Mallory pulled into Mrs. B’s driveway. The yard was neglected, as was the house. With a bad feeling, Mallory got out of her car, grabbed the bag of groceries she’d picked up, and knocked at the front door.

No one answered.

Mallory knocked again, knowing that Mrs. B probably wouldn’t open the door to her, but something definitely felt off. She wriggled the handle, and the door opened. “Mrs. Burland?” she called out. “It’s me, Mallory Quinn.”

“Go away.”

The voice sounded feeble and weak and somehow arrogant at the same time. Ignoring the command, Mallory walked inside the dark house and flipped on a light.

Mrs. Burland lay on the scarred wood floor at the base of a set of stairs.

Mallory dropped everything in her hands and rushed to her, setting two fingers against Mrs. B’s carotid artery to search out a pulse.

Strong.

Sagging back on her knees, she let out a breath of relief. “You got dizzy and fell down the stairs?”

“No, I like to nap here,” Mrs. B snapped out. “I told you to go away. You have no right to be here.”

Okay, so little Miss Merry Sunshine was stringing her words together just fine, with no obvious disorientation. It was her vasovagal syncope then. Mallory ran a hand down the older woman’s limbs and found nothing obviously broken. “Can you stand?”

“Sure. I just chose to be the rug today,” Mrs. B snapped. “Why the hell are you here? Don’t you ever get tired of saving people? Why do you do it?”

“Well, in your case, I do it for your charming wit and sweet nature.” And anyway, there weren’t enough shrinks or enough time to cover why she really did it…“Can you sit up?”

Mrs. Burland slapped Mallory’s hands away but didn’t move.

Well, that answered that question. Mallory sat on the floor next to her and rifled through the bag of groceries she’d brought. “What’s going to float your boat today? I’ve got soup, a sandwich, or—”

“Just go away! I’m old. I’m alone. I’m going to die any second now. Just let me.”

“You’re not old,” Mallory said. “You’re just mean. And FYI, that’s why you’re alone. You could have friends if you’d stop snapping at everyone. Lucille’d take you into her posse in an instant if you were even the slightest bit less evil. She loves snark.”

“I’m alone.”

“Hello,” Mallory said. “I’m sitting right here! You’re not alone. You have me.” She pulled out a snack-sized box of apple juice. “Your favorite.”

“Not thirsty.”

“Then how about some chicken soup?”

Mrs. Burland showed another sign of life as a slight spark came into her eyes. “Is it from a can?”

“No,” Mallory said. “I spent all day cooking it myself. After raising the chickens and growing the carrots and celery in my garden.”

Mrs. Burland sniffed. “I don’t eat soup out of a can.”

“Fine.” Mallory pulled out a bag of prunes.

Mrs. Burland snatched the bag and opened it with shaking fingers.

Mallory smiled.

“You’re enjoying my misery?”

“I knew I’d get you with the prunes.”

After a minute or two, with the sugar in her system, Mrs. B glared at Mallory. “I’d have been fine without you.”

“Sure. You’d be even better if you took care of yourself.”

“What do you know? You’re not taking care of yourself either.”

“What does that mean?”

“In a storage attic?” Mrs. Burland asked snidely, then snorted at Mallory’s look of shock. “Yes, I heard about your little interlude. Someone caught your Mr. Garrison coming downstairs from the auction, and then you following him a few minutes later looking all telltale mussed up. Either you were practicing for a WWE tryout or you’d been having some hanky-panky. Don’t think just because I’m old that I don’t know these things. I remember hormones.”

Oh good Lord.

“And what kind of a woman dates a man who takes her to a storage attic?” Mrs. B wanted to know.

A red-blooded one. Ty Garrison was seriously potent, and Mallory defied even the most stalwart of women to be able to deny herself a Ty-induced orgasm. Just thinking it made her ache, because in spite of herself, she missed him way too much. She hoped he missed her too, that he wasn’t planning to fill the void with…Frances. “Actually,” she said, “it’s not really an attic, but more of a storage area. And we’re not dating.”

“So you’re giving away the milk for free?”

“First of all, I’m not a cow,” Mallory said. “And second of all, we’re not discussing this.”

“You’re trying to save him, right? Like you try to save everyone? Surely even you realize that a man like that isn’t interested in a small town nurse, not for the long term.”

The jab hit a little close to home because it happened to be true. But Mallory wasn’t trying to save Ty.

She wouldn’t have minded keeping him, though…​“Watch it,” she said mildly. “Or the prunes come with me.”

“Hmph.”

They sat there on the floor for a few minutes longer while Mallory checked Mrs. Burland’s vitals again, which were stronger now. Then she glanced up and nearly screamed.

Jack Nicholson from The Shining stood in the front doorway.

Or Mr. Wykowski. He stepped inside. “Louisa,” he said quietly, eyes on Mrs. B. “You all right?”

The oddest thing happened. Right before Mallory’s eyes, Mrs. Burland changed. She softened. She…smiled. Or at least that’s what Mallory thought the baring of her teeth meant.

“Of course,” Mrs. B said. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Mr. Wykowski said, squatting beside her. “You get dizzy again?”

“Of course not.”

“Louisa.”

Mrs. Burland’s eyes darted away. “Maybe a little. But only for a minute.”

Mr. Wykowski nodded to Mallory. “Good of you to stop by. She doesn’t make it easy. She hasn’t figured out that we take care of our own here in Lucky Harbor.”

Mallory smiled at him, knowing she’d never be afraid of him again. “It’s good to know she’s not alone.” She shot Mrs. Burland a long look.

Mrs. Burland rolled her eyes, but shockingly not a single bitchy thing crossed her lips.

There were more footsteps on the front porch and then another neighbor appeared. Lucille. She was in a neon green track suit today, which wasn’t exactly flattering on a body that gravity hadn’t exactly been kind to. Her wrinkled lips were in pink. Her tennis shoes were black and yellow.

You needed a pair of sunglasses to look at her.

“There you are, Teddy,” Lucille said, smiling at Mr. Wykowski. “Ready for that walk around the block?”

Mrs. Burland narrowed her gaze. “He was visiting with me.”

Lucille put her hands on her hips. “You don’t even like visitors.”

“Out of my house.”

Lucille smiled. “Make me.”

Mrs. Burland narrowed her eyes.

Lucille held out her hand. “Need help getting up first?”

Mrs. Burland struggled up by herself, glaring triumphantly at Lucille when she did it. “I could beat you around the block if I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Lucille sized her up. “Prove it.”

“I’ll do that.” Mrs. Burland moved toward the door, where Mr. Wykowski carefully drew her arm into the crook of his. Then Lucille flanked Mrs. Burland’s other side.

And the three of them walked out the door and around the block.

Mallory went home. She parked, watered Mrs. Tyler’s flowers, her grandma’s flowers, and then unlocked her front door. She glanced at the little foyer desk—as she had every time since Ty had shown her a whole new use for it—and sighed. There was chocolate cake in her immediate future. If she wasn’t going to have wild, high-calorie-burning sex, she was going to have to resort to some exercise.

“Meow.”

“I hear you.” She fed Sweet Pea and then changed, forcing herself to the pier for a run.

The quarter of a mile down to the end nearly killed her so she walked back, holding the stitch in her side. When she came up on the ice cream stand, she slowed even more. Lance wasn’t working today but his older brother Tucker was.

“Hey Cutie,” Tucker called out. “I’ve got a chocolate double with your name on it. Literally. We just created a new list of specials. Number one is The Good Girl Gone Bad.”

She gave him a long, dark look and he laughed. “Come on,” he said. “It’s funny.”

Maybe to someone whose name wasn’t Mallory Quinn.

“Want one?”

More than her next breath. “No.”

He leaned out the window, all lean, easy grace as he took in her sweaty appearance. “Wow, turning down ice cream. And you’re running.” His smile spread. “You’re on a diet, aren’t you?”

She blew out a breath. “Just trying to get some exercise and be healthy.”

“You look good to me,” he said.

Aw. That was nice. She was thinking maybe he’d be a nice addition to the Mr. Wrong list, but then he said, “And whatshisface should tell you that in every attic he gets you into.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s a storage area!” And dammit. She was going to have to move. She went back to running. Without her ice cream.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

She went home and glared at her foyer desk. “Somehow,” she told it, “this is your fault.”

The table had nothing to say in its defense.

“Fine. It’s not your fault. It’s Ty’s.” Her body ached for him, but it was more than that. Her mind ached for him, too.

Shaking her head at herself, she showered, got caught up in a Charmed season six marathon, and then headed over to Eat Me at the appointed time for a meeting of the Chocoholics.

As she entered Eat Me, the comforting sounds of people talking and laughing washed over her, as did scents of foods that made her stomach growl.

She’d skipped dinner. Tonight was very different from their first impromptu meeting. For one, there was no storm. It was fifty degrees outside, clear, and the air was scented with late spring.

For another, it wasn’t midnight so the place wasn’t deserted. She slipped onto the stool next to Grace and eyed the empty spot in front of her. “You refraining tonight?”

“Waiting on you.”

Amy appeared, holding a cake and three forks.

Mallory grabbed one and dug in, guilt free since she’d run.

“No less than five customers have already tried to buy this cake,” Amy said. “So you are welcome.” She had to come and go at first as the diner emptied out. Then she stood on her side of the counter inhaling her third of the small cake. “God,” she said on a moan. “Heaven on earth.”

“Amazing,” Grace admitted.

Mallory couldn’t speak. She was too busy stuffing her face.

Amy swallowed and licked chocolate off her lips. “I’m calling this meeting to order. Mallory, you’re first up.”

“Nope. Not my turn.”

“We’ve told you, you’re first until we fix you.” Grace smiled. “So spill. Tell us all.”

Mallory sighed. “I’d rather talk about Amy and Sexy Forest Ranger Matt.”

Grace went brows up at this and looked at Amy. “You putting out forest fires with that hot ranger who keeps coming in here for pie?”

“We have good pie,” Amy said.

“There’s all kinds of pie,” Grace said.

Mallory nearly snorted cake out her nose, and Amy gave her a dirty look.

“This is not about me,” she said haughtily and pointed her fork at Mallory.

Mallory stuffed in some cake.

“Uh oh,” Grace said. “I’m sensing some slow down in Mission: Bad Girl.”

“I wore the shoes,” Mallory said. “And it was fun.”

“Um, honey, from all accounts, you had more than some fun,” Grace said, licking her fork.

“Accounts?”

“FB.” Grace turned to Amy. “And thanks for the Facebook tip, by the way. It’s a little addictive.”

“You can’t believe everything you read on there.” Mallory sank onto her stool a little bit. “It’s only a small percentage of the truth.”

“Is that right?” Grace asked. “So what percentage of that picture with you and Ty looking cozy would you say is the truth?”

Mallory blew out a sigh and stabbed into the cake for another big bite. “We weren’t…cozy. Then.”

Grace grinned. “He’s got that look. That big, sexy, I-know-how-to-please-a-woman-in-bed look.”

Mallory propped up her head with her hand. With her other, she shoveled in more cake. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but see, we do,” Amy said.

“I broke it off,” Mallory said and sighed when they gasped. “I told you, I’m not hard-wired for this bad girl stuff. Every time we were together I would find myself…” She closed her eyes. “Falling.”

Grace reached for her hand and squeezed it.

Amy pushed the cake closer to Mallory.

“Thanks.” Mallory shook her head. “I couldn’t keep things light. He’s just…” She sighed. “Too yummy.”