“You’re welcome.” I arched a brow, pointing at his sneakers. “You changed.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know they’re gonna get wet. Is there a mall around here?”
I barked a laugh. “In Wood Hollow? No. No mall.”
Silas twisted in his seat. “Where do you buy shoes and shit?”
“We have a couple of boutiques, but if you want high-end ‘shit,’ you’ll have to travel to Pinecrest. The shoe store in townwill have some basic wellies at a fair price. They’re three doors south of Rise and Grind. The market is on the corner. It’s small, but you’ll find all the usual necessities there.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I turned onto Belvedere, gripping the wheel tightly as a rogue gust of wind dusted the two lanes with snow from the high drifts lining the road.
“Not a problem. I’m on my way to the mill, anyway. And…truth be told, I’m being a nosy neighbor. I’ve lived next door to that house for three years and haven’t seen a car parked in the driveway that didn’t belong to a maintenance worker or cleaning service. According to Bryson—he’s a realtor in these parts—the owner is a football player. Is that right?”
Silas hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah. We both play for the Devils.”
I took my eye off the road for a hot second. “LA Devils. No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Silas…”
“Anderson,” he finished.
“Sounds familiar.” I rounded a hairpin curve and slowed behind a white Suburban. “Sorry. I haven’t been following football much this season. That’s considered criminal negligence in Wood Hollow ’cause our high school program is one of the best in the state. In my defense, my boss’s husband is Denny Mellon and hockey is kind of a big deal here too. That realtor I mentioned? His son is Jake Milligan.”
“Oh, wow. I know who they are. Great players.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I forgot Denny was married to a guy.”
“Mmhmm. You play running back?” I guessed, racking my brain for Silas Anderson. I’d probably watched him play a few times.
“Tight end,” Silas replied, leaning forward to squint through the windshield. “Geez, it’s snowing like crazy now.”
It actually wasn’t that bad yet, but I took the hint and shut up. I might not have watched much football this season, but I knew LA hadn’t made the playoffs—which might have been a sore subject and a reason for a Californian to hibernate in the forest on the other end of the country. I’d do my own research later.
“Yup. Your timing is decent. You and your family will want to hunker down this afternoon when it really starts to dump.”
“Family?” he repeated. “Oh. No, I’m…I’m here alone.”
Alone? In that huge freaking house? Yeah, there had to be a story.
Traffic stalled as we neared Main Street. It might have been anything from deer crossing to Mr. Pennyworth driving twenty miles per hour in his ancient Ford with the rusted fender. I had a feeling everyone was going to be running late today.
“We’re close now,” I commented, pumping the brakes. “The market is at the corner. I’ll drop you there.”
“Thanks again. I hope I didn’t make you late this morning.”
“Nah, it’s fine.”
“So you work in town?” Silas tore his gaze from the snow-laden firs to me.
“Yeah, I manage the mill.”
“Huh. Are you a lumberjack?”
My first impulse was to explain the difference between a lumberjack and a logger, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. “I am. The kind who sits behind a desk most days, though.”
“So you’re the lead lumberjack.”
