had any beef with the Tuckers. That was Mom’s thing. I thought the old feud was ridiculous, especially since not a single person seemed to know how it had started. But it was better to avoid conflict, I figured, so I didn’t walk in front of Veronica Tucker’s bookstore, though it was exactly the kind of place I’d love to go lose myself now.
The square was busy for a Sunday morning. There was a man jogging down the other side of the street, looking fit and healthy in a way that made me realize I probably needed to stop self-medicating with Mom’s muffins soon, and there was an old woman in the crosswalk, moving at a dying snail’s pace across the street. Just as I turned to cross, she stumbled and crumpled to the ground in front of me, and as my heart rushed into my mouth with fear and concern, I rushed to kneel at her side.
“Are you all right?” I asked, the question echoed in deep masculine tones on the other side of the old woman. I looked up to find the runner kneeling on the woman’s other side. He must have seen her fall too. I looked a moment longer at him and surprise flooded me as I took in the dark blue eyes, the square jaw and tousled ginger hair. He was a Tucker. Michael, I thought.
“Well,” said the little pile of old woman between us. “Well, I don’t know.”
I didn’t see any blood, and the woman seemed to be lucid—those were good signs.
Might-be-Michael helped her come to a sitting position, and she lifted a small wrinkled hand to her head, glancing between us. “Is my hair all right?”
Her hair was arranged in a cloud-like pouf at the back of her head, and it looked unharmed by the fall.
I laughed, recognizing Filene Easter, who was a long-time friend of my mother’s and had been my babysitter, once upon a time. “It looks fine, Mrs. Easter. Are you all right, though?”
“Did you hit your head?” The runner asked, and his deep blue eyes were fixed on her face, full of concern. Something about his sincere attention made my heart twist inside my chest.
“Maybe you kind children could just help me up,” she suggested, and after exchanging a brief glance, we complied. I felt a little jump of amusement at having been referred to as “children.” I wondered if Maybe-Michael-Tucker recognized me—we’d never really known each other, but we’d both been kids in a very small town, so we knew who the other was. If, in fact, this was Michael. Might-be-Mike had gotten handsome, either way. Even if he was possibly a Tucker.
“Let’s just sit for a moment,” the man suggested, guiding Mrs. Easter to the bench in front of Mom’s shop. “You’re Addison, right?” he asked me, narrowing his eyes. “Your mom isn’t going to, uh . . .” He looked at me questioningly. So he was a Tucker—the trepidation in his eyes confirmed it.
“She’s not really part of the ‘shoot any Tucker on sight’ side of the family,” I assured him. Though Mom was part of the “ask a million questions if she catches me out here with a Tucker,” side. “And you’re Michael?”
“Oh, I see. So she’s just part of the ‘unleash a thousand crickets in a bookshop’ contingent, huh?” he said, bitterness narrowing his eyes. “And yeah, I’m Mike.”
Wow. So we were going there? Better not to engage. This was not my fight. I would not get involved. Definitely-Mike was acting like kind of a dick. “Mrs. Easter,” I said, addressing the old woman and hoping the Tucker at my side would let it drop. “Does anything hurt?”
She looked between us, a tiny smile playing on her thin lips. “At my age, everything hurts, dear.”
Michael chuckled, and I realized that when he wasn’t being an ass about a hundred-year-old feud, his smile might have been considered charming—as was his concern for Mrs. Easter as he asked, “How about anything new hurting since falling a few minutes ago?”
She sighed. “My knee hurts a little bit.” She leaned forward and pulled the hem of her long skirt up higher, revealing combat boots and tall socks beneath. But she also uncovered a bleeding scrape and a rapidly swelling bump. I winced in sympathy. That looked like it hurt.
Michael sucked in a breath and his eyes flew to mine. He looked worried, and in that second, I knew we’d both dropped the topic of the feud. “Oh, that’s