Page 11 of Small Town Sizzle

“Of course, I’ve got to keep you McAllister boys with full bellies. No one needs to witness y’all hangry,” she giggles.

She’s an anxious mess. Cooking and baking has always been the way that she works through anything. A lot of people will talk about how their mother-in-law is like Satan. My ex-fiancée did anyway, but my mom and Laura always had a really great relationship. Mom always called her the daughter she never had. I imagine all of this is just as difficult for Laura as it is for Ethan and me.

Maybe that should have been a red flag for me with Natalie. Mom rarely disliked someone, and she didn’t care for my ex at all.

Two days later, the funeral is just as suffocating as I thought it would be. People I barely recognize line up to offer condolences, their faces blurred by years and distance. I nod, shake hands, and murmur “thank you” more times than I can count.

No one has said a word to me about my past, about the last time I was in Hicks Creek, but that doesn’t matter. I can feel them all judging me, looking at me like I’m a disappointment.

Many younger kids and teenagers are walking through the line, too.

That’s weird; shouldn’t they be in school? Are they all here because of Mason and Chantelle? I don’t ever remember going to a funeral for one of my friends’ grandparents.

“I’m going to step outside for some fresh air,” I tell Ethan once the service is over.

He nods, and I slip out a side door. I don’t go back in either; there’s no need to. Once the fresh air hits me, I close my eyes and inhale slowly.

One thing down, one more to go and I can disappear from Hicks Creek and never look back.

“Hey,” Laura says as she comes out to find me. “We’re going to head over to the youth center for a bit. Would you like to come with us? I know your mom would have loved for you to see it while you’re here.”

“Youth Center? Hicks Creek has one of those?”

“It does. It’s great, too. You have to come see it, please? It was your mom’s pride and joy. I think it will be cathartic for you, too.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll go with you, but only becauseyouasked.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”

She let go, and I followed her to the parking lot. I’m not quite sure why a youth center would be my mother’s pride and joy, but I’m not looking forward to the idea of going back to my childhood home and sitting alone, so this small distraction will be nice.

Just a few more days, Garrett, and you’ll be out of here.

Chapter Three

Maya

As I pull into the youth center’s parking lot, I smile. Hicks Creek’s natural beauty still takes my breath away, even after all these years. The wetlands stretch out in a patchwork of shimmering water, swaying grasses, and an air that vibrates with life. Greta loved this view—the sky impossibly blue, the air crisp, and the kind of peace that makes you believe the world might still be okay. Even on the worst days in my line of work, it’s the one thing that always resets me.

I park next to the small wooden sign that reads Hicks Creek Youth Center—A Place to Grow, its paint faded but still warm and inviting. As I step out, the earthy scent of the wetlands hits me, mingled with the faint hint of wildflowers.

I smooth my blouse, brushing off imaginary dust, and glance around.

Leaning against the railing of the youth center’s front porch is a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark wavy hair that catches the sunlight in just the right way. He’s dressed casually but neatly in a light blue button-down rolled to the elbows andkhaki pants. His eyes—hazel, I think—lock onto mine with a warm, disarming smile.

“Morning,” he says, his voice smooth and rich, like the kind of radio host you’d listen to just for the sound of it.

“Good morning,” I reply, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Can I help you?”

He steps forward, offering his hand. “TJ Turner. I work with the Northern Ridge Environmental Agency.”

I shake his hand—it’s firm but not too firm, his palm calloused just enough to suggest he’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty.

“Maya Greene,” I say. “Nice to meet you. What brings you out here?”

“Well,” he says, his smile widening slightly, “I’ve heard a lot about Hicks Creek—about the wetlands. I’m doing a bit of a survey for the agency and was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” I say, nodding. “Though I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I’m just a social worker.”

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