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Owen leans back, throwing his hands in the air. “I hate HIPAA.” He looks at me. “Describe her to me. You’re not bound by HIPAA.”

I shrug. “Mid-twenties, red hair, normal height. Pain in the ass.”

Owen snorts a laugh. “Normal height? What the hell kind of description is that?”

Scratching the back of my head, I reply. “I don’t know. Not tall, not short.”

“Is she pretty?” Jackson narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t trust me to answer honestly.

“Stop acting like you don’t already know.”

“Is she pretty or not? Holy shit, someone answer. I don’t care who,” Owen groans.

They both stare at me, waiting for a response. There’s no good answer. If I say yes, they’ll tease me relentlessly, and if I say no…they’ll call me a liar.

But the stars are in alignment, because just then the server strides up to our table with a cheery smile.

I recognize the woman because her son is in Tripp’s class; I think her name is Calla. She’s nice enough, cute even. But despite her asking me out multiple times, I always say no. I consider if I should’ve said yes and gone out with her. If I enjoyed the companionship of a woman once in a while, maybe I wouldn’t have a certain redhead stuck in my head.

“Evenin’ boys,” Calla greets us. “Linc, I love that shirt on you. Brings out your eyes.” She winks. “What can I get you boys started with?”

We each order a beer and a burger. She writes it down, then walks away with a dramatic sway to her hips. A sway that demands attention.

Owen waggles his eyebrows at me. “Hasn’t she asked you out? You should say yes.”

“Yeah, she’s hot,” Jackson adds, crossing his arms and staring at me. There’s a challenging glint in his eye.

“I don’t have the time, you both know that,” I say. “Anyway, enough with the interrogation. Owen, how’s your new build coming along?”

Owen loves his work, so this is an easy subject change. Much like me, Owen interned with his father after high school. His dad retired, and now Owen runs the entire operation. An ache tightens my chest, my mind fading to thoughts of my dad. How he talked about everything he’d do once he retired. Like remodeling the kitchen and finally taking Mom to Italy. But he never got to do any of that.

Owen goes into an animated monologue about the new house he’s building in town for the local couple who owns Porcupine Cafe. “So, the house is fully framed, and the roof is finished…then that same day he comes up to me and says, can we add another bedroom?” My friend shakes his head, causing his dark curly hair to flop down onto his forehead. “I was exhausted, so before I could stop them, the words I can’t simply pull a fourth bedroom out of my ass fly out of my mouth.”

Jackson laughs at his story, and I chuckle half-heartedly to be a good sport even though I missed the first half of his monologue.

“Thankfully, Peter thought it was funny, and we laughed,” Owen adds.

Our server returns with our orders, smiling as she disperses our plates around the table. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she says to me.

“Oh, yeah.” I clear my throat, feeling the gazes of Jackson and Owen on us. “I’ve been busy at the ranch and haven’t picked Tripp up from school in a while.”

She bites her bottom lip, not obnoxiously…but in a way that I know she’s flirting. “Well, hopefully I’ll see you around soon.” With that, she heads off to her next table.

“Lincoln Galloway,” Owen says with a smirk. “How do you do it, man? Do you walk like it’s heavy, or what?”

Jackson barks out a laugh. “How does one walk like it’s heavy?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Well, if yours was heavy, you’d know.”

This time it’s Owen whose head tips back in laughter. Jackson tries to glare at me, but he can’t help but laugh, too. The three of us dig into our food. You can always count on Bobcats to deliver a good burger and crispy fries. Now that I’m here with my buddies, my shoulders relax. I needed this more than I realized.

“Things still busy at the clinic?” Owen asks Jackson with his mouth full.

“The pace is slower here in Honey Badger Creek, not like the trauma hospital where I did my residency. But I like it, there’s less stress.” He takes a sip of his beer. “I worried Mom would be lonely out here, but she received a bouquet of lilies from a secret admirer today.”

“No shit?” I say. “Who do you think it is?”

“Not a clue. I have a feeling Mom knows, but she wouldn’t say a word.” Jackson shrugs. “I just hope this mysterious admirer is a good man. Not like the types she used to get stuck on.” His expression is somber as he admits his concern.