“Just unavailable,” he exhales a short puff of air through his nose. “I probably will end up engaged to a sow at this rate.”
“Choices.” I don’t say anything else. “Oops. We’re talking about the farm. Next one to mention farms or pigs gets the tab.”
“Deal,” he says, glancing around. “And thanks. I needed this.”
“I wasn’t kidding about hog-tieing you. I would have enjoyed that.”
“Maybe next time,” he smiles a half-smile. “So, what’s new with you?”
Dating your sister. I skip that and go right into telling him the story of the kids at Local Hero Day. We both laugh hard and it feels better than I remember—being here with him, cutting up.
“Kids,” he says. “I don’t know how you kept a straight face.”
“You planning on going to the barn dance?” I ask him as our burgers arrive.
“I don’t know. I might. I honestly haven’t had time to think much about it. Every day’s the same right now. Wake—tend to the sows and piglets, then work the other barn. Lunch. Rinse. Repeat.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Well, the dance is at night, so I think you ought to come. Just for an hour or two, even.”
“Yeah. I might.” He takes a bite of his burger. Then he looks me in the eye. “I ought to anyway. Carli’s been acting weird lately.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s the new job. But it feels like something else.” He looks down and then back at me. “I get the feeling she’s seeing someone and not telling me.”
I nearly choke on my bite. I grab my napkin as the coughing spell works through me.
“You okay?” Jace asks.
“Yeah. Yeah. Just swallowed wrong.”
“Have you heard anything about her being with someone? You’re out around town all the time.”
“Yeah. I haven’t …” my voice trails off. I can’t look him dead in the eye and finish that sentence.
He nods, obviously assuming I know nothing.
Our conversation shifts to McKenna’s wedding and then we swap stories about some old childhood memories. By the time our plates are empty, Jace is leaning back in the booth, his arms spread wide and his face more relaxed than I’ve seen him in a while.
“Pigs and hogs,” I say, just before the waitress drops the check.
“What?”
“I brought it up. I pay.”
“Nah, Cody. I’ve got this. You did me a solid getting me out of the barns.”
“That’s what friends are for,” I tell him.
“Brothers,” he says.
“Brothers.”
We always used to play like we were actually brothers growing up. He’d call himself Jace Lawson. And I’d say Cody Buckner.
I pay the bill and we head out to my truck.
Our ride back is just as quiet as the one over, but there’s a different feel to it.
“Let’s do this again,” I say when I drop him off.
“Yeah. I’d like that,” Jace says, opening the truck door and stepping out onto the gravel driveway.
