by Sosie Frost
But the Barlow family had trained for this very disaster since I was a little girl.
“Code Harvest!” Duke roared into his walkie-talkie, ordering my siblings to take their places. “We’ve got a Code Harvest!”
Duke panicked and abandoned his walkie-talkie to ambush a pile of rolling kiwis with a dustpan and broom. He swore as a gallon of freshly pressed apple cider erupted over the floors. A wave of sticky juice cascaded over Quint. He slipped, tumbling onto his ass in a fit of hysterical laughter. I spun away from Duke and dove to Quint’s side as a barrage of cherries, peanuts, and garlic rained from the ceiling.
“Look out!” A woman screamed.
Three bunches of curly leaf parsley lodged in the ceiling fans for only a moment before getting shredded into confetti. Flecks of green showered the chaos as the pandemonium shifted from produce bin to refrigerated case. The crowd eviscerated the escarole, mangled the mangos, and culled the collard greens.
The fight spread, and the elderly conquered the nearby candy aisle. The wives stuffed their pockets full of peppermints while their husbands sniped with anise hard tack. The floors turned sticky with seeds and pulp, peels and stems. A cry rose from the bakery as a battalion of seniors armed themselves with freshly baked desserts.
My sisters’ screams pierced the store.
“My lemon meringue pie!” Duchess cried.
Contessa wailed. “I told you we needed to open our own bakery!”
Regent equipped herself with a mop and leapt onto a display table filled with boxed cookies. “You want some of this? Come and take it!”
I army-crawled through the mess, reaching Quint just in time to bat away the basket of green beans aimed for his face.
Unfortunately, I’d missed the pineapple. He grunted as it clobbered him in the cheek.
“Jesus Christ!” He ducked as a pear bounced between his legs, nearly taking out the fruit in his looms. “Didn’t mean to start a war…at least, not this time!”
“Come on.” I grabbed his arm. The produce supply dwindled. In a matter of minutes, the fight would reach the canned foods section. “I gotta get you out of here before these people turn you into fruit cocktail.”
Quint groaned. “Are you kidding? I can’t go now—Mrs. Murphy just picked up whatever the hell that is!”
I turned, screamed, and hauled Quint to his feet. “Durian!”
“What’s a durian?”
It’d only taken Butterpond five minutes of chaos before the assault descended into biological warfare. Mrs. Murphy pitched the prickly brown orb into the floor with a horrific cackle.
Instantly, the store plumed with a scent of death, old socks, and turpentine.
My eyes watered. My lungs burned.
The market was lost.
“Jesus!” Quint gagged. “What the hell—”
It was every girl for herself—but I couldn’t leave him behind. I grabbed his arm and ducked low as we attempted our escape. We took shelter behind the sweet potatoes as Dr. Giles, the retired engineer, crafted a makeshift catapult from a donated girdle and a bit of ingenuity. The launching of a half dozen yams granted us enough time to bolt down the cereal aisle, sprint through the meat department, and burst through the employees-only door in the back.
Fresh air did nothing to clear the durian from my nose. Quint collapsed against the charred dumpsters—blackened and broken from the fire that had started this whole fiasco. He panted between heavy breaths.
“Please tell me someone got that on video.” He hooted. “My brothers aren’t gonna believe this.”
“I’m sure the sheriff is going to want the security footage.”
“Get me a copy, and I’ll love you forever.”
“Don’t make those promises…” I stared in horror at the store. “I can’t believe this. It’s like Butterpond’s gone insane.”
“Butterpond’s been insane.” Quint pulled a sprig of rosemary out of my hair. “Thought you knew.”
“Yeah. That’s why I keep trying to leave.”
“But if you hadn’t been here, I’d be chopped into a salad by now.” Quint’s dashing grin twisted everything inside me. “I owe you a favor, Lady. Name your price. The dirtier the better.”
The fire alarm sounded. I gave up, plunking onto the cement next to him.
“There are a lot of problems between our families,” I said.
“Doesn’t have to be,” he said.
“We don’t all hate your family.”
The only thing bigger than Quint’s smile was his heart. He shrugged away all the terrible, vile things people had said with a laugh. “The Paynes have a reputation in this town. My brothers gave up trying to fix it a long time ago. But I don’t surrender that easily.”
And that’s what made him amazing.
He was gorgeous, hilarious, and always saw the best in every situation.
But was that enough to justify a silly crush?
Ever since I was young, all I’d wanted was to be noticed by Quint Payne. But I wasn’t that love-struck little girl anymore, and times had changed. We were adults now. I had plans. Dreams. Travel itineraries that would take me from England to the Alps, Italy to Oslo.
Maybe I had feelings for him.
…Or maybe I loved the thought of wanting him.
Maybe my family was wrong about the Paynes.
…Or maybe I should’ve heeded their warnings.
Maybe he was perfect for me.
…And maybe that made him perfectly wrong for me.
The market was trashed.
My family irate.
The town torn apart.
And, as much as it hurt, that was the very sign I needed.
I’d practiced saying the words over and over, but nothing had felt right. It was time I listened to that instinct instead of the foolish wishes in my heart. This disaster was a sign for me to move on, mend my heart, and grow up.
And if it took leaving Butterpond to forget all those feelings…so be it.
I knew what I had to do.
It was time to fall out of love.
2
Quint
Bubble Butt—thy name was Lady Barlow.
I considered myself a connoisseur of perfect asses. The size. Shape. General jiggilyness.
But Lady Barlow redefined excellence.
And it killed me that she didn’t realize what she commanded pure fucking sin in that sexy skirt. Under those plaid, gravity-defying ruffles, she possessed a mouth-watering, knee-weakening, unforgivingly slap-able bubble butt.
Most women could convince a guy to break a few rules, but only Lady wielded an ass so glorious it could lead a man out of trouble.
And now? I was in big trouble.
How could someone so beautiful be so damned untouchable?
It wasn’t often that I regretted my wasted high school years. So much time lost when we might have ended this idiotic feud. For years, I’d ignored a magnificent ass and squandered every opportunity to get closer to Lady Barlow, maybe even win her over. What wouldn’t I have done for an innocent caress, a playful swat, or even a harmless spank?
Let that be a lesson for keeping the peace.
I wasn’t a bright man, but I wasn’t an idiot.
Most days.
No sense chasing a Barlow when inevitably their family would showdown with mine in the center of town at high noon, guns blazing and subpoenas at the ready.
Sure, Lady was bookworm cute with thick glasses, a dainty skirt, and a smile so sweet it’d shame a man for thinking any other woman deserved a second glance.
If only she wasn’t the sworn enemy of my family, responsible for most of the bad reputations and bullshit that had plagued us since we were kids.
I hadn’t crashed the market’s grand reopening with the intention of causing a scene, but watching Duke and company get showered in their precious produce was worth the price of admission—and maybe bail for disorderly conduct.
No worse than what the Barlows deserved for threatening
my family and nephew, Spencer. The kid swore he had nothing to do with the fireworks and damage to the store. For once, I thought he was telling the truth. Sure, he was the prankster who changed the church marquee to spoil the ending of Game of Thrones, but he wasn’t an arsonist.
At least…not yet.
My brother, Tidus, believed in him. And since Tidus so rarely believed in anything, we decided to support him. Family stuck together, through thick and thin, sickness and health, order and chaos.
They also had to cooperate for lawsuits, court dates, and public bans from the only grocery store for twenty miles…
Lady pulled a piece of mango out of her shoe. “I should get inside. I’m sure they’ve crashed the cookie aisle by now. Maybe sugar will slow them down?”
She was as pretty as she was naïve.
“You remember when Butterpond tried to institute the Sunday Sundae Soiree, don’t you?” I said. “Ice cream, strawberry syrup, and stitches all around.”
“Must have been after I left.”
I showed her the scar on my forearm. “Sugar is worse than alcohol in this town, especially for a guy like me—but don’t tell the historical society. They’ll ban cupcakes next.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “My sisters would lose what’s left of their minds.”
“Driving you crazy?”
“Isn’t that what siblings do?” Lady attempted to shake lemon seeds out of her hair. “They’ll never let me leave town now. Someone’s gonna have to clean up that mess.”
“So? Play hooky.”
Such an idea had never occurred to a good girl like her. “You want me to abandon my family in the midst of all that chaos?”
“That’s not chaos. That’s Butterpond on a Friday.” I hauled myself to my feet. “It’s also a warzone. What sort of guy would I be if I let you back into the fray?”
“I should at least go inside and steal some chips,” she said. “You’ve got enough tomato on you to make salsa.”
Her eyes appeared even bigger behind the glasses. How the hell did I think she was a dork in high school? The woman was stunning. Sophisticated. And all-to-eager to get the hell away from me.
I held my arms out. Avocado stained my shirt. Watermelon, my shoes. And a variety of berries somehow wedged themselves between my eggplant and walnuts.
“And I usually do everything I can to avoid healthy food,” I said.
She edged close, her fingertips a gentle pressure against my cheek.
Was it possible this woman’s touch excited me more than the sight her amazing ass?
“You failed…” She hummed in disappointment at the cut on my temple. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I ignored the sore spot with a hidden wince. “You wanna see a real food fight, come to a Sunday dinner at the farm. Gets brutal.”
Lady’s gaze rested on the torched dumpsters before shifting to me. “It must be better than what just happened in there. I’m sorry about all of that. About Duke.”
“Think I haven’t heard worse from my brothers?”
She curled her fingers into the hem of her skirt—a modest length, just over her knee. Short enough to get a taste of dark skin, long enough to imagine darker delights.
“I know I’ve heard some bad stories,” she said. “Over and over and over…”
“Then you gotta give me a chance to prove that gossip wrong.”
“I do?”
“Fair is fair. I got clocked by a pineapple. Least you could do is let me defend myself.”
“And how would I do that?”
“Let’s take a walk.”
Lady laughed. “We just had an all-out-war in the market. I can’t be seen with the enemy.”
“Good thing I know a dozen secret places around town.”
“Nothing in Butterpond stays secret for long,” she warned.
Unrepentant gossip was one of the things that made Butterpond so great. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a Payne boy.”
She wouldn’t own up to it. “What’s so scary about you, Quint Payne?”
“Oh, my dashing good looks, impressive physique, and…” I pointed to my cheeks. “You did see these dimples, right? Count ‘em.”
“One. Two…that I can see.”
“More where those came from.” I flexed my arms. “But a word of caution to the uninitiated—these dimples are weaponized. On my command, they strike.”
“And what do they attack?”
“Stubborn bra clasps that refuse to come undone.”
“Is that all?” She wasn’t impressed.
“Does a number on panties.”
“Anything else?”
“Gets me out of parking tickets…” I leaned close, lowering my voice. “Though you don’t want to see Sheriff Samson without his underwear.”
Lady giggled.
Damn. What a beautiful laugh. I’d taken this little Barlow for granted.
“Do you only use your powers for evil?” she asked.
Usually the girls liked me doing wrong. The badder, the better. But a wholesome little treat like Lady Barlow probably never had that kind of fun.
“Even if I get a little bad, I treat the girls real good,” I said.
Lady expressed her displeasure on the topic with an unsubtle glance. “So I’ve heard.”
Tales of my impossible prowess had whispered from Butterpond to Ironfield. A man could do worse than being known for his stamina, physique, and, most importantly, girth.
“Impressed?” I grinned.
The arch of her eyebrow was chastisement enough. “If I believed half the things whispered around this town, I’d think you were some sort of medical marvel.”
“I’ve had my share of doctors,” I said. “…Not many of them were interested in this particular set of skills.”
“Maybe they were too busy deflating that big head of yours.”
“They don’t worry about my head.” Only my pancreas. “You don’t get a reputation like mine if you’re ill-equipped for the task.”
“Now I regret listening to idle gossip,” she said.
But she still listened. And I was very interested to know what Lady Barlow thought of me.
“What have you heard?” I asked. “I’m sure someone’s given you numbers, dates, accomplishments…”
Her scold came with a scoff. “You expect some sort of award ceremony for this behavior?”
I grinned. “It’s an honor just to be dominated.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“More like…hopelessly egotistical.”
“Is that really it?” she asked. “You’re stroking your ego?”
“Usually someone else has that pleasure.”
“Well…” Lady sized me up with a glance. “If you ask me…it doesn’t sound like this is all about all ego, Quint Payne. I think it’s insecurity.”
She was wrong.
Maybe.
“Nothing wrong with being an honest lover who has a bit of free advertising whispered about town,” I said. “If you think about it, it’s a good thing.”
“Is it?”
“A woman should know what a night with me can offer.”
“A lot of heartache?”
I laughed. “I never let a relationship go farther than the bedroom.”
“What a gentleman.”
“I consider it a service to the ladies.”
“And what about yourself?” Lady shrugged. “What does all of this sleeping around get you?”
Sex.
And a lot of it.
Thought that was obvious.
She leaned against the Employee-Only door, hand on the knob, as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to dart inside or figure me out.
“All these rumors swirl about you,” she said. “Stories. Conquests. Dimples. A girl might assume that you’re out on the town every night looking for something.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Fun.”
“Is that all?”
I was a flirt, not a p
hilosopher. I’d heard all the hard questions, and I did my best to avoid answering them.
No matter how cute this woman was—with her thick glasses, coy smile, and deliberate twist of her fingers in her skirt—I wasn’t falling for any self-reflective, contemplative, soul-searching bullshit.
Life was simple. Every man had his lot.
My curse was a great body, endless charm, and cock so big I could be put to stud on the farm.
Who’d want more than that?
“And when was the last time you went out for a good time, Lady?” I asked.
“I’m having a perfectly lovely time now, thank you.”
“Doubt that.” I huffed. “You’re still wearing clothes.”
“I happen to have all my fun while wearing clothes.”
“Then we have different definitions of fun.”
Lady listened at the door, cracked it an inch, then squealed as the rotten, pore-clogging stench of the durian wafted through the gap. The door slammed shut as she gagged.
I laughed. “See…that’s fun!”
“No, that’s chaos. There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
She edged away from the market, holding her nose. “Fun for me is a good book, a warm cup of coffee, and a comfy blanket on a couch in some far away, beautiful foreign land.”
“You’re missing a great opportunity to be naked.”
“Why do you think I need the blanket?”
Fuck me. This woman had it all. Charisma. Mystery. Repressed sexuality.
“Take a walk with me,” I said. “You don’t really wanna go back in there?”
“Someone should stop the madness.”
“This is Butterpond—it’s all madness,” I said. “First, you revel in it, then you help. Until then, you have two choices. Either head back inside and gag on that durian…or have some fun with me.”
Lady reached for the door, took another sniff, then wagged a finger at me.
“Just a walk,” she said. “Only a few minutes.”
“Long enough to ruin your reputation.”
She adjusted her fruit-stained clothes and regained the classic Barlow pride with the rise of her chin. “My reputation will be fine. No one in this town would believe I ever snuck away to be with you.”
