Page 107 of Smitten with the Single Dad

Parmigiano, ricotta, Roma tomatoes, fresh basil, fresh oregano, more garlic, a really good extra virgin olive oil—apparently she didn’t like the one he had—anda very good balsamic vinegar. She said he cheaped out on the one he had in the house. He disagreed, but she just told him he didn’t know what he was talking about. She planned to make focaccia bread with the boys and said she wouldn’t settle for mediocre ingredients. She also added “good” olives to the list, not caring what color as long as they didn’t come from a can. And finally, she requested more flour because she’d nearly used up all he had making pasta and bread.

The woman could be so bossy.

Good thing he liked it.

He’d found everything on her list besides “good” olives and was wandering the aisles since apparently, the grocery store had moved all their pickled items to a new location.

“Can I help you find anything, Wyatt?” came a familiar voice that instantly made Wyatt’s body turn molten-hot.

He spun around to find Shelley Diamond standing there with her green employee polo on, and a smile. Not an ounce of guilt shone in her brown eyes. “Olives,” he said, clenching his molars together. “You’ve moved them.”

Her smile grew bigger. “Oh, yes. We did. Last week. Just over here.” She took off toward the back of the store, smiling and waving, and saying hello to local islanders shopping. “Just right here,” she said, pointing to a small corner next to the bakery section. “How are those adorable little boys of yours, hmm? Enjoying summer?”

“They are,” he said through gritted teeth. “Been a bit scary for them though. A friend who is staying with us was nearly run off the road by a car. Then, we were hit in my truck and then shot at.”

Shelley’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “Oh my gosh! Is everyone okay?”

Wyatt’s eyes formed thin slits. “How can you stand there pretending?”

The woman looked genuinely confused. “Wh-what are you talking about? Pretending what?”

He shook his head. “What’s in your garage, Shelley?”

“M-my garage?”

“Are you really that badly in debt that you’re taking money from a criminal in exchange for trying to kill an innocent woman?” He was yelling now, causing customers to pause and stare.

Shelley’s eyes welled up with tears and she tucked her blonde-gray hair behind her ears. “Wyatt, I would never. I haven’t gambled in three months. I’m going to meetings. I swear. Yes, I have debt, but I’m working very hard to get out of it—honestly. I would never …” She gasped and her eyes went even wider. “S-someone asked if they could pay me to rent my garage for a few months. I was t-told to never go into it, but that they needed to store something there. I peered into it one day and just saw a car. So I didn’t think anything of it. The money has helped me get out of debt. But I swear, Wyatt, I’ve never driven it.”

“What’s going on over here?” It was Wallace Franks, one of the owners of the store. The Franks family owned the store, and their son, Wallace—who was in his mid-forties—ran the day-to-day.

Jordana, another cashier and a friend of Brooke and Justine, came over as well. “Why don’t we pop to the back office?” She wrapped a protective arm around Shelley and led the distraught woman through the store to the employees only section.

“Wyatt,” Wallace said, tilting his head to the side to indicate Wyatt needed to follow them.

Of course, as he followed Wallace, he received more than a few curious glances from customers, but he paid them very little attention.

Wallace held open the door for him and they joined a crying Shelley, and Jordana, in the cramped, sad, little office.

“What is going on?” Wallace asked, his tone not unfriendly, but also lettingeveryone know he wasn’t pleased.

Shelley’s bottom lip wobbled. “I … agreed to let someone store their car in my garage, but apparently that car was involved in an attempted hit-and-run.” Tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t even recognize the person who asked me if they could store the car. They just knocked on my door one day. Said their family just bought vacation property on the island but had no space to store an extra vehicle. They asked if I could store it for them for a while and that they’d pay me.”

“And you never thought that was suspicious?” Wyatt asked.

She shrugged. “The money was good. And I never park in there anyway. It mostly just had old junk. So I sold the junk to help pay off my debt. And rented out the garage to continue to pay off my debt.” Her brows furrowed. “How’d you know the car was there?”

“I was about to ask the same question,” Wallace said, all three of them staring down Wyatt.

He exhaled, his cheeks hot as embarrassment and shame settled in. He fucked up big time and they all knew it. His brothers were going to be so pissed off at him. But he needed these people on his side. And something told him, they were not double agents working for Wyndham Croft. He could trust them with the truth.

So he laid it all out for them. Starting with what happened to Vica that first night. Then the goons coming to the gate trying to pay her off. The attempted hit and run. The shooting. The car crash. All of it. He swore them all to secrecy, but a large weight slipped from his shoulders the moment he exhaled and said, “Now you’re all up to speed.”

Three people’s mouths hung agape.

“And I’m storing the car that tried to kill her,” Shelley whispered.

“I’m sorry we trespassed. But we’re desperate. Me marrying Vica isn’t going to keep her from getting arrested. It kept her from being deported for now, but it’s a Band-Aid over a bullet wound.”

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