She lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. I mean, I knew you’d had an accident, but I didn’t know it was at your family’s farm.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “My parents felt horrible and blamed themselves. I used to help pay property taxes with my football income, and when that ended, my siblings decided to sell part of our farm instead of talking to me. We had a huge fight, and things just haven’t been the same since. I miss it out there. I even had fixed up an old cottage on the property. I almost never go out there anymore. It just feels awkward.”
“But you have a new job, right?” she asks.
“I do, and it pays great, not ‘professional football’ great, but a solid six figures,” I explain.
She looks around us. “Uh, this might be a bit of an intrusive question, but…why are you here, then?” She motions around us.
“The people,” I admit. Her eyes widen in surprise. “My dad knew Al through some business stuff, and Al mentioned having an apartment available when I was having to sell my home. And I’d broken up with my girlfriend and I wanted to start over.” I decide not to get into why I broke up with my girlfriend. “At first, I thought it’d just be for a few months while I figured out what to do next. It was near my PT and was a manageable size. But then I got my job down the street, and I became close with everyone here. I found I don’t need a six-thousand-square-foot house. I just needed good friends and people I could trust,” I say as I take the boiled potatoes and put them in a cooking tray to roast in the oven.
“Tell me about the farm,” she says.
I smile sadly. I do love the farm. It was my favorite escape place. Even when I had my big house, I loved sneaking away to the cottage for the weekend.
“It’s beautiful. Rolling hills. A big old farmhouse where my parents live. A small ranch house where my sister lives. And my brother converted an old barn into a really nice house a few years ago. There are two other barns where we keep animals and supplies. An old silo. And the cottage by the pond. There are forests and fields. We even have a small apple orchard. My mom makes the best apple pies in the fall. I miss it,” I reminisce.
“That sounds lovely. I’d love a place to escape like that. Somewhere to hide and read and write,” she says with a dreamy, far-off look.
Then she sets down the tongs and turns to me, pulling me against her and hugging me tightly.
“I’m sorry all that shit happened to you. But I’m glad you ended up here and that we met. You’re a great guy and a good friend,” she whispers, her head tucked in the crook of my arm.
For reasons I can’t explain, I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. She stills in my arms, and I suddenly feel like I might have crossed a line I shouldn’t have.
I push back, giving us space. “Well, that’s my big sob story. How about we work on yours so you can write that paper?” I joke with a forced grin.
She laughs a little and turns back to the steaks. “OK, Mr. Professional Storyteller. Let’s work on that.”
And just like that, we go back to normal, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I couldn’t bear to lose this friendship. I couldn’t bear to lose Jocelyn.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jocelyn
We spent most of last night trying to figure out what I could write about, and in the end, I didn’t feel connected to any of it. So, Hutch put on an old movie, and I started to fall asleep on his shoulder. He insisted I sleep on his sofa, but I knew my mom would freak out if I didn’t come home, so I declined, which I tend to do, and he drove me back to my apartment.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to fall asleep against him. It’s not just his size that makes me feel safe; it’s everything about him. He’s calm and sweet. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. And he actually listens. Maybe I should work on finding him a girlfriend. He’d make the perfect boyfriend.
“Earth to Joc, you want red or white?” Roxy asks as she walks around pouring wine into glasses. It’s ladies’ wine night at Margie and Cornelia’s apartment, and as an honorary member of the apartment building, I get to attend. Margie and Cornelia may be older, but they are hilarious, and their lives are more exciting than mine.
“Uh, red,” I answer as I stare out the window. The streetlights illuminate the sidewalks, and light snow falls as people walk home at the end of the day. It’s a beautiful part of the city, and unlike where I live, it’s quiet.
“What’s up?” Roxy asks after she hands me a glass of merlot.
“Nothing…I…” I trail off as I see a man walking toward the café, but then he turns and goes down an alley. Is that my dad? I want to jump up and go follow him, but running after a man down a dark city alley seems like a bad idea.
“Seriously, what is going on?” Roxy asks, and I can hear the conversations around me stop.
I turn back to see all my friends staring at me. Fuck it, if I can’t tell them, who can I tell?
“This is going to sound crazy, but I swear I just saw my dad,” I state as I point out the window.
“I thought your dad lived in Puerto Rico or somewhere,” Carly says, clearly remembering that was where my dad was from.
“Could he be back here?” Piper asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve lost touch with him a number of years ago,” I admit as I look back down at the street. I haven’t exactly told them a ton about my family, other than my parents are divorced and I don’t talk to my dad anymore.
