Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
It was mine for six whole months now, and nope, I wasn’t happy about that.
My situation was looking bleak as hell at the moment. The mill was plodding along at the same rate it had for decades, which wasn’t anywhere near what was needed to meet the demands of new construction. And after two years of hanging out with horses and therapy patients, I was out of practice in dealing with corporate assholes and angry workers.
I walked through the kitchen with Steve the contractor, oohed and aahed at the restaurant-grade appliances Dad had ordered, and admired the giant quartz island and the breakfast nook that supposedly had a nice view of the forest. It was too dark to appreciate the scenery at this hour, but I believed him.
“Thank you. It looks amazing, Steve. How much longer will you need?” I asked.
Steve smoothed the edges of his full mustache as he peered around the kitchen and great room area. He was a big man in his fifties with rosy cheeks and a beer belly. “One week to paint and clean. I don’t know if you need movers, but my son and his friends would be happy to help.”
“That’s nice of you, but I don’t have anything to move. Just a suitcase. I’ll have to order furniture online. Unless you have any stores here.”
“Not in Elmwood. You’ll have to go to Pinecrest. It’ll be pricey, but you’ll want nice things for this house.” He swept his arm wide and continued conversationally. “This is turning into a fancy section of town. I don’t know if you follow hockey, but Vinnie Kiminski is your neighbor. Your property abuts his on the other end of the creek. Vinnie and his husband, Nolan have two kids now. Gee, they must be seven and four or five. I saw them sledding down that little hill from your window a couple of weeks ago. Technically on your property, but I’m assuming you like kids, and I sure as heck hope you don’t have a problem with a family with two dads.”
“Well, I—”
“I know not every place is like Elmwood, but I’ll tell ya something…we pride ourselves on diversity and—”
“I’m gay, Steve. Of course, I’m cool with it,” I intercepted.
I’d commuted regularly between Vermont and Colorado over the past month, initially splitting the week with three days in Denver and four here. Every freaking time I stepped foot in Elmwood or Wood Hollow, you’d think I was brand-new to the area. Which meant I heard the same spiels about inclusivity and equality over and over again.
The “Don’t be a dick or we’ll run your ass out of town” speech had become a mantra of sorts. I’d heard a few variations since I first arrived, usually delivered in the same congenial tone of my contractor.
Look, I appreciated their commitment to protecting their neighbors, but I wasn’t the enemy. Sure, I was the guy whose family was cutting down trees in their forest, but we were doing it the right way.
Seemingly, my queerness gave me the hall pass our commitment to sustainable forestry lacked.
The ironic thing was that I’d had zero plans to come out to the good folks in the Four Forest area. I had a strong belief that who I fucked was my business and no one else’s. Elmwood was different, and if shared sexuality put me in the same cool category as some of the town’s elite hockey citizens, I might as well lead with that info.
Hey, it worked on Steve.
The older man didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “Oh. Good for you.”
“I’m also a hockey fan. I followed Vinnie’s career religiously in my teens. And Riley Thoreau’s.”
He beamed and clapped my shoulder. “I knew I liked you. Did you know Jake Milligan is from here too? He plays for Boston. And Denny Mellon is Colorado’s new rookie who—”
“I met Denny last weekend.”
“Great guy,” Steve gushed. “I went to high school with Denny’s dad and his uncle, Daryl. They were wild and crazy…always taking dares. Denny must take after his mom’s side of the family. God rest her soul. Poor kid has lost both parents now. All he’s got left is Annie. No, no. I think he has a brother too. Never met him, but—I need to shut my gob and get home or I’ll be late for dinner. Have a good night, Mr. Cunningham.”
“Hank,” I corrected. “Just Hank.”
He paused at the kitchen door and inclined his chin. “All right. See you tomorrow, Hank.”
I cast an appraising glance around the shiny new kitchen as I pulled my cell from my pocket and called home.
“Hello, Cunningham residence. May I ask who’s calling?”
Side note: A, someone had been answering the phone in my childhood home with that exact greeting for the past forty years or more. B, my father would never ever get rid of his landline. He was a sporadic texter at best, and if he had a lot to say, he called…or emailed.