“Silas Anderson.” I shook their hands, grinning like a maniac. These two were fucking hilarious. “Now I’m extra pleased to meet you. I’m Cooper’s neighbor…temporarily, anyway.”
“That’s lovely! Well, we’re a little biased, but I’ll tell you, there’s not a finer man in Wood Hollow,” Rhona bragged.
“What about me?” Harry huffed, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“You’re okay.” She winked, tugging at her husband’s Grateful Dead T-shirt before addressing me. “How long will you be staying? I’m a terrific cook, if I do say so myself. I’ll make a batch of my hearty minestrone and my savory biscuits. We’ll drop them off at Cooper’s and demand that he shares with you.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “It was great meeting you both.”
“You too, honey.”
I strolled away with a ridiculous smile on face. And it kept getting bigger.
Mandy, the cashier remembered me. She even remembered that I’d asked about a taxi on my previous visit, so she introduced me to Jed, a gray-haired man with a thick mustache and a ruddy complexion who was checking out a rack of chocolate bars specially priced at three for a dollar. He shook my hand profusely, dug a card from his pocket, and insisted that I give him a call sometime. He wanted to talk football too. Jed was thrilled to meet a pro player in person, but I wasn’t his first. He’d met Fran Tarkenton in the eighties and boy, that had been something.
“You gotta understand, in those days, our high school team was something real special. Folks who lived out of state had heard of the Wood Hollow Hornets. We’ve still got a decent team, but Elmwood’s hockey program has become the belle of the ball. We’ll get our mojo again. Never fear. I’ll tell ya, more kids are interested in football than ever, thanks to Dexter. Well, they love flag football, but that’s okay. The whole town is participating—kids, parents, grandparents. That’s got to be a good thing,” Jed reported.
I agreed and as nicely as possible, slinked away to pay for my groceries, then schlepped them to the Jeep. The mention of Dexter and the vaguely alarming yet curious thought of bacon jalapeño donuts inspired a quick jaunt to Dexter’s Donuts.
And yeah, Dex remembered me too.
“Are you kidding? I have a mind like a steel trap,” Dex boasted, tapping his temple.
Listen, even if I’d been a hundred percent straight, I’d have ogled the donut guy. Dexter was an extraordinarily good-looking man in his midthirties. He was anyone’s standard for tall, dark, and handsome. How anyone didn’t give off dweeb vibes in a pink tee with a donut logo and a frosting-and-sprinkle smattered apron was anyone’s guess.
Christ, and the asshole had dimples too.
I tore my gaze from all that hotness to scan the empty store with its black-and-white checkerboard flooring, marble countertops, and white subway tile behind glass display cases that had been depleted by the morning’s customers. A few kitschy framed posters of cartoon donuts hung on the walls, and at the large window, there was a built-in bar area with four stools on either side of the door for those who couldn’t wait till they got home to enjoy their fritters or maple bars.
I braved another glance at the donut hottie and pointed at the specials on a cake plate under a glass dome. “I think bacon and jalapeño could be a lethal combo, but I’m willing to take one for the team.”
Dex threw his head back and laughed. “That’s big of you.”
“I’m a giver. Actually, I feel like living on the edge…make it two.”
He quirked a brow as he used a pair of tongs to place the donuts into a small pink box. He sealed it with a sticker and slid the box toward me. “On the house.”
“What? No. I can’t?—”
“I insist. It’ll make it easier to ask a few probing questions, so truthfully, you’d be doing me a favor.”
Uh…was Dex the donut guy flirting with me too? I couldn’t tell. My gay radar was glitchy as hell and hot though he might be, I had a serious crush on my lumberjack neighbor.
I played it cool, though. “What kind of favor? If it has anything to do with taste-testing, I’m in. Otherwise…”
“That could be a component,” he replied cagily. “But it has to do with our flag football league.”
“Jed was just telling me about it. I heard you’ve got the whole town playing football.”
“Flag football,” he corrected, crossing his beefy arms and casually leaning against the counter. “I love it. I played college ball at Michigan State and got my bell rung so hard that I lostpartial vision in my right eye and started getting debilitating migraines. The doctors told the coaches my football career was done for. Broke my heart.”
“So you ran away from home to make donuts in the forest,” I quipped.
“As one does.” He snorted. “You’re not far off. I originally took a job as an assistant to a college buddy who’s now the head coach at the high school. I still volunteer there, but they don’t need me full-time and I needed a real job. Now I make donuts and organize flag football leagues in the Four Forest area.”
There were large pieces of his story missing, but it seemed rude to probe, and I had a trunkful of groceries in the Jeep. “That’s cool. And the favor?”
“I was wondering if you might be coerced into coming to a flag football practice. Our Spring League opener is next weekend and if you have any spare time, I know the kidsandparents would love to meet you.”
