Page 57 of Karma's Kiss

She laughs and shakes her head like,Silly me.“Oh, so youdidn’taccept a date with Sawyer just to toy with him?”

I swear her usual happy-go-lucky expression has hardened with the accusation. But then she sips innocently from her pink straw and it throws me off.

“No.” I frown. “Not exactly…”

“But youdidhave a plan with Kendra, right? I mean, I have pretty good ears. I know what I heard.”

Okay, I’m not making this up. There’s definitely a layer of snark underneath her chipper tone.

“I’m sorry, are you his lawyer or something?”

This gets a big, vivacious laugh. Then her hand touches my arm. “No.Madison. It’s all good. I just wanted Sawyer to have all the facts. He’s such a special guy, and I don’t want to see him hurt by somebody like you.” Okay,ouch.“Anyway, I better run.” She stands, taking her jug of whipped cream with her. “I’m making lunch for the firefighters down at the station—it’ssoimportant to give back to our community—and I don’t want to be late. Bye!”

I stare dumbfounded as she walks out of the coffee shop, tossing a little wave to the barista as she goes. Her lavender skirt twirls around her. She’s a fairy, a princess—NO. She’s a deceitful little shrew!

Back at the Wildflower Weddings office, chaos has given birth to disaster.

In the time I’ve been at Golden Harvest, the internet guy hasn’t fixed our WiFi issues. In fact, it looks like the space has been dismantled and wrecked even more than when I left, and instead of helping put things to rights, the internet guy is eating lunch with Queenie and Marge. The three of them sit together on the couch with chicken salad sandwiches and jalapeño chips.

“—and then I told Tony, you either change your ways or get outta here. It’s not good for me or the kids,” Marge explains before grabbing a few chips off her plate. “And it worked. He got his act together.”

“So you think I should give Sarah the same ultimatum?” the internet guy asks.

“If you care about those kids, you better,” Marge insists. “You can’t let Jason and Cason grow up in a house with all that fighting.”

Queenie hums in agreement. Then she swallows her bite and asks, “Will you pass the sweet tea, George?”

“Sure thing.”

Later, I ask Queenie and Marge if they knew George before today: “No, total stranger. Hope he gets his marriage sorted out though.”

This is the epitome of living in the south. You’ll meet someone and five minutes later know their whole life story.

“Yeah, and maybe tomorrow he’ll have time to fix the internet,” Queenie adds, completely unbothered by our lack of productivity.

By quitting time, I need to blow off steam. Between the messy office, my fight with Sawyer, and my issues with Charlotte, I have a lot on my plate. Back at Queenie’s, I slip on my running shoes and head through the neighborhood, following the same route I used to take when I was training in high school. I like the familiarity and comfort of seeing the same houses from my childhood, totally unchanged. I pass Kendra’s parents’ place—a ranch-style with red brick—and turn left at Waylon’s diner. I’m about to double back before I hit the dead end at the creek when I hear someone shouting my name from the side of Doc’s deck.

I love Doc’s, and it’s a shame I haven’t been back since I returned to town. Situated right on the creek, it was made forlazy summer afternoons, the wide deck shaded by a cluster of oak trees. On the hottest day, it’s an alluring oasis.

Doc, aka Doctor Ben McGee, is a legend in Oak Hill. He was valedictorian of his class back when Queenie was in high school and went on to Harvard for his undergraduate degreeandfor medical school, but when it was all said and done, he quit the profession and walked away, said he wanted a simpler life. It’s why occasionally you’ll hear people at the bar asking Doc if he’ll take a look at “this weird mole” or confirm whether a swollen ankle needs an X-ray or just an icepack. It’s also why there’s a big ol’ tip jar sitting near the cash register because Doc likes to joke that even well into his 50s, he’s still paying off his school loans. His medical degree hangs in a fancy gold frame behind the bar, right beside a Miller Lite neon sign.

David is hanging over the wooden rail of the deck, waving me over.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, still breathing heavy from my run.

He nods toward the bar. “Helped Doc with his A/C, ’bout to have a drink on the house as payment. You want to join?”

A cold beer sounds like heaven, actually.

“I’m not really dressed for it,” I comment, and we both laugh.

Doc’s is an anything-goes kind of establishment. David’s wearing his stained work clothes, and he’s clearly been toiling away outside because he’s as sweaty as I am.

“Come around.” He taps his knuckles twice on the wooden railing. “I’ll get our drinks.”

It’s still a little crazy to me that I can see my brother any ol’ day of the week. For years, we’ve had to plan months ahead to get together, and now here we are on a Tuesday afternoon, clinking Coronas.

“Cheers.”

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