“Okay?” he’d whispered in her ear, with everybody in the whole club watching. She’d started to cry, and eventually, she’d nodded her head yes. And so they were engaged. Just like that.

It wasn’t until she’d gotten back to Passcoe and unpacked her suitcase that Sunday night that the enormity of the situation struck her. She’d just agreed to spend the rest of her life with a man she’d only met three months earlier.

Every time she started to have reservations about the engagement, though, Shane managed to persuade her that she was doing the right thing. Even when she called him at three in the morning and woke him out of a sound sleep, he was ready to whisper sweet nothings.

“Why don’t you come on down here and let me show you how much I’m missing you?” His laugh was low and provocative.

“Can’t,” she said, hoping she sounded regret she didn’t quite feel. “I’ve got a million things to get wrapped up here. I’m not even packed yet.”

“I could come up there and help,” he offered. “You really don’t have to do this all by yourself, you know.”

He was amazing. So thoughtful. He loved her. She loved him, too. Didn’t she?

“No way,” she said quickly. “If you got a good look at how disorganized my life really is, you’d run the other way.”

“Never,” Shane said. “I’ll take you any way I can get you, not that I believe there’s anything disorganized about you. You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.”

“Not lately,” Annajane said, rifling through the pages of the book she’d put on her nightstand. “Lately, I feel like my life is all falling apart at the seams. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to hold it together.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line.

“Okay, I’m coming up there,” Shane said. “So don’t tell me not to. I can tell you’re upset. You’re stressed about the move and the new job, and you’re not sleeping. You’re not yourself.”

She found the photo again. As she stared at it, the image blurred through her tears.

Who was that girl?

“I’m fine,” she told Shane. “Really, I am. Guess I was just feeling overwhelmed. I packed a bunch of boxes tonight, before I called you. The kitchen’s almost done, and I’ve started on the bedroom and my clothes. I’m warning you Shane, we might have to add on to the cabin before the wedding, just to make room for all my shoes.”

“Done,” he said. “I’ve already moved all my stuff into the closet in the guest bedroom.”

“Shane! You know I’ve rented my own place. I’ve got a six-month lease.”

“I still think it’s ridiculous,” he groused. “A waste of good money, when you could just as easily move in here right away.”

Why didn’t she just move in with Shane? Why was it so important to have her own place? Didn’t she want to live with the man she loved?

“It’s only six months,” she said softly. “Just til the wedding.”

“And that’s another thing. I don’t get why we can’t just get married as soon as you get down here. Yeah, I’ll be on the road some this summer, but so what? You can come with me. It’ll be fun. An adventure.”

She laughed. “I’m starting a new job! Anyway, you forget I’ve seen how you live on the road. It’s fine for you guys; you’re used to piling four to a room, or sleeping in the van and living on warm beer and stale pretzels. But that’s not me, Shane.”

“We’ll get our own hotel room,” Shane said. “Like at Holden Beach. I don’t care. Let’s just get married. Right now. That’s all I’m saying.”

“We’ve already talked about this,” she reminded him. “Remember? I want to be with you, I really do. But I need a little time, and a little space. Just six months. To transition. That’s not so long, is it?”

“It’s forever,” he groused.

“How did the gig go?” she asked, wanting to change the subject. Shane loved to talk about his work. It was one of the things she admired about him, his unstinting enthusiasm for whatever went on in his life.

“It was awesome,” he said. “This club has only been open a couple months. It was packed tonight, babe. They had to quit letting people in the door at ten, an hour before we went on! The energy was amazing. They want us to come back in June, and we’ll be the headline act!”

“That’s great,” Annajane said.

“I’ve got an idea for a new song, too,” Shane said. “About a girl with green eyes. And long legs.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Only you,” Shane said. “All my songs are about you now. Why can’t you get down here tomorrow?”

“Hush,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

He let out a long, extended yawn. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Annajane said.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

13

On Sunday morning, Annajane walked briskly down Main Street, turning three blocks down from her loft, onto Church Street. She passed Passcoe First United Methodist, Passcoe First Presbyterian, and the biggest church in town, First Baptist of Passcoe, with its imposing white columns and three-story marble-lined sanctuary.

It was early yet, not even eight o’clock, so the town’s worshipers were still presumably at home, polishing off their bacon, grits, and eggs; pressing their dress shirts; or dabbing on a final bit of makeup. Because that’s the kind of town Passcoe was, a nice southern town where nice southern men and women still wore suits and dresses to church on Sundays.

Two blocks past First Baptist, she finally came to the Quixie Beverage Company, which, in its own way, was just as much of a temple of worship as the real churches in town. The sprawling red brick complex even looked like a church from the front, with two-story columns and a peaked roofline. The building had been added onto so many times since Mason’s great granddaddy founded the company in the 1920s, it now took up an entire block, fronting on Church Street and backing up to the railroad tracks.

Annajane skirted the front of the building, where a perky red-and-green-striped awning shaded a set of big plate-glass entry doors to the reception area. Instead, she walked around to the east side of the building, to the loading dock. A pair of boxy Quixie delivery trucks were parked at the dock, nose out, and she could hear the rattle of hand trucks and the soft murmur of voices as she climbed the worn wooden steps up to the dock.

“Hey, Annajane,” called out a husky middle-aged man in a Quixie driver’s uniform. He had a hand cart loaded with cases of Quixie poised at the open doors at the back of one of the trucks. “Thought you’d done moved off to Atlanta. What are you doin’ round here on a Sunday?”

She’d known Troy Meeks since she and Pokey were kids playing hide-and-go-seek around the plant. He’d given them rides on his hand truck, bought their Girl Scout cookies, and turned a blind eye when they pilfered dented cans of Quixie to sell for a quarter apiece at school.

“Hey Troy,” she said, giving the older man a hug. She reached out and gave his stubbly gray crew cut an affectionate rub. “I’m not gone just yet. I’ve still got a bunch of stuff to tie up in the office. That’s why I came in this morning. I can never get anything done with Davis popping in and out all day long, giving me orders and trying to boss me around. I just need a few hours of peace and quiet.”

“It’s a sure bet you won’t catch Davis Bayless in here on a Sunday morning,” Troy agreed. “Especially not the day after his brother got married.” He gave her a knowing wink. “That musta been some party.”

“Well, that’s a funny story,” Annajane said. “The wedding didn’t exactly go off as planned.”

His mouth gaped. “You’re kidding me. What’d you do—trip the bride as she went up the aisle?”

She shook a mock finger at him. “Careful. Celia’s management now, you know.”

He grinned. “Are you serious? The wedding really didn’t happen?”

“Nope,” she said. “Sophie got sick—right as Celia was walking up the aisle. They had to call the wedding off and rush her to the hospital. She had an emergency appendectomy.”