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Harlow’s dream of happily-ever-after, and if canvas and paints hadn’t been out of her zero-dollar budget, she would have immortalized them in a portrait.
    As they disappeared inside, she dusted the dirt from her hands. No more of this, she decided. Not today, at least. Not until she’d done a little gardening research. Which meant heading into town...facing ridicule...
    She rarely ventured far from her property—even before she’d been ousted from her home, but especially since. Her job search had led her into town on a few occasions, but she’d quickly learned she had to pay a hefty price for daring to go where she wasn’t wanted.
    Suck it up. Take your medicine like a good girl.
    Head down, shoulders in, she made her way to the side of an unpaved and narrow road. It wasn’t long before a car slowed down, allowing the driver to rubberneck.
    The attention unnerved her, and she found herself rubbing the scars on her stomach. Sometimes she thought she could still feel the flames licking all the way from her navel to her collarbone, using her shirt as kindling.
    But she wasn’t going to think about the worst day of her life. Distraction wasn’t her friend any more than the next driver who passed her, rolling down his window and leaning out to snicker at her. She quickened her step, breathing a sigh of relief when the vehicle finally disappeared beyond the hill.
    The third car to come along actually pulled up alongside her, keeping pace.
    â€œHarlow Glass,” the driver said with a sneer.
    She suppressed a moan. Scott Cameron. In high school, he’d been Popular Jock Boy and one of the first to receive the infamous “Glass Pass.” Her special brand of cruel dismissal postdating. It had been especially cruel in Scott’s case because he’d dropped his longtime girlfriend to be with her, yet Harlow had dumped him the day after their first date.
    Yes, she’d been
that
girl.
    Someone must have called and told him she’d been spotted in the wild. “Gotta say, Glass. You’re not looking so good.”
    Truer words had never been spoken. She was sunburned, sweaty and wearing as much dirt as clothing. “Well, I can’t say the same to you.” Under the brim of his hat, his golden hair looked perfectly coiffed. His white shirt was crisp, without wrinkles, and his skin tanned to a glimmering bronze. “You look great.”
    His eyes narrowed, making her think he’d heard sarcasm in her voice even though there’d been none.
    She sighed. “And yes, I’ve been better.”
    â€œYou headed to town?”
    She nodded as she kept trudging forward. “I am.”
    â€œThat’s about four miles away.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAbout an hour’s walk in the intense summer heat.”
    â€œYes,” she said again. The reminders were unnecessary.
    â€œBet you’d like a ride.”
    As a matter of fact—
    â€œGood luck finding one.” Laughing with glee, he put the pedal to the metal and blazed forward, flinging dirt and gravel at her.
    Coughing, she waved a hand in front of her face.
Can’t complain. Just another dose of medicine.
    She hit Fragaria Street by late afternoon, fatigue threatening to turn her limbs into jelly. This time of year, the scent of strawberries always coated the air, wafting from hundreds of acres of wild patches.
    A handful of cars motored by, and multiple people meandered along the sidewalks. The buildings around her were different colors, from blue to yellow to red, and different sizes. Some were tall, some short. Some were wide, some thin. Some were made of brick and others of wood. A true hodgepodge of design, and she loved every inch of it.
    Virgil Porter and Anthony Rodriguez each sat in a rocker, playing checkers in front of Style Me Tender, Mr. Rodriguez’s salon. Harlow stuck to the shadows and most people never noticed her, which she preferred, but as usual, those