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"Fine."

"Weather's nice."

She dipped her chin in a tense nod.

I’d put up with the cold shoulder for the past week, and out of frustration, I lashed out. "Did I accidentally run over your cat or something?"

She finally looked at me. "No, sweetheart. My cat's fine." She slid the bag across the counter. "Can't say the same for everybody’s heart."

I stared at her. She stared back.

Oh, for the love of… "I didn’t⁠—"

"That'll be twelve fifty,” she cut me off.

I paid. She didn't give me the usual extra cookie. That was when I knew things were serious.

By the time I reached Main Street Eats, I was considering making a sandwich board that read: Don’t worry. I’m leaving tomorrow.

I walked into the diner, and the bell rang above my head.

Grace, who had been calling me honey since the first time I walked in two years ago, approached with a coffee pot and no verbal greeting. She looked at me. Not a normal look. This was the kind of look mothers gave children who had tracked mud across freshly mopped floors.

"To go?" she asked, not offering to seat me.

"Please."

She stared. I waited. She waited.

“Can I look at a menu?” I finally asked.

She grabbed one from behind the counter and tossed it at me.

I caught it before it hit me in the stomach. “Is something wrong?" I asked.

She sighed. "Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you're planning on ordering something or breaking anybody else's heart."

"Grace," I sighed.

"That boy came in here yesterday. Ordered eggs. Barely touched 'em,” she declared as if that was undeniable proof of my wrongdoings.

I exhaled. "Damon?"

"No, the Easter Bunny."

“Right.” My chin dipped in a curt nod. "Can I please just have two club sandwiches on wheat?"

"Fine." She started walking away, then stopped and turned back. "For what it's worth, I've known Damon all his life."

I braced myself.

"That boy used to shovel my mama’s driveway every winter after my daddy passed. Wouldn't take a dime. Fixed my porch steps last spring when Serge broke his leg.” She motioned to her husband, who was in the kitchen at the grill. He lifted his spatula in solidarity. “And when my niece got dumped before prom, he showed up with flowers and took pictures with her so she wouldn't feel embarrassed."

My throat tightened. "Grace⁠—"