacks my stomach in waves as I poke my head through my front door and look to the right. Then left. I search the street, and just to make doubly sure, I peek right again and study the side of Billy Caster’s house.

God forbid the grump accuse me of abducting his child or something.

“Uh…” My heart thrums out of control, racing faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Swallowing the sticky lump of nerves in my throat, I bring my eyes down to Billy Caster’s freakin’ twin.

I haven’t seen that man since I was eight years old, and I swear, this kid right in front of me, this green-eyed, gap-toothed, mud-smudged boy, isjust Billy from twenty-five years ago. It’s like they took him, froze him, and now here he is, reanimated and ready to continue life where he left off. “H-hello.” I lower into a crouch and lock the groan of aching thighs deep inside my chest. Meeting his eyes, I offer a soft smile. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“My name is Jeremy.” He thrusts his hand between us. “I live next door.”

“O-okay.” I transfer my phone and keys to the left and accept his hand with my right. “I’m Maggie, and I live here.”

“My dad said your name is Magnolia.”

Warmth floods my cheeks, tickling and teasing enough to make my stomach flip. “My full name is Magnolia, but no one really calls me that. D-do you need something? Where’s your mom and dad?”

“My mom doesn’t live in that house anymore.”