Page 26 of Small Town Boy

“Is that a town event?”

“No, it’s an us thing. We’ve been doing them out in the woods by Rocky Pond since we were teenagers. And yes, we’re all adults with homes of our own, but we still like to hang out in the woods. And you’re one of us now, so Friday at six thirty. If there is anything specific you like to drink, just let Noel know. The boys are in charge of beverages.”

Noel…

My pulse skitters, those butterflies from earlier resurfacing. I try to tamp them down, but it’s not working. Something about him has wormed its way in. Something that I do not understand. Something I’m not sure I want to understand.

What I do know is that now I’m suddenly counting down to Friday.

“Sounds like a plan.”

8

NOEL

I inhale deeply, a warm fall breeze filling my nostrils. There is a tinge of coolness in the air, and I know once the sun goes down that the lingering warmth of the day will go with it. Totally fine by me. Perfect bonfire weather.

I lean forward on the old stump that I claimed as my seat long ago, stoking the small fire. It’s growing nicely, and by the time the rest of the group shows up, we’ll be well on our way to the roaring fire we need for hot dogs and s’mores. The dogs are a new addition to our nights out, since Camden always insists on real food if he’s going to drink. Willa tried to convince him at one point that s’mores are real food, but he wasn’t having it. Can’t blame the man.

A squirrel jumping from one tree to another steals my attention, and my eyes roam over the clearing. Nash, Dustin, and I discovered the spot in junior high, and immediately knew it would be the perfect place for the six of us to hang out. It took much less convincing than we had expected to get the girls out here—then again, we’d promised them chocolate. From there, our tradition was born, and we’ve never looked back.

What I did need to get back to, though, was this paperwork. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but that didn’t change that it needed reviewing. And I figured what better place to do something that I have been dreading than a spot that makes me happy. Like it might cancel out all the tough decisions I’m going to have to make.

I sit back, slipping through the pages, running the numbers in my head. Everything Dad put together makes sense—the math is right, the logic is sound—yet, there is still something in me that questions whether it’s all the right move. When we started Keller Landscaping it was because we wanted to put our knowledge and skills to use, and maybe a little bit about playing in the dirt. I could have done without all the behind-the-scenes business bullshit.

A snap of a twig cracks through the air. My body goes into high alert, all my senses ready to act. I remain seated but square off my feet, ready to leap up if needed. That was why I chose this spot all those years ago, so that I could keep an eye on the path that led to the clearing from the road where we parked. We each have our roles in this group, and whether by default or choice—I’m still not sure—mine ended up being defender. Which, again, is totally fine by me.

The sound of footsteps soon follows. They’re light enough that I can tell whoever it is isn’t a threat, but it’s also not one of the gang. These steps are cautious, almost timid, like they aren’t sure where they’re going. Then, I see why.

Bronwyn.

She steps into the clearing, my already solid heart rate kicking up a notch. Her honey-colored hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, her jeans look like they have been painted on, and her royal-blue tee looks like it was cut just for her. Seriously, it should be illegal to look that good in just jeans and a tee.

“Oh, hi,” she greets, looking a little startled. “I wasn’t sure where I was going, so I gave myself extra time to get here, but then I saw your truck, at least I was pretty sure it was your truck, and then I second-guessed myself, and suddenly really wasn’t sure about anything, but I followed the directions that Willa gave so…”

“Hickory Hills isn’t big enough for you to get lost in. But you found it; that’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t realize I’d be so early,” she comments. She gives me a guilty smile, like she’s admitting to speeding rather than punctuality.

“You’re not.” I look at my watch. Six twenty. Okay, so she’s a little early. But I’m not going to complain. “It’s more that we’re a group of exactly on-timers. None of us were raised with the whole ‘on time is fifteen minutes early’ thing. Hell, Nash operates on his own time zone altogether. He gets there when he gets there.”

Bronwyn laughs, the tension between us starting to wane. Or at least I think it is. She seems more relaxed as she walks closer and starts to sit in the chair next to me. She stops herself midsquat, popping back up.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I wasn’t sure if there was assigned seats.”

“This isn’t eighth grade homeroom.”

She chuckles again, this time making my dick pay attention. “True, but people get funny about their seats.”

“You’re fine. Yes, we all have places we gravitate toward, but it’s nothing we can’t adjust,” I tell her.

It’s the truth. For the most part we’ve all sat in the same spots since we started. Me, right here with my back to Rocky Pond, Nash directly across from me. Although he doesn’t so much sit as squats or paces—too much energy in him. Dustin and Kenzie sit to my left on a fallen log, Willa and Sylvie—and now Camden—across from them in camp chairs.

“You were right about him,” she says. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s talking about Nash, bringing the conversation back to before I mentioned homeroom. “He’s a…”