“Just a visit, but thanks! I miss the Gazette too. I miss a lot of things here.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and stands with a wide stance near the doorway. “Wyatt will be excited to see you. He was quite a mess when you left. He’s out at the old mill working for me today.”
“That’s great! I ran into him for a minute yesterday at the diner and we had a short conversation. I’m glad he’s getting his life back together. He deserves good things.”
Wade nods slowly then draws his gaze back toward Sara who’s sweeping up the last of the hair from my cut. It’s not a quick glance. He studies and watches her as though he’s trying to memorize her movements.
Oh God! Is Wade into Sara?
Talk about an age gap. There’s got to be about twenty-five years between them. I thought Wyatt and I were crazy at thirteen years.
“Well,” I turn back toward Sara and offer her a hug before handing her cash for the cut and tip, “I better get out of your way.” I lower my voice to a whisper near her ear as I say, “This dude is totally into you.”
Her cheeks turn pink as she squeezes my hand, and for a second, I wonder if maybe she’s into him too.
Oh damn!That would be a fun little twist. They’d be really cute together and I know Wade would take really good care of her and her son, though I might be jumping the gun. She did say they were friends. Then again, friends don’t stare at friends the way Wade is staring at Sara.
Guess I’ll hear the updates through the grapevine.
A wash of sadness hits me in the stomach with the reality of that. The reality that this isn’t my life anymore. I don’t live in this little town, I’m not going home to Wyatt, Sara isn’t a neighbor I’ll run into on the regular, and whatever happens on this mountain won’t be a part of my life.
Biting back a smile, I hug her again, say my goodbyes to Wade, and head out into the cold toward the rental I parked across from the bakery on Main.
I hadn’t planned what to do with the rest of the afternoon, but I’ve got a fresh trim, my hair smells like strawberries, and I have a sudden hankering to visit an old mill.
Chapter Six
Wyatt
There’s nothing like a hard day’s work to get a man out of his head, or at least out of the house. I guess that’s the magic of work. You can lose yourself in the details of something completely outside of yourself.
Stressed about family?Measuring for new windows will take your mind off it.
Frustrated that it’s been snowing obsessively for days?The smooth edge of a freshly cut board will do the trick.
Can’t pay the bills?What better place to go to than work?
I measure out the space and head out back where the saw is set up to cut myself a few pieces of pine for the floor. I’m not sure who was working out here before me, but they were doing a shit job getting all the boards lined up correctly.
Pine is hard to work with. It’s a softwood that dents easily and can’t be exposed to harsh elements without a change in color or warping. A lot of the boards already laid show signs of both. I pulled them up first thing and ordered a fresh pallet to be sent up here this afternoon. If Wade has an issue with it, he can take it out of my check. I want this project to be stamped with my craftsmanship, not the guy before me.
In the meantime, there were a few pallets in the back that were stored in the old shed. I can use those in the bedroom while I wait on the delivery.
The sun is up and snow drips from the eaves as I rip a few boards through the table saw then stack them up onto my shoulder and head back into the old mill house.
I never spent much time up here, so I can’t say what the inside of the place looked like back in the day, but given the dilapidated mess the outside was, I gather there have been huge improvements made.
There are granite countertops, expensive appliances, a stone fireplace, crown molding, and massive windows that overlook the valley. I’d bet you could even see the wild horses from here. They love to congregate in this part of the valley this time of year to eat on the bark of the cottonwood trees.
I lay the pine boards down in the back bedroom, pausing for a moment when I hear footsteps in the front of the house.
“Hello?”
“Hello!” Alice’s voice echoes, and for a second, I think I might be hearing things. “Wyatt?”
I turn the corner into the room with the large picture windows and there she stands in tight blue jeans and that red winter coat.
What the hell is going on? Have I lost my fucking mind? Am I seeing things now? I have buddies with PTSD that see things. Please don’t tell me I’m fucking seeing things.
