My brow crinkles at the thought. I want a charge left between Ashe and me, not because I enjoy heartbreak, but because it might hurt worse knowing that our love could change to nothing so quickly. “It’s sad how fast that can happen.”

“Not all love stories are forever. It’s good we’re doing this together,” he says, like he understands something I don’t.

I don’t argue. He probably does.

Sunny’s Carolina Beach is my dream come to life. All the right words pop into my head when we walk in. Stunning. Pristine. Inviting. Friendly. Elegant. Supercool. Perfect.

He used my sunburst design for the store’s layout (duh, Sunny’s). Aisles extend outward from the curved ball of the front end, allowing customers to see almost the entire store at first glance, with Sunny’s signature gazebo pulling them to the middle. Beach murals adorn the free wall space, with a wide section at the front honoring the town itself and Sunny’s owners and managers, with portraits next to their titles. My conceptualized displays adorn every end cap. The What’s for Dinner? display boasts a rectangular assortment of gourmet taco kits, cheeses, and a rainbow of tomatoes, avocados, onions, and peppers. He even used my Oasis idea—palm trees and blankets to create a wall of books, sunglasses, sunblock, beach toys, and beach chairs. Everything needed for a day at the beach.

It’s a heaven of a grocery store.

Grady breathes out beside me. “This is all you. Isn’t it?”

“If you could walk through my brain, this is what you’d see,” I gawk. “It’s beautiful.”

“There’s the asshole now.”

He motions to the store’s left, where Ashe stands, arms folded around his checklist clipboard, talking with another employee in the dairy section. He looks as handsome as ever in his dark blue chinos, crisp white button-down, and fitted blue vest.

My nerves knot into tight balls, and my determination wavers into regret. This is the store I imagined, yet I don’t belong here.

“How do you want to play this?” he asks.

“I’ll talk to him alone,” I say.

“Sure you don’t want your cane? You might need a blunt object.”

I scoff, glad I left it in the truck. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course, you’ll be fine,” he smiles. “You’re Marina fucking Strange.” Then, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and wanders into the store.

I beeline toward Ashe. He doesn’t see me coming, but the grocery manager standing with him does. “Can I help you find something, ma’am?”

Ashe turns, and his smile unravels like a pulled shoelace, falling apart and dangling limply at the sides.

“Hi, Ashe,” I say, determined to keep my smile though he lost his. Nothing disarms a person quicker than a smile and a kind word. “How are you?”