“In your case it does,” Becky assured. “How’s the autumn festival coming?”
Justine straightened as a blend of excitement and anxiety rushed in. “It’s coming along really well,” she said. “We’ve got the lodge all set up and ready for the vendors. In fact, I can give you an advance schedule of the weekend’s events if you’d like.”
“I’d love that,” Becky said.
Justine reached into her bag—a twill piece she’d picked up at last year’s art auction—and retrieved a copy of the schedule.
Becky grinned as she took it from her. “Your total’s seventeen fifty, by the way,” she added.
Justine inserted her bankcard and eyed the program from across the way.
“Oh, good,” Becky said while scanning over the schedule. “You’re letting the ladies do the ax throwing event this year. That’s cool.”
She nodded. “After several requests, yes.”
Becky’s face got dreamy as she scanned over it some more. “I wonder if Brittany and Trevor are going to win Pie Princess and Pie Prince.”
Probably. But Justine didn’t like to think about it. “Maybe you’ll be the princess this year. Have you considered entering?”
Becky only shook her head. “I’m too shy. I hate that kind of attention.”
“I know what you mean,” Justine admitted. “But maybe that’s the reason girls like Brittany always win. No one else bothers entering.”
Becky’s smile widened. “I guess you’re right.” She snatched up the receipt once it was printed and handed it over. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Becky. See you this weekend.” With that, she snatched the bags of groceries in her fists and headed toward the exit. Justine got four steps away from the checkout when something caught her eye. Something bright orange, sneaky, and huddled up to the magazine stand near Becky’s checkout station.
Brittany!
A knot of nausea rolled through Justine’s gut as the woman flipped the page of a tabloid. Her eyes drifted from the magazine and shot straight to Justine, proving the woman was very aware of her. A small, cruel-looking smile pulled at one side of her lips before she flapped the magazine closed with a yawn and placed it back in the stand.
Looking satisfied then, the woman curled the glitter-covered tips of her fingers around her cart and strode away.
Justine gulped past the heat rising in her chest. How much had she heard? Hopefully none of it. They’d been whispering after all.
Your secret’s safe with me—had she heard Becky say that? Justine would rather Brittany had heard the conversation in it’s entirety—the part that, in her mind, exonerated her. Justine hadn’t said she was engaged to impress anyone. And she hadn’t meant to let it go on so long either.
The warmth of the store would be a thing of the past once she stepped beyond the doors; Justine was counting on it. Her face and chest were fire hot. Her palms had broken into a sweat. And her heart and mind were racing at record speed.
At the exit, she pushed open the door with one shoulder, sucked in a breath of crisp autumn air, and willed it to put a stop to the chaos in her head. This had officially gotten out of hand. She needed to go find Gramps, tell him the truth, and ask him to…to what? Tell the town she’d had a fake boyfriend this whole time? Even worse—a fiancé that never even existed?
Just tell him the truth, Justine.
She hated the idea of hurting him, and if Gramps knew she had lied…A hot, stinging pain swelled in her gut. No. It would hurt too much.
The thing was, Gramps had lost a whole lot of his social grace over the years. At times his persistence had bordered on rude. Justine had chalked it up to his aging mind—the last thing he’d want to do is hurt her.
If anything, creating an online fiancé had been the kindest way to put it to rest. And it had done just that. With that one white lie, their relationship had gone from its strained state back to the loving, easygoing relationship they’d always had. Always, that is, until he’d become fixated on her single status.
It was settled then. She could not tell him the truth. It was too late for that. But it was high time she end the charade and tell Gramps that the engagement was off. It’d be easy enough to do. She could simply say the long-distance thing wasn’t working out.
Tension drained from her shoulders as her determination set in. She’d tell him it was off, and it’d be his