Eluna’s P.O.V.
After my shift at the restaurant was over, I took the long way to the B&B.
Then I doubled back.
Twice.
Paranoia?
Maybe.
But when you were sneaking off to deliver dinner to a country music superstar who was hiding out in a tiny town like ours, caution suddenly felt like common sense. The last thing I needed was for TMZ or some bored tourist with a t****k account to catch wind of Jackson Hart shacked up at Uncle Benn’s bed and breakfast. Small towns loved three things: gossip, casseroles, and a reason to gather in church parking lots. Jackson was all three in one six-foot-two flannel-wrapped package.
I clutched the insulated bag tight against my chest as I approached the back door. Inside: ribs, cornbread, sweet tea, and green beans that Koda had roasted in garlic b
