Skylark Springs hadn’t changed one damn bit. Still the same quaint little place, with its quaint houses and quaint shops and—well, quaint was the magic word when it came to Jason Anders’s hometown. Somehow he’d thought it might be different, that coming home after all this time would fill him with a sense of peace and belonging. But no such luck. The moment he drove past the bright red sign welcoming him home, the claustrophobia set in.
Drawing in a breath, he eased on the gas pedal and did his best not to focus on the scenery or the curious eyes that landed on his shiny cobalt-blue pickup truck as it ventured through town. Folks around here didn’t like flashy cars. Not that his pickup was flashy by any means, but it was clearly brand-new, an impulse buy he hadn’t been able to resist. No point in letting his recent inheritance sit in the bank collecting dust and interest.
As he drove down Main Street, he almost expected tomatoes to be thrown at his windshield. Either that, or a parade to welcome him. He suspected the people of Skylark Springs were torn between being proud to have a real-life hometown hero, or furious that said hero hadn’t bothered attending the funeral of their other hero. He supposed it depended on which Anders they deemed more heroic—Jason or his late father.
But alas, no tomatoes or parade. Apparently the townsfolk didn’t care about him one way or the other, and that was fine by him. There was only one person whose opinion he was interested in—and if any produce was going to be hurled, he knew it would be by the hand of Callie Carraway.
Unless she’d purchased a gun in these last four years.
Which was kind of a frightening thought.
Visit the author: Elle Kennedy
A RITA-award nominated author, Elle Kennedy began pursuing writing at a young age and holds a bachelor’s degree in English. She currently resides in Toronto, where she writes full time.