or San Diego would see it as a small town, it wasn’t the least bit provincial. The vibrant, varied economic base gave it a certain sophistication and the beach to the west and the surrounding agricultural region provided unique qualities a man could never tire of.
You want surf, you got it.
You want mountain views and fertile valleys, you got that too.
If you had a desire to sample some local wines and craft beers along with locally grown foods prepared by expert chefs…that was available as well.
Mad wheeled the vacuum back into the utility closet. A housekeeper came a couple of times a month, but he liked his environment tidy and clean and wasn’t averse to getting out household cleaners and appliances. His sister Tracy said that he might be set in his ways, but at least he wasn’t a slob.
Mad had decided to take that as a compliment.
In the kitchen, he adjusted the plates and silverware on the peninsula then glanced into the refrigerator to see the beer and hard seltzers already cold as well as the guacamole and salsa he’d purchased at the Mexican market. The bakery stayed open on Sunday mornings, and he had a cardboard box of various cookies waiting.
On his way out the door to the garage, he snatched his keys off the hook. Only one item left to pick up for tonight’s dinner. Poker night’s host provided the meal the crew shared before getting down to play. He had enough time to head to the weekly farmers market before it closed for the evening.
Sunday afternoons local vendors sold their wares in the overlarge parking lot adjacent to the city administration building that also housed the post office and the library. Attendance was always strong and more than one performer offered live music as well. A face painter came out every weekend and the vintage car club lined their cars along a nearby street for a chance to show off their loving restorations.
The line of gleaming classic vehicles brought Harper’s beater to mind, but Mad quickly dismissed her from his thoughts and headed in the direction of Alma, his tamale connection. He’d already texted her his usual order. Customarily he picked it up at her family’s taco shop, but on Sundays she had a booth at the farmers market where she’d promised to have it packaged and waiting for him.
“I’ve been looking forward to Alma’s tamales since you offered to host,” a man’s voice said, then the man himself fell into step beside Mad.
“Hey, Hart.” Mad glanced over, making a quick assessment of Hart Sawyer, one of his oldest friends. Hart’s great-grandfather had named the town and the family had prospered here. Hart owned a real estate development company and he’d seemed to live a golden life, which included reconnecting with his old college girlfriend at a reunion and quickly getting engaged to her.
Then, just weeks before the wedding, Kim had died of a brain aneurysm, killing Hart’s plans for his future too.
He’d lost weight, lost a lot of his usual spirit, and sometimes Mad suspected he’d lost all hope.
“Hart,” he said now, “you need to hit the gym. Your biceps are looking scrawny.”
The other man shrugged. “So you tell me all the time. I need to eat more too, which is why I mentioned the tamales. They sound good. So does a big batch of guac and that salsa you buy at the little market on the corner of Lemon and Palm.”
“Maybe I’m not serving them tonight,” Mad said, a bit annoyed at being so predictable. “Maybe I’ve decided to go with…with, I don’t know, a tofu stir fry or something.”
Hart’s chuckle sounded rusty. “Right. But sorry, bud. You know I love you, but you don’t have the imagination to come up with a new menu starring something like ‘tofu stir fry.’” He laughed again.
“I do too have an imagination,” Mad muttered. Because what else was responsible for those damn dreams he’d been having, day and night, starring Harper Hill and her hot mouth and clinging arms and the sweet way she’d say his name. Yeah, she used to give him shit about being predictable and staid and an inveterate rule-follower but she’d responded so sweetly when he sent her his best authoritarian stare, giggling like crazy while she attempted to loosen him up.
Then breathing hard and melting against him when she only managed to make him hard as a rock instead.
“Who’s that with Sophie?” Hart asked now, his tone sharp.
Mad glanced around, and saw