Free Runaway Groom by Virginia Nelson

certainly hadn’t been shy about letting her know it when she was already heartbroken—too bad she had no spine to talk back to him at the time.
    Rumor had it that her mother dumped him back in high school, but rumors in this town were unfounded as often as not, so it was hard to guess whether he just didn’t like her because of Braxton or for her mother’s sins. Either way, for years, even passing the damn store was a traumatic experience.
    Marching up to it today, she wasn’t battling nerves.
    She was annoyed.
    “Abigail! Abigail!”
    Groaning quietly, Abigail came to a halt and turned to see Manda’s mother, Nancy Watkin, hurrying down the sidewalk. She carried a covered plastic dish. “Abigail, I made you something!”
    Breathless, the older woman shoved the container at Abigail and then smoothed her white hair.
    “That was very sweet of you, Mrs. Wa—”
    “Oh, not a word of it, dear. I remember how at the Fourth of July picnic three years ago you loved my mama’s upside-down cake so I whipped you up one. You know, if I remember correctly, Braxton always had a taste for it too. You should invite him by; offer him a bite to eat. That boy, living all by himself, needs some good home cookin’, don’t you think, dear?”
    Abigail swallowed the growl that rose in her throat and resisted stomping her foot like a child. “I think he looks like he’s eating well.”
    “He has grown up to be a fine figure of a man, hasn’t he? Why, I was just out the other day and he was mowing his lawn and I had to ask him if he didn’t think I was a good neighbor or what was his problem.”
    “Huh?” Abigail looked at her, confused.
    “He had his shirt on. If he considered me a good neighbor, the least he could do is mow with his shirt off so I could see those guns of his. That boy is built like a romance cover model, isn’t he?” Mrs. Watkin fanned herself and winked at Abigail conspiratorially.
    “Uh…I…” Abigail glanced around.
    “You have to have noticed, dear. Janice!” Waving her arm, she alerted one of her friends pushing a granddaughter in a stroller, to the uncomfortable conversation. “Come over here!”
    “Yes, Nancy.” Janice Winters joined them on the sidewalk. Her granddaughter chewed a plastic toy and blinked up at them.
    “Isn’t Braxton just a stud of a man?”
    Abigail was pretty sure her face was a shade of red that would put a fire truck to shame.
    “Oh, he is, isn’t he? That boy grew up nice. I mean, he was nice looking when he played football, but now? He makes that butter man look shabby,” Janice agreed.
    “The butter man?” Abigail asked, not sure she wanted to know.
    “You know? The one with the flowing hair?”
    “Fabio?” Abigail asked.
    Mrs. Watkin snapped her fingers. “That’s the one, dear. See, you can recognize a nice-looking fellow when you see one.”
    Shell-shocked, Abigail wished Carnie wasn’t at work. She could use backup. She wasn’t going to make it to the tool store at this rate. “Does anyone remember he ditched me at the altar?”
    “Yes, dear, of course we remember that. He was only a boy. He’s a man now and he’s back, and a smart girl would set the bait and catch her man.” With a nudge to her arm, the two women finally walked off, waving as they left.
    Leaving Abigail more mad and armed with cake.
    After taking a moment to compose herself, she spun on her heel and continued onward.
    The bell jangled as she entered the door she’d avoided for so long. The smell of cigars and metal assaulted her nostrils, and motes of dust danced on the light slanting in the front windows. The store was split into three aisles, the center one leading to the counter behind where Braxton lounged, talking in an animated tone to an old man in a plaid shirt. Striding down the polished wood floor, Abigail plunked the cake down in front of Braxton with a glare.
    The old man stopped speaking to look at the cake. “Missy, he isn’t going to trade you cake for tools.