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“1983. I knew that!” Dad grinned like a loon.
Waylon chuckled and held his hand up for a high five. If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought they were old friends.
I smiled tentatively. Maybe we’d officially entered an alternate universe where everything was upside down and slightly out of sync, but there was something good here. Something pure. I watched them for a while, listening to the light chatter and absent ribbing.
Dad had big opinions about historically ugly uniforms. “The White Sox, 1976…look it up. They wore shorts. Shorts! Baseball players don’t wear shorts!”
“Well, it gets hot in the summer…”
“Get outta here with that,” Dad chided.
More laughter. More sanding.
Waylon eventually looked up and acknowledged me with a wink. Then he pointed at a rotten plank of wood and addressed Dad. “I’m going to have to remove that piece. You don’t have to bother sanding it.”
My father nodded, brushing his hands as he stood. He noticed me and frowned, “Reg. You’re here.”
“Hi, Dad. I thought I’d swing by and see how the deck is coming along.”
“Your uniform…” His eyes glazed for a beat, a sure sign he’d lost a thread. “It’s like mine. My old one.”
“Yeah, they haven’t changed much. The deck looks good.”
It didn’t. Autumn leaves were strewn across the surface except for in the three-by-three section near the barbecue. This was a terrible time to take on a project like this. It was like sweeping sand in the desert with a storm on the horizon. I couldn’t imagine a more futile endeavor and yet, Waylon didn’t seem flustered or annoyed that he’d somehow found himself entertaining an elderly man whose memory was on the fritz.
Quite the opposite. Waylon was calm and cool. His smile was genuine and warm without a trace of “How the fuck did I get here?”
“It’s coming along okay,” Waylon replied, setting the sander on the picnic table. “How was your day, Chief?”
“Better now.”
“Glad to hear that.”
He peeked at my dad, who’d grabbed the jacket he’d slung over the railing. “Catch any bad guys?”
My craptastic day didn’t merit a replay. “Just the usual nonsense. But I did get invited to a Halloween party. You should come. Bring Emmett.”
Waylon cocked his head. “Folks might talk.”
“Nah. They’ll think I’m being nice to the new guy.” I quirked a lazy half smile and lowered my voice as my dad strolled over. “Dinner later?”
“Sounds good.”
My father’s gaze darted between us curiously. “I knew it.”
I didn’t ask for clarification, but I assumed he “knew” I was head over heels for the mountain man. Maybe he approved, or maybe he’d forget Waylon existed in ten minutes.
I stole one last glance at the plaid-shirted hunk and decided it didn’t matter. I knew…and that was enough.
CHAPTER 25
WAYLON
Emmett was thrilled to be back in Wood Hollow. The fact that it was ghost and goblin season was a bonus. He’d brought his Spider-Man costume with him and insisted on wearing it all weekend.
“I won’t get it dirty. It’s okay,” he promised, holding my hand as he skipped, his eyes wide at the gigantic webs, blow-up zombies the size of a house, and pumpkins stacked atop more pumpkins.
Pinecrest’s Boo Fest was a big hit. Emmett ran into friends he’d met at summer camp and had ditched me to join them on a hayride and in the spooky hall of mirrors while I’d chatted with their parents, who happened to be Wood Hollow loggers. It was a good day that ended with ice cream and It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.
