The Wedding Audition by Catherine Mann, Joanne Rock Page B

of credit cards.”
    “Right. I know.” She’d thought through all that on the drive to Beulah. “I picked up some extra disposable phones in case I need to make calls.”
    The same kind she spotted on his kitchen table, in fact. In a three-pack.
    “Have you used a check or credit card in Alabama?” He hauled out a box overflowing with bags of pasta, paper products and something that looked like protein bars.
    No cookies yet. The chances decreased that his freezer sported ice cream.
    “No. I paid cash for my gas. And my cell phone has been off. I called you with one of the pay-by-the-minute phones I bought just outside of Atlanta.”
    “Good. That’s good.” He assembled another box from a stack of cardboard stored alongside the refrigerator.
    His distracted approval made her feel ridiculously proud of herself. She thumbed through the book on the counter—a farmer’s almanac. Someone had made little drawings in the margins with diagrams of a garden.
    “I am very content to dig in here for a few weeks and let the world forget all about me.” She turned to a recipe section and remembered she couldn’t lock herself into Heath’s carriage house forever. “Although I did promise my grandmother I’d meet her in the retirement home’s garden tomorrow.”
    “Your grandmother.” He scowled. “Isn’t this the first place folks will look for you to run? To your family?”
    “Don’t worry, no one outside of the immediate family knows we’re related, and as far as they’re concerned we’re estranged. I wasn’t even sure she would want to see me. But she actually got all strangely protective of me,”—at least, that’s what Annamae hoped had been her motive—“and told me to meet her in the garden tomorrow morning when no one would be around.”
    “So she’s trying to help you keep the low profile?” Heath went to the fridge and pulled out eggs, milk and butter, tossing them all in the box.
    “I guess. I’d never met her before today.” Annamae shrugged. “Got any wine to spare? Or coffee?”
    He produced both so quickly, shoving both in the box, that she was tempted to ask for the best, fastest place to get ice cream, but she wasn’t supposed to leave. She could always bake cookies…. But she hated to reveal all her food vices at once. Acting Up had almost given her an eating disorder during the first season.
    “Your bio online doesn’t say anything about a connection to this town at all. Or a grandmother who lives here, even an estranged one. So maybe you’re right that no one will look for you here.” Heath moved to a drawer stocked with utensils and found some spoons, measuring cups and a corkscrew.
    “You ran a background check anyhow?” She enjoyed watching him move around his kitchen, cats lazing at his feet as if they hung out there all the time.
    She found a pen and made a few notes while he worked.
    “Told you I would.” He stuffed some paper plates in the box and one coffee mug. “So, what’s the deal with your grandmother?”
    “She’s my biological father’s mother. But I’ve never met my real father either. And my stepfather’s wealth does a great job of hiding things he wants kept hidden, so there’s no mention of my dad anywhere online.”
    Heath nodded as he stalked over to the fridge and pulled out two longnecks.
    “Beer?” he offered.
    “I’d better not. I’m going to wait to have that glass of wine until I get settled in the new space.” She did not need her inhibitions lowered in front of him when she was an emotional wreck and feeling mighty vulnerable. “I wrote down a description of that guy I saw trimming the hedges.” She passed him a napkin with details written on it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to settle into the carriage house before it gets any darker.”
    Twilight was going to turn to full dark soon, the sky outside pale purple. She needed to leave her rent and go to bed.
    “I can turn the fuse box from here. You’ll have power