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thought a town like that only existed on TV, but so far this place has lived up to my expectations. Woodfalls was charming and quirky and certainly not perfect, but that just made it even better. I fell in love instantly and was able to cross yet another item off my bucket list.
    " You look like something even the cat wouldn't want to drag in," Fran greeted me as I entered the store.
    " Well, I feel like something even the dog wouldn't want to bury," I replied, grabbing an apron off the hook behind the old fashioned counter where a dated cash register sat. Not that we actually used it, Fran kept it for nostalgia reasons. Even in sleepy Woodfalls, we actually had computerized registers.
    " Rough night?" she asked with double meaning, eyeing me critically. Fran was the only person who knew why I was really here. I felt it was only fair to tell her the truth, since one day I may just disappear again. For all her feistiness, she is still a sweet lady. If she had concerns about me working here, she never let it show, and has always paid me under the table to keep me off the books. It was just a safety precaution because I wasn't sure if anyone would ever come looking for me. Truthfully, I really didn't even need to work. I had a trust fund that had been turned over to me the day I turned twenty-one. The days leading up to my disappearance, I'd gone to the bank each day and withdrew the allotted amount that wouldn't raise a red flag. My window of opportunity was short though, because once the monthly statement came in, the gig would be up. By the time that happened, I was long gone with enough liquid cash to keep me comfortable.
    " Not like you think," I answered, unpacking a box of candy bars. "I went out with Tressa and Brittni," I added as explanation for my hungover appearance.
    "A h, I see," she said chuckling. "Tipped up a few too many, did ya?
    "A few I could have handled. The dozen or so after that is what killed me ," I said, grimacing at the memory of my puke party earlier. If I never drank whiskey again, it would be too soon. "But at least I can cross getting trashed off my list."
    " I don't remember trashed being on your list," she chirped, hoisting up a heavy box of canned goods before depositing them in front of the shelf where they needed to be unpacked.
    " Oh, it wasn't, but after the pain I felt this morning, it was a last-minute write-in because I'm never going there again," I said, coming around the counter to help her carry the heavy boxes to the appropriate aisles. "I told you to stop lugging those heavy boxes around. That's why you hired me, right?" I chastised.
    " Oh, sugar, I've been lugging boxes around before you were ever thought of. I hired you so I'd stop being the crazy old woman who talks to herself all day."
    " You're so full of it. I know for a fact that Mr. James from the hardware store comes in here daily just to see you."
    " He just likes the jerky I keep in stock," she smirked, pulling a box-cutter out of the pocket of her apron and carefully slicing the clear tape that sealed the carton.
    " I believe you. Not. He comes in here because he wants to ride the Fran train," I retorted, tongue-in-cheek.
    "Bite your tongue , young lady," Fran admonished me. She acted scandalized, but I knew better. Fran was a reality TV junkie, especially The Real Housewives . She claimed they were better than soap operas any day. "I should wash your mouth out," she threatened.
    " Don't deny it. I've seen the way he checks you out when he's here. Just like I've seen you admiring his backside," I added, wagging my eyebrows at her.
    " Honey, at our age, our asses are either boney as hell or a saggy mess of flesh. There's a reason our eyesight goes the older we get."
    I snorted with laughter at her bluntness. That 's why I enjoyed working with her so much, she always kept it real.
    The tinkling of the bell over the door stalled any further comments. Fran shuffled off to the stockroom to deposit th e empty boxes while I