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“The stupid boy who cheated?”

“How do you know that?”

“Honey,” she lands her hand on her thick hip and swishes forward, “I know everything about everyone… except for this.”

I make a mental note to figure out who the hell is spreading my business around. “This is why I don’t tell anyone anything.” I sigh. “Look, Edwin messed me up real bad. I was sulking in the corner booth at the diner, Buck felt sorry for me, and we ended up talking all night.”

“Talking,”she grins,“all night?”

“No.” I push my glasses up onto my nose and step around her on my way out the doorway. “It wasn’t like that. It’s embarrassing to see him again. I was a mess that night. The second it happened, I regretted telling him anything. Besides, I’m not his type. A guy like Buck could have anyone he wants, and I’m… a mess.”

She follows me down the narrow hallway back into the kitchen, where two of my chefs are working the breakfast line. “You’re not a mess. You’re gorgeous, but you can’t stop the story there. I need to know what happened. Did you see each other again? Maybe it’s fate that he’s here. You know this stuff is never a straight line, right? That’s the magic of it all.”

I laugh and tighten my apron. “Nothing happened. He went his way, I went mine, and it’s not fate that he’s here. It’s punishment.”

“And why would the world be punishing a sweet thing like you?” Agnes is from the deep south and while I don’t care for most accents, I love listening to her talk. There’s something so soothing about the way she relaxes all her words.

“I’m not a sweet thing, Agnes. I’m a pain in the butt. You haven’t been here long enough yet to see it.”

She grins and shakes her head before grabbing the sack of potatoes off the bottom rack of the pantry shelf. I admire that she continues to work as she harasses me. “I know you just fine, baby. Whatever happened with that man probably wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking it was. Did he call you afterward?”

“Yeah, he called me.” Dishes clank and the sizzling bacon is pulled from the oven by one of the girls on the line.

“Okay. So, clearly he didn’t think whatever bad thing you thought about the evening.”

“Or he did and I just didn’t give him a chance to tell me.”

She focuses on the potatoes, slicing them slowly. I hadn’t noticed until now that her hands shake when she works. “When did you hear from him last?”

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I transfer the berries to a bigger bin. “He called me last week.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops as she turns toward me. “Honey, what?”

I nod. “He’s called me every week since that day.”

“And it’s been a year?”

“Yeah.” I focus on the berries, marking the date on the side of the bin.

“And you don’t think he likes you?”

I shake my head and pop the cap back on the dry-erase marker. “I don’t think about it at all.”

“Honey, I’d think about that every single day of my life. Hell, I woulda had that man twisted up every which way to Tuesday by now. You’re young and you’re beautiful. Live your life before your life lives you.”

I turn back toward the fridge, sliding the berries inside. I get where Agnes is coming from, but she doesn’t understand the full picture, and the fact that she called me beautiful sort of invalidates everything else she said. I’m most definitely not beautiful. I’m average at best. “Well, I’m never dating again, so… there’s that.”

“Who said anything about dating? You’ve got fun to have. You’re still green as a gourd. You gotta live a little.”

“Green as a gourd?” I narrow my eyes and smile.

“Full of beans. Wet behind the ears. Knee-high to a grasshopper. You’re young, honey. Come on… live it up!”

I love the sentiment of being young and crazy, but the last time I trusted a man, I ended up with months of heartache, tears, and pain. To be honest, I’m still working on my self-worth. Deep down, I know Edwin did what he did because he had issues, and I know that I’m in charge ofmyself-worth, but try telling my body that. Anytime someone tells me I’m beautiful, I’m reminded how stupid I am for trusting anyone with my heart.

“I wish it were that easy.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scents of our lumberjack special. It’s warm and buttery, with sweet notes of cinnamon and coffee in the background. Someone needs to bottle this up and make a candle.

“Opal?” A deep voice resonates from beyond the kitchen and my heart stops.

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