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Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Half Title Page
  3. Books by Katie Powner
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Dedication
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. THIRTY-FIVE
  42. THIRTY-SIX
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. THIRTY-NINE
  46. FORTY
  47. FORTY-ONE
  48. FORTY-TWO
  49. FORTY-THREE
  50. FORTY-FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. Acknowledgments
  60. About the Author
  61. Back Ads
  62. Back Cover

A knock sounded at the front door, and his stomach sank into his shoes. Oh, great. He didn’t have to answer it to know who it was. He closed the fridge and wiped his hands on his jeans. The knock came again.

“All right, I’m coming,” he muttered as the words to Travis Tritt’s “T-R-O-U-B-L-E” played in his head.

He forced a smile—a small one, nothing that might be mistaken for enthusiastic—and opened the door.

“Yoo-hoo!” Marge clutched a familiar glass pan between two potholders. “Janice told me how busy you and Ralph have been all week.” She blew hair from her green eyes and grinned. “I brought burrito casserole straight from the oven.”

He didn’t want another Marge dinner. He hated pretending he didn’t notice the hopeful look on her face every time she stopped by, or the disappointment when he didn’t invite her to join him. But his stomach grumbled, betraying him.

“You must be starving. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.” She pushed her way into the house. “Let me just set this down on the counter for you. It’s hot.”

He stood in the doorway for a second, wondering how it had come to this, then resigned himself and closed the door. A man had to eat.

He followed Marge into the kitchen, racking his brain for something to say, but the only thing he could think to comment on was the weather, and he was sure she didn’t want to talk about that.

She set the pan down and turned to him. “How about that winter storm warning, huh?”

He almost laughed. Maybe she did want to talk about that. “It’s a storm advisory, technically. But yes, it could get messy.”

“I’d rather have snow than that freezing rain.” She began cutting the casserole into squares with a serving spatula she’d magically produced from nowhere. “It’s miserable.”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. What should he say? Did he want to get into a conversation? He couldn’t very well shove her back out the door.

“So, Marge . . .”

She looked up at him expectantly. He swallowed. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he spun around as Bea and Jeremy came into the kitchen. Bea’s face stiffened when she caught sight of Marge.

Bea gave him a weighty look. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Mitch’s neck muscles tensed. She hadn’t been interrupting anything. There was nothing to interrupt. He hadn’t asked Marge to come over here. Hadn’t asked her to bring food yet again. But as he caught Bea’s eye, he suddenly felt as though he’d done something wrong.

NINE

ch-fig

Bea had heard the expression “green around the gills” before and was pretty sure that would describe her current condition. She buckled herself into the Toyota with a groan.