Free 'Til Grits Do Us Part by Jennifer Rogers Spinola

afternoon.”
    â€œAnd leave her stuffed in my laundry room the rest of the day?”
    â€œOf course not! Drop her off at Faye and Earl’s—or at our place, even. Todd loves to take care of her. But you can’t keep letting her run off like this!” Adam let out an angry sigh.
    â€œI’m not letting her. She just takes off!” I put my hands on my hips, feeling anything but belated birthday joy as anger heated my cheeks. “And don’t start on the roses again. I have no idea who sent them.”
    â€œWhat?” Adam spun around, his normally calm and sober blue eyes flashing.
    â€œThis is what this whole thing is about, isn’t it?” I faced him. “You’re upset over nothing. It’s a florist’s mistake.”
    He crossed his arms stiffly then turned and looked out over the pond. Shredded willow fronds floated on the surface, broken by the rain.
    I waited until an elderly couple shuffled by, tossing duck feed to some fluffy goslings. Then I stalked over to Adam’s side. He didn’t look up.
    I attempted to temper my voice, thinking of those old letters in Mom’s trunk and so many words I shouldn’t have spoken. “The flower thing’s not my fault, okay?”
    â€œIs that what you think?” Adam turned to face me, his jaw set angrily. “That I’m blaming you? And overreacting about some flowers? I’m not.” He shook his head and looked away. “It’s just…weird, okay?”
    â€œWell, how do you think I feel? In case you were wondering, I—”
    â€œHold on.” Adam grabbed my arm and pushed past me. “I think I saw… There’s Christie! Over there! I’ll get her.” He scrambled off the concrete sidewalk that skirted the duck pond and then leaped across the little stream that twisted through too-green grass. The rain had splintered into golden afternoon sun, glistening moist on thick leaves and turning the neatly mown grounds to ruddy sparkles. Adam jumped over three indignant mallards and scooted up the shallow embankment then took off through the dogwoods.
    â€œGreat. Now everything’s my fault,” I crabbed, trotting after him in my strappy shoes. One heel punched into the soft earth and came up covered with mud. “Everywhere I go Christie runs off, and I’m supposed to fix her. Fix my life. Fix everything.” I fumed silently a minute, wishing I could throttle whoever sent me that stupid bouquet. Please. Couldn’t everybody give me one moment of peace?
    Even Adam. I scrubbed my muddy heel, wondering why things always had to be complicated. I mean, not always. Just…more often than I’d like.
    He could be weird and stuffy, and super stubborn. Just last week we’d had a big argument over our honeymoon spot, of all things! I’d found the perfect hotel package online—if we signed up during the discount period—for a reduced-rate week in Virginia Beach. “Morning Sun,” they called it. The photos looked great, and the prices were even better.
    But Adam shot it down. Told me the deal sounded suspicious, and I didn’t know Virginia Beach well enough.
    I told him he didn’t know
me
well enough. Or how to move fast on a bargain.
    I leaned my head back against the tree, remembering the way he’d looked at me when he asked me to marry him. Fishing pole in his lap and eyes holding back tears.
    And I, a sucker for his sacrificial heart and against-the-grain simplicity (which drove me nuts sometimes, and not in a good way) could only sob out a yes. Even though he drove a pickup truck and hauled mulch. Even though he lived in rundown, redneck Staunton, Virginia. And even though he proposed while
fishing
.
    Good thing Kyoko back in Japan hadn’t seen Adam’s romantic setup or the orange-feathered lure sticking out of his tackle box when he popped the question. She regularly voiced worries that, after veering so far