But when a woman steps up beside me and starts talking to the postal clerk, it appears this really is happening.
What the hell is wrong with this town?
I stomp out of the post office and find myself back on the sidewalk, wondering if there’s such a thing as professionalism that exists anymore.
“Hey ho!”
Apparently not.
Jerking my head to the left, I see Julianne sticking her head out of the salon door and waving.
“I’ll be right back,” I yell and keep walking.
“But—”
“Later!”
I cross the street and head for the front door of Home Cookin’, ready to get my boxes back and get on with my day.
When I push open the door and stride up to the counter, the conversation at the big table full of retired ladies having coffee hushes, but their version of quiet still allows me to hear every single word they say.
“Oh my word, is that her?”
“Yep. She’s the one.”
A prickle of foreboding creeps up the back of my neck, but I ignore it.
The waitress Darlene stops in front of me with a smirk on her face. “I can guess what you’re here for.”
“I need to talk to Emmy.”
She huffs out a laugh. “I’ll just bet you do.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
When Darlene walks away, I swing around to face the whispers that were coming from behind me. The women look away as I tap my foot and wait.
Finally, Darlene returns from the back, and Emmy is right behind her.
“I think you have two boxes of mine that the post office gave you by mistake,” I tell her, not bothering to waste her time or mine with a greeting.
Emmy leans on the counter, and I can’t read her expression. “Just when I think one person can’t cause any more scandal in this wholesome small town of ours, I’m proven wrong.”
I roll my eyes. “Just give me the boxes, and we can forget this ever happened.”
“Oh, I don’t think my good friend Tricia is going to forget what she saw in my office just twenty minutes ago. A box full of ... I can’t even say it.”
Tricia. Fuck.
“Let me guess. She was so scandalized, she had to go tell the entire town that you accidentally opened a box of dicks not meant for you.”
Emmy’s sharp inhale tells me I’ve hit my mark. “Don’t you have any shame at all? Or even self-respect? What is Logan going to think of this when he finds out what kind of things you’re getting sent here—”
I adopt the sweetest tone I can manage and interrupt her. “Oh, honey, if you think he doesn’t know and one hundred percent support the idea, then you’re just sad and misguided.”
Her mouth drops open.
“Yeah, that’s right. In fact, if you’ll just give me my stuff, I’ll be able to follow through on what he asked me to do tonight, which is be at his house waiting for him, getting myself off.”