A/N: Thank you all, so much, for reading and reviewing...I really appreciate the support this story has gotten!

We started with two chapters from Wade's POV…now we get two chapters from Zoe's (although this is not the end—this story refused to resolve itself quite that neatly). Would love to hear what you think!

Chapter Ten

She arranges to meet George down in Mobile. It's a strange evening: the air feels electric, the sky is a steely grey, and the sun is fiery on the horizon. Standing on the strand that leads around Mobile Bay, George is haloed in the sunset light; never has he deserved his "Golden Boy" nickname more.

When he sees her, he grins, looking about twelve in his obvious excitement, and Zoe finds herself grinning right back. "Hey," he says when she gets to him, giving her a slightly awkward hug. "Thanks for meeting me."

They start walking down the path along the water, and it hits Zoe that things are different now. She could, she thinks, reach out and hold his hand, or even stop and kiss him, if she wanted.

Does she want to?

"Uh…I don't know if you've heard, but Lemon and I called it off," George is saying. Zoe doesn't want to reveal the conversation she had with Lavon—she doesn't want to have to take sides between the two men—so she just nods, noncommittally. Looking down, she asks, "How are you feeling?"

He half-smiles. "I don't really know. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet? I mean, fifteen years of my life, you'd think I'd…"

"…be eating ice cream out of the carton and watching Sleepless in Seattle? That's what I'd do," she suggests, keeping the conversation light. George chuckles.

"Is that what you did when you and—"

"Nate," she supplies.

"—Nate broke up?"

"No. That's what I did when I lost the fellowship. When Nate dumped me, I threw all his stuff into a box and gave it to Marvin, the homeless guy who slept on my stoop. And that was that." They walk on a few steps and she continues, "I guess that makes me sound cold."

George stops. "You, Zoe? You're not cold. It just—he wasn't the right guy for you, and some part of you must've known that. Maybe that's why I don't feel more…grieved, I guess." He brushes back a lock of her hair, and her heart starts pounding. She swallows.

"So…you don't think Lemon was the right person for you?"

He touches her cheek, and Zoe thinks, this is it. But it isn't; George turns and leans on the walkway railing, and she feels…what? She's not sure, but she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She thinks of what Lavon said earlier: "You can't build your happiness on someone else's pain." It's probably true, and certainly a noble sentiment, but does it really apply here? She has no idea how Lemon feels, whether she's devastated, or angry, or relieved, and whether she still loves Lavon…and there's Lavon renouncing a second chance with her, and meanwhile, George is showing every sign of being ready to move on. The whole situation seems so complicated, and Zoe feels a nostalgic pang for New York, where you could go out with someone in an anonymous vacuum.

They both stare down into the water, where the last of the sun's rays join with the lights just starting to come on around the bay to create a sparkling tapestry. George remarks, "Remember when I told you that Lemon, and Bluebell, were who I am? That was true for a long time, but then something changed."

In the pause he takes, Zoe can feel him waiting for her to ask what's changed. She thinks she knows the answer, though, and all at once she's not sure she wants to hear it.

"Zoe—" he puts his hand over hers—"I know it's too soon, and I've just gotten out of a fifteen-year relationship and I should probably take some time, but…there's something about you. When I'm with you, I feel like I could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone…"

And then he's leaning toward her, and everything she thought she wanted is suddenly within her grasp and she—

"George—wait—"

He straightens up, a little breathless. "Sorry…I guess I got carried away. But I thought—I mean, it seemed like you really—"

"I know—I'm sorry, too. It's just…I'm a little—confused?"

And that's the feeling she's been trying to identify during this whole conversation. What happens when you're offered your dreams on a silver platter, and you find yourself…too scared, maybe?...to reach out and take them?

Too scared? Uh-uh. Nope.

George smiles, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, OK. Let me try to clarify: I really like you, Zoe Hart. And I have for awhile."

Zoe returns his smile, a little tentatively. "Yep, that part came through loud and clear."

"Then what's confusing?"

Taking a deep breath, she looks up at him, willing him to understand. "I'm not sure how I feel."

He drops her hand and steps back. "Oh…um…wow. I feel like a first-class fool." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels.

"Oh, George—no! It's not you. I mean, I was sending some signals—"

"Yeah, you kinda were."

Zoe leans over the railing, shaking her head. "God, I'm a mess—"

"No…hey, look, if you need some time, take it. I'm not going anywhere, and it's not like there's anybody else—"

Except there is.

He breaks off, seeing the flush that rises in Zoe's cheeks. "Damn. I really am a fool. With everything that's been happening, I forgot you and Kinsella had a…thing…"

"It wasn't really a 'thing'—"

"One-night stand, fling, whatever. The point is—"

George's offhand dismissal is irritating. "We didn't, actually."

"Didn't what?"

"Take advantage of our 'free pass.'" He appears flummoxed, and she is driven to spell it out: "We didn't sleep together, OK?"

"But you spent the night at his place. At Wade's. And you didn't—" Clearly, on this topic George is at one with most of Bluebell, in believing that no woman could spend more than two hours at Wade's without having sex with him.

"Yes." She remembers, now, the utter contentment she felt waking up on Wade's couch, with the sun streaming through and the smell of coffee in the air…

"Wait a minute. You mean, I punched Wade for seducing you…only he didn't…but he just stood there and took it anyway? And neither of you ever said anything?" George is clearly at sea, and Zoe regrets explaining the situation—she should've just let him live with his assumptions.

"It was already in the Blawker…it seemed easier just to leave it and move on. It made sense at the time," she says tiredly.

"It doesn't matter." George grins. "This is great!"

Now it's Zoe's turn to look befuddled. "It is?"

"Yeah! You weren't with Wade—so that's no obstacle." He stops, frowning. "Unless…unless you have feelings for the guy."

Zoe feels like she's one plot twist away from a total breakdown. She has not anticipated any of this: the Brucker breakup, Lavon and Lemon's affair, George's declaration…If she could have foreseen it, however, she would've thought she'd throw herself in George's arms with no reservations. Instead she's hesitating, not in some high-minded spirit of sacrifice but…because of Wade?

George reads her silence pretty accurately. "Y'know, after the gumbo contest, I figured he liked you, but I didn't think you'd—"

"After the gumbo contest?"

"Yeah. I mean, he let you enter his Uncle Moe's gumbo—he wouldn't do that for just anybody…"

Zoe is speechless again, her mind working furiously to absorb this revelation; this time, however, George misinterprets her bemusement as panic at getting caught cheating in the contest. "It's no big deal. I'm sure no one else knows—I would never have guessed, except that Wade and I were pretty close as kids and I've had Uncle Moe's gumbo more than a few times—"

Wade. Made. Her. Gumbo. She had automatically assumed that Lavon, her best friend in Bluebell, had come through for her. She never even considered that it might have been Wade staying up all night, chopping, sautéing, stirring…and then somehow sneaking it into the competition with her name on it.

And he hadn't done it to get something from her, to try and win her over for purposes of his own. He hadn't taken any credit at all. He was just there for her, the same way he was when she needed to find a snake, or build a float, or get more patients.

Zoe turns to George and says again, "I'm sorry. I really am."

But George is still pleading his case. "Zoe, hold on. I love Bluebell, but I'd be willing to consider leaving it when your time here is up. As for Wade…he's a good guy—like I said, we've been friends a long time—but he doesn't really do relationships. And you have years of education, you've travelled, lived in the best city in the world…you really think you can be happy with a bartender who's never been north of Tuscaloosa?"

She shouldn't be angry at this line of reasoning; after all, it's exactly what she had been thinking herself. Nevertheless, there's an edge to her voice when she declares, "I don't know if Wade and I can be happy together. I don't even know if he's still interested. Maybe it's crazy, but I think I want to try."

George looks as though he's going to say something more, then thinks better of it when he sees the tilt of Zoe's chin. "I sure hope he justifies your faith in him," he sighs.

"Yeah. Me, too."

All the way back from Mobile, Zoe rehearses what she's going to say to Wade. Should she explain there's nothing between her and George? Talk about how he's been a good friend to her? Tell him that his smirk gives her butterflies, every time? Or maybe the direct method is best: just throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless.

She drives straight to the Rammer Jammer, seeing as it's only 9:30 and he's probably working. As she gets out of her car, she looks up, where thunderous clouds are piling on top of each other.

She hopes that's not an omen.

The Rammer Jammer is packed—not really a surprise, since it's Tequila Tuesday. Zoe threads her way through the crowd, greeting Frank from the Dixie Stop, Addy and Bill, and Lavon on her way to the bar.

Wade is in his element: pouring shots and shaking cocktails, giving high fives and winking at the ladies. For a minute, Zoe just stands there, taking him in, smiling at the rightness of it all.

He sets a drink down—a daiquiri, from the looks of it—in front of someone. Zoe can't see who it is, because a guy in a trucker cap is blocking her view, but she watches Wade lean over the bar, as though he's whispering to this mystery patron—or, God forbid, kissing her—

Then trucker hat guy moves and Zoe has a full view of Wade, straightening up from the whispering (or the kissing), and Tansy, who is laughing up at him, looking for all the world like a woman in love with her husband.

Zoe's heart plummets somewhere down around her knees. Her stomach roils, and she finally realizes why: thinking of Wade Kinsella with any other woman makes her literally sick with jealousy, and she thinks she might lose it, right there on the bar floor.

Of course, it's at that moment that Wade and Tansy look up and see her in the crowd. Wade's expression is closed, unreadable; she is, apparently, nothing and no one to him.

Zoe turns and starts elbowing her way to the door. She hears Addy call after her, "You OK, honey?" and manages a stiff little smile before she bursts outside.

Warm air hits her in the face, and she forces the rising wall of nausea down with a deep breath, only to let it out in a sob. How could she have been so stupid as not to realize what she felt for Wade, long before this? She was so obsessed with the unattainable that she never recognized what was right in front of her face (or in this case, right across the pond).

She hears footsteps behind her, and Lavon says, "You look like you seen a witch in church. What's goin' on, Z?"

Zoe turns and buries her face in Lavon's shirt. "I am such an idiot!" she sobs.

"Hey, now—Lavon Hayes' best friend is not an idiot. Did you talk to George?"

She sniffs and tries to get the tremble in her voice under control. "Yeah. He wanted to…give things a try."

Lavon nods. "I thought so. Why the waterworks, then? Everybody knows you've had a big ol' crush on him since you got here."

"I turned him down."

Lavon raises his eyebrows.

"I thought—I thought he and I were a perfect match, y'know? I mean, except for the whole engaged thing…he's a lawyer, I'm a doctor. We both love New York, and Woody Allen, and he's sweet and considerate…" Zoe swipes at her tearstained cheeks. "But when I had the chance, I just…couldn't see it."

"And what could you see, Z? Or should I say—who?"

The tears prick Zoe's eyes again and she breathes through her nose to fight them off. "Wade. I saw my smart-ass, super-annoying, pickup-line-ready neighbor."

"Wade's a lot more than that, and you know it," Lavon chides her.

"I do know it." She looks up at him, and one tear escapes. "He made my gumbo."

"He tell you that?"

She hits him on the arm. "No, of course not—but why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't my place to tell," he asserts. "So, Zoe Hart, what's stoppin' you from runnin' in there and throwin' yourself at him?"

"In the first place, he's hardly talking to me since that whole scene in George's office."

"He might not wanna talk, but I bet he'd be willing to listen, if you cared to explain."

Zoe thinks of Wade, bent close to Tansy's ear, and feels sick all over again. "I don't think so. It looked to me like he's made another choice."

"That's not true," comes a voice out of the darkness.

Zoe is too shocked to respond, but Lavon turns to Tansy. "Evenin', Ms. Truitt…I'll just let you ladies chat." He gives them both a smile and walks back into the Rammer Jammer.

An awkward pause ensues, while Zoe tries to get her increasingly volatile emotions under control. Tansy finally breaks it: "Wade and I have a lot of history, but that's all it is."

"Are you sure?" Zoe asks uneasily. "It looked like you were celebrating."

In answer, Tansy pulls an envelope out of her purse and hands it to Zoe. "Here."

"What's this?"

"That's what we were toasting—our divorce." She smiles, a little tightly. "We were never meant to be, but he's the best ex-husband a girl could have."

Zoe hands back the envelope. "So, you'd be OK with it if I…"

"It's not up to me," Tansy sighs. "But I still care about the goon, and if you hurt him, I will personally kick your butt all the way to Daphne."

Zoe doesn't doubt it. "Thanks."

Tansy nods and walks over to her car. She drives off with a little wave, and Zoe is left to contemplate her next move.

A few minutes later, she goes back inside, ducking into the ladies' room to repair her mascara-streaked face. She can't face Wade, not yet, so she stops to chat with Bill, Addy, and Lavon, who are sitting at a table in the back. Shelley comes by and she orders a glass of wine, which she slugs down more quickly than it deserves (actually, given that it's the Jammer's "house" selection, exactly as quickly as it deserves). Meanwhile, Bill finishes relating the harrowing tale of his latest case: citing Jed Darby for public disturbance when his chickens squawked all night.

Lavon, who's been giving her sidelong glances the last several minutes, finally says, "Enough stallin', girl. Go on over there and see how the land lies."

Zoe hisses, "Lavon!" But Addy picks up the argument. "Go on, honey. You've wasted enough time listenin' to the Bluebell Crime Blotter."

"Hey!" Bill protests.

Addy kisses his cheek. "Aw, darlin', you know I find your work fascinatin', but Zoe's got some business to take care of."

"Business?" Bill asks, confused. "What kinda business has she got at almost ten o'clock at night?"

His wife rolls her eyes and says to an embarrassed Zoe, "We'll be right here if you need us."

So it's with cheeks on fire that she approaches the bar. It takes some time. Ten o'clock is last call for the tequila specials, and the citizenry of Bluebell will not be cheated of their discount mescal. Eventually, Zoe reaches the counter and slips onto a stool vacated by a tall brunette who heads to the dance floor. Wade is at the other end of the bar, and she concentrates fiercely on the paper coaster in front of her, trying to gather her thoughts.

"What can I get you?" he asks abruptly.

She looks up, startled. "I—um—"

Get it together, Zoe.

Apparently, he's not interested in waiting for her to find her tongue; he takes out a glass, pours a white wine, and slides it across the counter to her. "On the house," he says.

And then he's gone, back down to the end of the bar, where two guys who look barely legal are waving $20 bills at him ("C'mon, man, it's like, 10:04. Do us a solid.").

This is not going well.

Zoe sits there, sipping wine she doesn't want, racking her brain for the right thing to say to take his attitude from freezing to at least tepid. She watches him, and where he had been loose and relaxed earlier, now there's a line of tension in his shoulders and a tightness in his jaw. She knows, somehow, that it's her presence that's making him close up, and she can't bear it. So she pulls the napkin from beneath her glass and writes,

Can we talk? My place, 11:30. Z.

And then, at the bottom…Please.

She heads for the door, but just before she steps outside she turns back to see Wade reading the napkin…and then crumpling it up and throwing it in the garbage.

It seems entirely appropriate that the low rumble of thunder follows her to her car, considering the perfect storm of tears that breaks as soon as she's behind the wheel.

TO BE CONTINUED