“I can’t call him. I’m very busy cashing.”
I shoot her a death stare. “June, come on. I have to get home.”Even though I know what these parties are like. They won’t even notice I’m gone.“What do you need to talk to him about?”
She reaches underneath the counter and hands me a large cloth bag.
“This is all the unsold produce from Big River Ranch for today. Brayden usually takes a portion home with him to feed his livestock or to compost anything that’s spoiled. He had to hurry out today for practice, and he got caught up helping one of the players afterward, so he never stopped back. I hate for him to not have it for the feeding tomorrow morning, so I texted him earlier and said I’d bring it by shortly. Then, Kim left without telling me. If I wait until we close, he’ll be stuck staying up later than I’m sure he’d like. ”
I blow out a breath and grab the bag from her. “You so owe me for this,” I say. “And you call him first to make sure he’s actually still up.”
* * *
When I pull into Brayden’s driveway, a strange sensation washes over me.
I feel at peace, more so than I do when I pull into my own driveway sometimes.
Brayden opens his front door as soon as I step out of the car. I wave, fully aware of him watching me walk toward him. He’s standing there in a fitted red t-shirt, worn blue jeans, and bare feet, and I have to catch my breath as I reach him. I hand him the bag of produce, and he invites me inside.
As I step forward, I almost think he’s going to hug me, but instead he puts his hand briefly on my lower back and guides me toward the living room.
“So what are you up to?” I ask him.
The lights are dimmed, and the curtains are drawn. The television’s on, and a dinner plate with chicken and pasta sits on the arm of the couch. The whole room feels very cozy.
Brayden chuckles. “Watching two things. One’s very manly and would get a stamp of approval from the outside world, and the other’s more…culinary.”
I take a seat on the couch. “What are they?”
“I’ve got a Wilcox football game on film that the head coach sent me to determine a few play formations for this week’s game,” he says. “And I’ve also got on a cooking show because I’m thinking about stealing one of the recipes for dinner sometime.”
“That’s awesome.”
I lean back against the cushions and look up at the ceiling.
“I see a pine tree,” I say.
Brayden settles on his back with his head at the other end of the couch. Our legs cross the same stretch of cushion, but they’re not touching. Not quite.
“I see it,” he says. “It looks like a pine tree on steroids, though.”
I kick his leg with my foot. “No, it doesn’t!”
“It’s huge,” he says.
“You’ve been watching too much football. You’ve got steroids on the brain.”
“Speaking of football…” He hesitates, and I sense he’s worried about something important.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I’ve got a kid on my team—he’s a great kid and really has a shot to go all the way to the top.”
“But…” I prompt him.
“But his dad’s a drunk.”
My eyes fly to his. “I’m sorry. That’s tough.”
“Yeah. And I’m trying to help him out as best I can, but I can’t always get someone to watch his father during games.”
