Page 99 of Hometown Touchdown
Therearecertainrulesto shopping at Lowery’s Market in Cedar Falls.
Rule number one: never show up without makeup unless I’m emotionally prepared to run into the mayor, my fifth-grade math teacher, and the guy who once saw me throw up at the fall festival pie-eating contest.
Rule number two: Avoid Lowery’s between ten and noon on Saturdays unless I’m in the mood to get verbally tackled by the Cedar Falls gossip militia—led, as always, by Haddie Carmichael.
I should know better.
And yet, here I am—in leggings, an oversized sweater, and exactly zero makeup—with a basket containing only coffee creamer, strawberries, and a box of frozen waffles. Breakfast of someone wildly unprepared to fend off attacks.
I’m mid-debate in the yogurt aisle—Greek versus Belgian—when I hear the unmistakable sound of Haddie’s heels clicking across the linoleum like a gossip countdown.
“Brynn Marlow, is that you?”
I freeze like I’ve just been caught committing a felony. “Hi, Mrs. Carmichael,” I say, forcing a smile as I turn slowly, like maybe if I move gently enough, she won’t detect weakness.
She’s in full Haddie regalia—lipstick too red for 10 a.m., pearls the size of gobstoppers, and a sun hat that could double as a UFO. Of course she’s carrying a clipboard while shopping for canned corn. She always has an agenda.
She leans in like she’s about to whisper nuclear codes. “I saw you leaving Knox Dalton’s house the other morning.”
Well, that escalated quickly.
“I—uh—was just…dropping off muffins?” I manage.
“Without a bra?” she counters, one penciled brow arching like it’s auditioning for Broadway.
How the fuck? My brain scrambles to respond. “It was early. The muffin emergency was dire.”
She grins like a cat who’s just opened a fresh gossip buffet. “You don’t have to be shy, sweetheart. People are very interested in your little situation.”
“My…situation?”
“Of course! I run the Cedar Falls Facebook page, remember? I know things before the post office does. I’ve already had three people message me asking if Knox is off the market.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Because what does one evensayto that? Congratulations? Please stop surveilling my love life like it’s election night?
She tsks, adjusting her hat. “You two wereadorablein high school. Very photogenic. But Debbie—now Debbie and Knox would be magnetic.”
“Debbie?” I echo, wary.
“My granddaughter,” she says proudly. “She moved back after that brief stint in Nashville where she almost made it onAmerican Idol.They called her ‘The Rhinestone Thunderstorm.’”
“That sounds…intense.”
“She’s passionate,” Haddie says with a wink. “And tall. Very firm opinions about leather pants. I think she’d be a good match for Knox. She’s got dominant energy.”
I choke on my own spit.
“She told me she’d make him ‘howl like a linebacker in a lightning storm.’” Haddie fans herself. “Not entirely sure what that means, but she was wearing fringe at the time, so I think it was meant as a compliment.”
I stare. Speechless.
“And you know,” she adds, voice dropping to a whisper, “she’s got very healthy childbearing hips.”
Igag.
“Well, not that he needs to settle down,” she says, breezing on, “but I’ve got a feeling he’s finally ready. You can only eat so many sad bachelor dinners before you realize you need a good woman to fold your towels properly.”
I grit my teeth and offer the most noncommittal smile in human history. “That’s…definitely a perspective.”
