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Scarlet sighed, stood, and gawked at the text message. A tickle of resentment flickered. “What are you doing snooping?” She snatched the phone from her aunt and slipped it into her pocket. Flickers of resentment ignited, but Scarlet doused her doubts at his ultimatum. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she forced a smile to avoid Aunt Laura’s judgment more than facing his abrupt and demanding words.
The last thing she wanted to do was talk to her aunt about her love life, so she grabbed the crate and headed for the back door. “Ready to sell? You’re right, there’s nothing keeping me here except the fact that you’re drowning in debt and can’t reach the canned goods on the top shelf. Not without a ladder which you can’t climb.”
“I think you can’t avoid facing life with Humdrum Harry and are using the sale as an excuse to stay longer.”
“Henry, not Harry, and he’s hardworking, not humdrum.” Scarlet corralled a rolling grape.
Aunt Laura kicked an onion. It bounced off the crate and followed the orange to the far-reaching underbelly of the island. “Marriage ultimatum via text message. Classy. Really. You know who’s a real southern gentleman—”
“Stop.”
“Why? You used to follow that boy around all over town. Your crush was bigger than 1980s hair. You’d fall at his feet if he’d ask you to.”
“Not falling at any man’s feet, especially his.” Scarlet shoved open the back door. “I don’t live in La La Laura Land. You might live carefree, but I live in the real world. I’ve built a real life with a real foundation with a real future. I’m not falling for another dreamer that has no future.” She shoved her backside against the door, but it stuck at the door jamb. She heaved her body weight into it, and it swung ajar but bounced back and slammed against her. “Duke Trenton means nothing to me.”
The door flew out from behind her, and she tumbled against a roadblock.
Vegetables and fruits and her sneaker-clad feet took flight. Produce and her body landed in a puddle on the icy asphalt.
Pebbles ground into her palm and her hip throbbed from impact, but nothing startled her more than two size eleven men’s dress shoes pointing at her.
Khaki pants belted a thin waist, white button-up shirt was instantly stained with red tomato juice.
Don’t let it be. Don’t let it be.
She forced her gaze a little higher to the distractingly delectable Duke Trenton.
* * *
Duke dabbed at the red smudges marring his pressed button-up. The sticky goo clung to his fingers, so he flicked it to the ground. His pulse hammered. “No. Not today.” No way he’d get his business loan dressed like this.
He could hear Mr. Marwood now. “Another prank gone wrong? Didn’t you learn anything in high school?”
Dainty hands pressed to his chest, smearing the foul, gut-curdling aroma into some impressionist painting. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”
He clasped her fingers, halting her assault. Perfect green fringed by long, dark lashes stole his focus. They were not just any green eyes. They were Scarlet’s leaf green that matched the color of their childhood secret tree.
His pulse gushed through his ears faster than the creek down beyond the parking lot after last night’s rain.
He’d thought of a million different ways he could bump into her casually and strike up old conversations since she’d returned, but this wasn’t what he’d imagined. One more reason she’d never take a chance on a has-been baseball star turned worthless rancher.
His hands tightened, holding her closer to his chest. Breath abandoned him. “Scar?”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not twelve.” She jerked away, breaking their connection, yet the static remained in the air around them. Did she feel it?
Obviously not, because if she did, she wouldn’t be on her knees tossing rotten produce into the cracked wood box along with his perfect organic pieces. He squatted by her side and picked his nutritious produce out of the garbage. “Stop.”
She rested back on her heels, blinking at him as if seeing him for the first time. It had been ten years. Not much about her had changed. Heart-shaped face. Full, kissable lips. Small shoulders, thin waist, long legs. The only difference was her straight, perfect hair.
He preferred the messed and less pressed version of Scar…Scarlet. Nothing in the world stirred him more than her sitting up after a long reading session lying by his side under their tree, leaves and sticks in her hair that he’d pluck out one by one. Such beauty.
“This is just great.” White puffs of air flew from her mouth.
He wanted to offer her his coat, but he’d left it in the truck figuring he’d only be a minute or two and that it wasn’t that cold with the snow only dusting the rooftops and cars. He’d planned on leaving the produce at the back door since he didn’t have time to stop and chat. When he spoke to her, he wanted it to be perfect; he wanted to get the business loan first so he could promise her he wasn’t the boy who blew his future on a prank gone wrong. A man who behaved like his father.
“What are you doing here?” She grumbled.
“Your aunt called shrilling about a desperate need for produce, so I rushed over here. I didn’t know if you were still here.” Liar—he’d kept tabs on her remotely through Laura since she’d arrived.
