Page 39 of My Greatest Joy

“Oakley painted that one in the shop behind the counter.”

“She did that one too? I couldn’t stop admiring it yesterday.”

“Yeah! She’s great. If I remember correctly, she’s supposed to paint at the Christmas tree lighting during the winter festival this season. Each year, my family donates the massive tree that will be lit to kick off the celebration.”

“Really?” She whips out her phone and starts typing into her notes.

“Yeah, they’ve done that for as long as I can remember. You’ll find that many of the local traditions are supported by the farms or small businesses. We all come together to make it special because this place means so much to us.”

“Well, if it isn’tLevi White,” Greta singsongs. She’s owned the diner for as long as I can remember.

“Greta, my favorite lady.” I hug her, and she squeezes me in return.

“You brought a guest?” She glances next to me, her brow arched in question.

“Yes, this is Fallon Joy. She’s a journalist from Seattle doing a holiday tourism piece for a magazine. I’m showing her around.”

“Lovely to meet you, Fallon. I’m Greta. Welcome to Maplewood Falls.” She holds out her hand, and Fallon takes it.

“Nice to meet you, too. Your diner is very charming.”

“Thanks.” She beams.

I have to give it to Fallon for how quickly she turns on the charm.

“Let’s get you two to a booth. I’m sure you’re hungry,” Greta tells us, grabbing menus and leading the way. Fallon glances at the Christmas tinsel, mini trees, and ridiculous amount of colorful lights that fill the small place. I know she’s cringing inside.

Once we sit, Greta asks for our beverage order.

“I’ll have a lemonade,” Fallon says.

“Me too.”

Greta nods before walking away.

“She seems nice,” Fallon mutters, focusing on the menu. I already know what I want, so I don’t bother looking.

“She is. She also knows all the town gossip and is in everyone’s business.”

“Really? Even yours?” She drops the menu and smirks.

“Everyone’s,” I emphasize.

“Well, I might have a few questions for her, then.”

“Here you kids go.” Greta sets our drinks on the table, takes our order, then leaves again.

“You’re already living in my house and sleeping in my bed. Plus, you’ve already seen me naked. What more could you possibly want to know?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

She swallows hard, her cheeks painted into a beautiful shade of pink. Fallon doesn’t get deep with people or share personal things about herself often, that much I’ve learned.

“Have you ever been married before?” she asks, and I blink in surprise at the random question.

“No. Why?”

She takes a sip of her lemonade. “Just trying to figure out why a thirtysomething man—with a stable job, a nice house, lots of land, and from what I can tell, not a murderer—can still be single. And before you feed me the bullshit of how you haven’t foundthe one, I have a gut feeling there’s more to it than that. Perhaps Greta can fill in the gaps for me?”

The compliments she rambled off amuse the hell out of me. Even if she threw a couple of jabs in the very next breath.

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