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“At this very second, I’m going with Hawaii. But that’s ’cause my balls are freezing.”

“Freezing? You think this is cold?” I grumbled about Vermont winters ’cause it was sort of a native gripe to complain about too much snow or the lack of snow. “Geez, I sound like an old man.”

He snorted. “At least you’re a hot old man.”

I tugged at Waylon’s sweatshirt, wrapped my arms around his waist, and kissed his neck. “I’m the old man who’s gonna beat you to the end of the trail.”

And with that, I jumped ahead of him on the path and jogged to the Elmwood Town Limits sign.

Gretchen had a meat and marinara sauce simmering on the stove at home. The table was set for two with a tablecloth I hadn’t known I owned and a very dusty votive candle. I thanked her, and suggested adding a couple of more plates for her and Rhys.

“But Dad,” she whisper-hissed, “It’s supposed to be special. Didn’t you read my notes?”

“I did.” I pulled a pinecone from my pocket and handed it to her. “Waylon has moss, acorns, and dirt too. It was a good hike. Thank you. But we can share dinner with him as a family, right?”

Gretchen scrunched her brows. “I don’t think that’s how a date works.”

“That’s okay ’cause we’re not dating, Gretch. Waylon and I are friends.”

She crossed her arms, clearly irritated with me. I could tell she wanted to tell me not to blow this, but she sighed theatrically instead and shook her head. “Fine.”

So we had dinner as a family. The three of us…and Waylon.

We discussed every subject under the sun—football, planet alignment, the possibility of living on Mars, and the disgusting tofu dish the cafeteria at school had served the other day.

Waylon helped clean the kitchen, then watched the last quarter of the Vikings and 49ers game with Rhys and me while Gretchen sat quietly reading, flicking the occasional hopeful glance that should have made me panic.

But this felt different. It felt honest.

We knew who we were to each other, what we could expect, and how long we had together.

If we were in some kind of relationship, it was the perfect kind for me.

CHAPTER 27

WAYLON

Update: I’d somehow landed myself a not-so secret boyfriend.

Reg and I openly spent time together. We met for dinner at Log Cabin or for coffee at Rise and Grind with or without the kids more than once a week. I sat next to him and his buddies at Rhys’s final football game of the season and attended Gretchen’s math tournament, at her insistence.

I also went to a few midweek flag football scrimmages. Last week’s had been between Wood Hollow’s loggers and Elmwood’s hockey jocks. Or hockey has-beens as some hardcore Wood Hollow fans razzed. A brutal critique for a bunch of participants aged from thirty to fifty with every body type and level of expertise represented. And they cheered with a fervor usually reserved for trophy wins.

“Nope. It’s just for fun,” Lyle had assured me, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. “You should be out here with us, man. Not sitting on the sideline like an old lady.”

I’d glanced at the gray-haired seventysomething woman screaming in Troy’s ear. “Like her?”

“Daisy’s not your typical old lady,” Reg had interjected.

That was an understatement.

I’d seen Daisy Lincoln in action at a couple of high school games, hooting, hollering, and hopping up and down with a small whiteboard she used to draw plays she had no qualms sharing with the head coach.

Daisy told me herself that she played for the senior group.

“Bunch of ancient farts with wimpy arms who run like snails, but it’s good fun,” she’d huffed, eyeing me critically. “A big guy like you oughtta be playing, too.”

I got that a lot. I’d never played flag football, but I was pretty sure I could outrun half the guys on our team.