The Baylesses had been devastated, but Sallie had assured Pokey the family would take care of her and the baby, no matter what. Nobody could have predicted that Pete Riggs would do what he did—drop out of grad school, marry Pokey, and get a job working in his family’s furniture business. And the biggest surprise, to everybody, including Pokey and Pete, was that the two of them would make a success of all of it—including marriage, parenthood, and, eventually, running and expanding Riggs Home Fashions.

“It’s hopeless,” Annajane said of her house hunt. “The cottage on Mimosa—the one she thought I’d be so crazy over? It’s Old Lady Harrison’s house. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have bothered to take a look.”

“Eeewww,” Pokey said, wrinkling her nose. “Mama used to make me sell her Girl Scout cookies every year when we were kids. She used to pay for the cookies with nickels and dimes that looked like they’d been scraped up out of a sewer or something. That house was nasty way back then, and she’s been dead and gone at least ten years. I don’t think anybody’s lived in that house since she died.”

“Correction,” Annajane said. “There’s a family of raccoons living there now. Or maybe squirrels. I didn’t get past the living room, where they’d been nesting in an old sofa, so I couldn’t say for sure.”

“What else did you look at?” Pete asked, absentmindedly stroking Pokey’s hair. “How about Clay Snider’s house? I hear he and Whitney have split up.”

“Yeah,” Pokey said excitedly. “The Snider’s house is fabulous. We went to a Christmas party there a couple years ago. You would love what they’ve done with the kitchen. They blew out the whole back of the house, and there’s a patio and a pool house…”

“Susan sent me the link to their Web site. I’d love that house even without the patio and pool house. But alas, I do not have the eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars they’re asking,” Annajane said. She reached over to the tray on the ottoman and helped herself to a handful of roasted peanuts.

“I looked at a totally mediocre brick ranch over on Rosewood. It’s a two-bedroom, two-bath, with a crazy floor plan. You actually have to walk through the master bedroom to get to the living room. But it was only eighty-nine thousand. And then I saw a butt-ugly contemporary house out past the country club. Gray cinder-block walls, smoked plate-glass windows—which were all across the whole front of the house. You’d feel like you were on display for anybody who drove past.”

She sighed and took another sip of her martini, smacking her lips dramatically. “If Pete would promise to make me a martini like this every night, I might just threaten to move in here with you guys.”

Pete raised his own Mason jar in a mock salute. “I live to serve.”

“You know you can stay here as long as you like,” Pokey said. “What have you decided about going back to work?”

“You’re going back to work at Quixie?” Pete said.

“Maybe,” Annajane allowed.

“You are,” Pokey said. “You must. For my sake and the sake of my unborn child. Not to mention the rest of my whole nutty family.”

“It’s gonna depend on Davis,” Annajane said. “If he won’t listen to any of my ideas for a new marketing plan, it’s a waste of my time to go back to work. And I really, really do not want to be around Celia. Especially now.”

“Whooo,” Pete chuckled. “I hear old Celia is pretty fired up about you, Annajane darlin’.”

“What did you hear?” Pokey demanded, tugging at Pete’s arm. “Tell!”

“Aw, no,” Pete demurred. “I didn’t really hear anything. Just a little trash talk in the men’s grill at the club today.”

“Peterson James Riggs, you better spit out what you heard at the club right this minute,” Pokey exclaimed. “It’s no fair teasin’ us.”

“Yeah, Pete,” Annajane urged. “Tell. Come on, sticks and stones may break my bones and all that.”

“You know I don’t usually listen to that mess,” Pete groused. “I was walking past Matt Kelsey at lunch, and I just heard him tell Ben Gardner that Celia was accusing you of being a home wrecker.”

“You know Bonnie Kelsey is the one spreading that talk,” Pokey said. “Her and Celia, that little bitch!” She pounded Pete’s knees for emphasis. “Who does she think she is, coming into town and trying to take over Quixie and my brother?”

“Hey!” Pete protested. “Don’t kill the messenger. I’m not agreein’ with her. I’m just reporting. Anyway, who cares what those two girly men Matt Kelsey and Ben Gardner gossip about over lunch?”

Annajane plucked the olive from her half-empty drink and sucked on it. “It’s a small town,” she said finally. “And Mason is running the biggest business in it. People are always gonna talk about him, and the Baylesses. Face it. It comes with the territory.”

“I might have to face it, but I don’t have to like it,” Pokey said. “Every place I go in town, somebody comes up and asks me if the boys are gonna sell Quixie. I’m getting really sick of telling people it’s just a rumor.”

“Jax Snax is no rumor, baby,” Pete muttered. “They want Quixie, and they want it bad. The question is whether Mason or Davis is going to prevail. And how your mama’s gonna vote.”

“What about me?” Pokey demanded. “Don’t you think Daddy left me any say in what happens to Quixie?”

“I sure hope he did,” Pete said. “But let’s face it, honey—you’ve not worked for the company since you were a teenager, and you never worked in management. Knowing your daddy like I do, I’ve got a feeling that when he divvied up the pie, he saved the biggest, juiciest pieces for your brothers. And your mama.”

“I guess we’ll find out who gets what next week,” Pokey said. “But I called Davis today, and I told him flat out, if he lets Quixie close down, or move from Passcoe, I will never forgive him.”

“What did he say to that?” Annajane asked.

“Oh, he just tried to bullshit me,” Pokey replied. “Said nobody’s discussin’ closing it down or moving it. He says Jax Snax will only make the company better.”

“And him richer,” Pete quipped.

Pokey picked up the remote control from the tray on the ottoman. “All right y’all, enough talking about business. I am ready for some mindless television for an hour or so before I call it a night. Which is it—HGTV or Food TV?”

“You mean food porn or decorator porn?” Pete grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his wife’s head. He stood up and dropped a kiss on Pokey’s forehead. “I think I’ll go watch baseball upstairs.”

Annajane experienced a familiar pang of jealousy at Pete’s tenderness toward Pokey. Her friend had so much—a home and a husband who adored her—and three rowdy but healthy children, with a fourth on the way. Did Pokey appreciate just how blessed she was? Or how hollow and envious Annajane sometimes felt in her company?

“Check on the boys, will you?” Pokey called absentmindedly while she flipped channels. “Make sure Denning isn’t up there messin’ with one of those doggone video games.”

An hour later, after they’d both grown bored with Real Housewives and Bridezilla shows, Pokey handed off the remote to Annajane.

“It’s all yours,” she said, yawning.

“Nope,” Annajane said. “I’m going to bed, too. I’ve got to save my energy for going back to Quixie in the morning.”

“Good for you,” Pokey said, nodding her approval. “And what about Mason? What’s going to happen with you two?”

“Leave it be, Pokey,” Annajane warned. “Everything is happening too fast. We’re friends, okay? Can we just leave it at that for now?”

“Friends with benefits?” Pokey chirped. “Look, I just don’t want you to let Celia Wakefield screw things up by guilt-tripping you,” Pokey said. “You and Mason didn’t do anything wrong. Not deliberately anyway. You acted honorably, so just hold your head high and ignore Celia.”

“Celia, ugh,” Annajane said. “I am not looking forward to running into her tomorrow.”