The Good Harvest was supposed to be a neutral zone, a place of vibrant colors and the fresh, earthy scent of misted greens. But as Sierra stood frozen by the pyramid of organic oranges, the atmosphere felt as thin and electric as the air before a lightning strike.
Mark hadn't moved. In fact, he had squared his shoulders, fueled by that specific brand of mediocre confidence that had made Sierra leave him in the first place. He looked at Sierra, then flicked a dismissive, squinted gaze toward Theron, who was still casually holding the handle of the grocery cart.
"Who is this guy, Sierra? Because he's been 'in the area' a lot lately, hasn't he? What is this, some kind of mid-life crisis where you date the help? Or is he just some stuck-up prick from the firm who thinks he can follow you into your private life?"
