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Something clenched in my stomach. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She laughed. “Why you apologizin’? I’m the one who forgot to tell you. You sit tight. I’ll come get you.”

She hung up before I could thank her, and four minutes later, her dark silhouette made its way across the store. At the door, she gave me a huge smile. “Store don’t open til 11:00.”

Of course. That made sense.

She waved me inside and locked the door behind us. Her navy sheath dress looked as if it had been made custom for her, and when she turned, a peek-a-boo triangle showed off a generous portion of her back. The woman was exquisite, and I sagged as I pulled at a stray string jutting from the seam of my shirt.

While I stuffed my jealousy into an imaginary box, Ivy chattered about her plans for me. First, she showed me the employee entrance and the code for the door. Then, she gave me a more comprehensive tour of the building.

Stock rooms. An employee break room. The lower portion of the rickroom. The Sugar Lounge on the third floor was an upscale bar in keeping with the wealthy hipster vibe of the place. Last, she took me to the top floor again, where we finally came across other humans, mostly men, all clad in a relaxed version of business casual.

Ivy took my arm and led me to the conference table in the center of the room. “I have all your paperwork ready. Let me just grab it, and we’ll get started. Go on and have a seat.”

Skin prickling at the eyes on me, I settled into a chair at the dark wood table and shot surreptitious glances toward the other employees. A few sent smiles my way. Several leaned toward their desk mates to whisper. Warmth seeped into my cheeks, and I trained my gaze on the wood before me.

My hand flattened over the fine craftsmanship. Bold. Familiar. Was this Ravi’s work?

“Well, hello there,” said a smooth voice.

Startling, I locked into a pair of dark eyes set in a bewitchingly handsome face. He had curly black hair, a white button-up that fit him to perfection, and the kind of glint in his eye that spoke of temptation.

“Hi,” I said faintly.

He slid into the chair across the table from me. “Who are you, and what small miracle brought you to be sitting right here, right now?”

I laughed at the line, and a crooked lure of a smile lit his face.

“I’m Shay,” I said.

A keener interest deepened his intensity. The playfulness vacated his expression, replaced by a scrutiny that made me think my name meant something to him. “Shay Honeycutt.” His voice was deep and velvety, and he drew his vowels out in that North Carolina way, though the accent was subtle.

“You’ve heard of me?”

He made a careless circular motion with his hand. “You’re a legend. Went toe-to-toe with Cam’s dad at a city council meeting when you were just fifteen, right?”

The people at the desks nearby surely couldn’t hear, but I lowered my voice anyway. “How do you know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that, love.”

That council meeting was the reason Cam’s father had always hated me. He was arguing in favor of shunting city money toward a riverfront park in Sugar Springs without mentioning that the funds would come from the expansion of resources for the soup kitchen in Sweetwater. He’d drafted huge boards to show off the elaborate playgrounds, picnic areas, and walking trails that would comprise this magical park.

After he made his presentation—to thunderous applause—I stood at the microphone and reminded him in front of a full house that adding leisure activities for the well-off in Sugar Springs should take a backseat to ensuring the children in Sweetwater were fed at night.

I might have even pointed out how often that soup kitchen supplied my own meager dinners when I was a small girl.

When you’re five years old and freezing, and your stomach is so empty it feels concave, you don’t care about a playground. All you want is someone to hand you a bag of Goldfish.

The look in Shep’s eyes—God, I could still picture it. Utter contempt. Simply because I pointed out food trumps fancy parks. It was basic Maslow’s Hierarchy. What did he have to be so mad about?

“You convinced the entire town to adopt you as their Sweetheart,” the man across from me said.

“I didn’t convince them. I merely made an argument at a city council meeting.”

The stranger chuckled. “To standing ovation, I heard.”

Beneath my cheap satin shirt, my skin grew clammy. “Who have you been talking to exactly?”