Page 35 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

Pat grabs a cloth and wipes his face while I smile. "Really well. But I should get goin'."

"You up for a delivery on your way?" Sean asks. "It's in Sugar Maple."

"My pleasure."

"You may have spoken too soon …"

Fifteen minutes later, I'm walking into the community center with two large trays of Patty's scones on top of a box of assorted jams, jellies, and butters from Sugar Maple Farms. The building has a handful of classrooms, a gymnasium, and a larger rec room, where I'm headed now.

The sound of buzzing meets me as I walk into the hall outside the rec room. It swells into a frenzied hive when I approach the double doors. A mix of apprehension and eagerness meets me as I walk in.

I hope no one slaps my butt this time.

The Sugar Maple Canasta Club can be a dangerous place.

What looks like every senior in town sits around one of a dozen card tables, with four people to a table and playing cards in front of them. I weave through the room, getting stopped a handful of times by some of the less competitive senior citizens at the beginner's tables.

"Thank you for cleanin' out my gutters," Nana Parkinson—Chick Parkinson's wife—says. "Chick swore up and down he'd get to 'em, but I just knew he'd fall off that ladder the moment he tried."

"I wouldn't have fallen," Chick grumbles. "You asked Rusty before I had the chance because you're sweet on him."

I laugh, and the rest of the table laughs with me.

"Chick, we both know I'm not half the man you are."

Nana P. swaps looks at one of her friends, and I try to ignore their suggestive glances.

"Well, that's true," Chick says.

"And I know you can clean your own gutters, but you have more important things to worry about with the Lion's Club and the historical society. If I can help take some of the busy work out of your life so you can focus on what matters, I'm happy to."

Chick eyes me before nodding. "You're a fine young man," he says. "In spite of your upbringing."

My throat goes dry. It's nothing I haven’t heard a thousand times. I should be numb to it by now.

"Thank you, sir. Now, if y'all will excuse me, I should set all this down."

I make my way to the far end of the room where the tables are set up and put down the box and trays. I open them and arrange them more decoratively, making sure there are knives for each of the spreads. When I'm done, I spot Mrs. Beaty and Lola Nina at the advanced table with another pair I can't make out behind the dividers on the table. Mrs. Beaty gives Lola Nina the stink eye, but she brightens when she sees me.

I brighten, too.

I walk over, feeling lighter until I spot who else is at the advanced table.

Anger makes my hands go numb.

What is he doing here?

Mrs. Beaty waves at me over Philip Freaking Dumfries's coiffed hair. Philip follows her gaze, turning to look at me.

His eye glints, and I feel sick thinking of these mother figures being taken in by his charm. I wish one of the Janes was here. Especially Lou. She has dibs, after all, and something tells me she'd be only too happy to chop this guy's toes off and feed them to Tripp's pigs.

That may be a direct quote, come to think of it.

When I reach the table, I hug the Hens, a name I only ever use in my head. The Chicks may think they run the town, but everyone knows it's actually these three matriarchs: Mrs. Beaty, Lola Nina, and Granny Belle, the pastor's ninety-year-old mother. Granny Belle gives me a big kiss, depositing enough lipstick on my cheek to put Marilyn Monroe to shame.

I nod to Philip as graciously as I can muster.

"Uh oh," I say, standing next to Lola Nina, who's opposite Philip. I make a show of peeking at everyone's cards. "Y'all didn't tell me you were locked in a deathmatch. Is it safe for me to be here?" I say.

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