The Randolph house was silent, the kind of deep, velvety quiet that only came in the middle of the night. Georgia Randolph lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind refusing to let her sleep. Her thoughts swirled, and no matter how much she tried to will herself into calmness, one thing kept coming back: Holt Scotto.

His smug face, his megaphone antics, and that ridiculous harbormaster uniform haunted her thoughts. And then there was the city hall incident, still buzzing across Wellsbury, with people talking about her as much as they were talking about him. Georgia exhaled sharply, glancing at Paul beside her, snoring softly.

"I can't let this go," she whispered to herself, sliding out of bed as quietly as possible. She tiptoed toward the door, careful not to wake Paul, and grabbed her robe on the way out.


Outside, the cool night air greeted her as she slipped across the street toward Holt's driveway. His truck sat there in the dim glow of the streetlight, looking as obnoxiously polished and smug as its owner. Georgia smirked, pulling a small piece of white chalk out of her pocket.

"I'm not a vandal," she whispered to herself, "just a creative critic."

With a flourish, she began scribbling on the truck, starting with the driver's side door. "Lunatic," she wrote in big, bold letters. Moving to the passenger side, she added, "Man-Child." On the hood, she scrawled, "World's Biggest Bully." And finally, on the back of the truck, she wrote, "Drama King Extraordinaire."

Stepping back, she admired her handiwork, biting back a laugh. "Looks good," she said under her breath, tucking the chalk into her robe pocket. With one last glance at the truck, she turned and slipped back across the street, feeling a small sense of victory bubbling in her chest.

Once inside, she climbed the stairs as silently as she had left, sliding back into bed next to Paul. He shifted slightly but didn't wake, and Georgia pulled the covers up to her chin, closing her eyes. For the first time in days, she felt lighter.


The next morning, the sun had barely risen when Holt Scotto stepped outside, coffee mug in hand, ready to take on the day. He froze mid-step when his eyes landed on his beloved truck. For a moment, he simply stared, his brain refusing to process the scene in front of him.

Then the words jumped out at him: Lunatic. Man-Child. World's Biggest Bully. Drama King Extraordinaire.

"What the—" Holt's voice trailed off as he stepped closer, his jaw dropping. Someone had vandalized his truck—with chalk. He ran a finger over the writing on the hood, the chalk smearing slightly. His face twisted into a mixture of rage and disbelief.

"Georgia," he muttered under his breath. "It's gotta be her."

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Holt began snapping photos from every angle, making sure to capture the full extent of the damage—or at least the comedic insult. Within minutes, he had posted the pictures on Instagram with a caption that read: "Woke up to this masterpiece on my truck. Wonder who could've done it? #DramaKing #ManChild #WellsburyWildlife"


Meanwhile, Georgia stirred in her bed, the morning light creeping in through the curtains. Her mind immediately replayed the events of the night before, and for a moment, she felt a pang of guilt. But then, as she sat up and rubbed her temples, she whispered, "He deserved it."

Still, the whispers of doubt began to creep in. She could hear Paul's voice in her head: "Don't do anything that'll get you in trouble, Georgia." Then Ginny's exasperated tone: "Mom, maybe just don't engage?" And Austin's innocent voice: "Why do you and Mr. Holt hate each other so much?" Joe's practical advice: "Just let it go, Georgia." And finally, Jenna Deblin's dry observation: "He's a man-child. Don't stoop to his level."

Georgia groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. "What have I done?"

She shuffled downstairs and poured herself a cup of coffee, trying to shake off the unease. But just as she sat down at the kitchen table, her phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Joe.

Joe: "Uh, Georgia... have you seen Holt's Instagram? You're not gonna like this."

Her heart sank as she quickly opened the app and searched for Holt's profile. The pictures of his truck were the first thing she saw, along with the caption and hundreds of comments. Some were laughing emojis, others were speculating about who the culprit might be, and a few were tagging her.

"Damn it," Georgia muttered, setting her phone down. "This town doesn't miss a thing."


Across Wellsbury, people were already talking. At the Blue Farm Café, Joe fielded questions from customers asking if he'd seen the pictures. At the grocery store, whispers floated down the aisles as people speculated about the feud. And on Instagram, the comments continued to pour in.

itsmeleighton: "Whoever did this has great penmanship. "
iamtanishathomas: "Georgia strikes again! Girl needs to chill. "
anthonymackie: "Okay, but... chalk? That's just funny. Not taking sides, though."


By mid-morning, Paul had seen the Instagram post too. He walked into the kitchen, holding up his phone. "Care to explain this, Georgia?"

She sipped her coffee, trying to look nonchalant. "What's there to explain?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "You wrote insults on Holt's truck with chalk?"

"Allegedly," Georgia said, crossing her legs. "And, for the record, it was washable."

Paul sighed, sitting across from her. "Georgia, you can't keep doing this. It's only making things worse."

"He started it," Georgia said defensively. "I'm just finishing it."

Paul shook his head. "You keep saying that, but at what point does it end?"

Georgia didn't answer, her mind drifting back to the laughter she imagined Holt must've stifled when he posted those pictures. The man was insufferable, and while she didn't regret her actions, she couldn't ignore the fact that the feud was becoming bigger than either of them.


As the day wore on, Georgia's phone buzzed with messages from curious friends, amused strangers, and, of course, Ginny, who texted a single word: "Seriously?"

Georgia sighed. She knew she'd have to face Holt eventually, but for now, she chose to enjoy the temporary satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten under his skin. The echoes of wisdom from Paul, Ginny, Joe, Austin, and Jenna lingered, but Georgia, ever the stubborn Southern belle, wasn't ready to give in just yet.

And neither, she suspected, was Holt.