“Sure are,” Bud says with a wide smile.

Palmer directs Ethan toward the cleats display but doesn’t immediately follow him. Instead, she turns to face me.

“I’m going out on a limb here, but are you stalking me by any chance?” she asks, biting her bottom lip to keep from grinning.

“Ooh, fun thought, but shouldn’t a stalker come in after you?”

She laughs. “I guess technically, but not if you were spying on me and heard me tell Ethan we were coming here. Maybe you just beat us in.”

If I were spying on you, Miss Clark, you wouldn’t be such an enigma.

“I’m not sure if I should be proud that you think I’m so capable or concerned that you’ve thought about this so much,” I joke.

She wrinkles her little button nose. “I’ll leave you to think about that.” She starts her trek to the back of the store but calls out to my mother, “Keep your eye on him, Mrs. Beck.”

My mom laughs. “I will, Palmer. I will.”

Palmer shifts her eyes over me and then heads toward the back of the store.

Why is she so friendly and then . . . not?

I run a hand down my jaw as I watch her with her son. They’re adorable together in a genuine, real way, and it takes everything I have not to walk to them and get involved in the cleat-selection process.

But I don’t. I resist, mostly because she keeps telling me to.

Damn it.

I rip my gaze from her back and settle it on Bud.

“Do you know Palmer?” Mom asks.

“I met her a couple of times,” I say, switching my weight from one foot to the other. “Do you?”

Mom laughs easily. “Everyone in this town knows Palmer. She’s a pure delight.”

I’m glad my instincts aren’t off.

“They have this drive-in picnic every month for the nursing home residents over at Pickaway Park,” Mom says. “The community makes dinner and delivers it like a picnic. It’s so much fun, and they love my cherry crisp.”

I look at her. “They’re in a nursing home, Mom. That doesn’t mean they can’t taste food anymore.”

Bud chuckles as Mom swats my shoulder.

“Anyway,” she says, getting back to her story. “Palmer helps more months than not. Sometimes she’ll chip in a dish, and other times she’s there with that darling little boy of hers, passing out trays and helping with the cleanup. Everyone loves Palmer.”

I can’t help it. I glance over my shoulder at the two of them. It reminds me of the time that my dad took me to get my first cleats. I remember the smell of the store that day and how the carpet was a thick brown shag instead of the turf stores have today. I was so damn excited and promised Dad that I would make his expense worthwhile.

I grin. I was such a cocky little shit.

“She is a good person,” Bud says, his eyes on Palmer. “I really hate that she has to deal with that Jared character.”