Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“He is,” I agreed, willing Bryson to cross the street and rescue me.
“You know, he shovels my steps and my driveway every time it snows,” Dale was saying. “Even if it’s just a dusting. He worries about ice. He used to send Jake over to do it before he left for college. Now he does it himself. Won’t take a dime, so I pay him in plums. Got a nice tree out back. If you ever have a hankering for plums, you just help yourself.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Good to meet you, Smith. I’m gonna head inside and catch up on my shows,” Dale called out, shuffling up the path.
I waited till the older man was at his door, then crossed the street, holding out the bakery box to Bryson, who was gathering groceries from the passenger side of the vehicle.
“Want a maple cookie?”
Bryson closed his car door, jumping in surprise. “Jesus, I didn’t see you.”
“Really? I was standing in front of my house, having my ear talked off. You missed that?”
He chuckled, his signature pleasant expression fixed on his handsome face. “No, I saw. It just…usually takes a little longer to exit those conversations. Dale’s a great guy, though.”
“He said the same thing about you,” I reported. “Unfortunately, he thwarted my plan. I was going to leave these on your doorstep.”
“The cookies?”
“No, this.” I handed him a grocery bag and stepped aside to drink in the sight of Bryson Milligan in his slightly rumpled blue oxford shirt and creased khakis.
He set his groceries on the hood of his car and peered into the bag I gave him. “Ramen?”
I flashed a crooked grin. “Yep. See, the plan was to leave that on your doorstep. You’d think to yourself, ‘Wow, that crazy neighbor of mine lost his noodles.’ Like Dale says, you’re a good guy so you’d return these to me and I’d say, ‘You found my noodles. I was just going to make dinner. Would you like some ramen?’ And you’d say…”
Bryson stared at me. “Oh! This is a cue. Um, well…I’d say, ‘Cup o’ noodle ramen? No, thanks.’ ”
“Ouch. Luckily, I’m a nice guy, so I’d say, ‘I make a mean spaghetti. You in?’ ”
“Are you inviting me over for dinner?” he asked, enunciating the last few words.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“You think?”
“I am. I am. It just would have been way funnier if it played out with the ramen. Now, it sounds serious and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m trying to get in your pants or something. ’Cause I’m not. If there’s no chance of a home run, I wouldn’t mind going to first or second base…that’s all.”
He snorted without heat. “Good to know. Out of curiosity…what constitutes second base these days?”
“Well, I think second base is a hand job—with or without a happy ending. But I don’t know for sure. A new generation probably has new lingo. I wouldn’t ask, though. It would just make me feel old, and I’m feeling every one of my thirtysomething years after spending the afternoon with a posse of teenage boys.”
Bryson passed the bag of ramen to me and picked up his own grocery bags. “How’d that go?”
“Good. Very good. I’m mean, they’re terrible, and we’ll lose every game this season for sure, but it felt great to be on the ice again. And I can’t get over that rink. The whole school is incredible. I’m surprised it hasn’t been written up in Architectural Digest. Do these kids have any idea how lucky they are?” I paused for a breath and realized I’d been monologuing…excitedly, no less. “Sorry. I have a ton of energy and a lot of questions. It would be nice to talk with someone who knows Elmwood and…I’d love to share my pasta with you. Like a good neighbor.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “That’s nice of you.”
“Nice,” I repeated, wrinkling my nose as if I’d sniffed a rotten egg. “You wish I did the ramen thing too, huh? Damn, next time.”
“That’s not necessary.” He moved toward the house, his arms laden with bags. “What time?”
“Uh…an hour.”
Bryson smiled. “I’ll bring wine.”
Oh. Okay.
The sexy realtor was voluntarily coming to dinner.
This was good.
9
BRYSON
Everyone in town was talking about the handsome high school coach. That wasn’t an exaggeration. I couldn’t run a simple errand without someone asking how our newest citizen was settling into his new home.
Is the house too big? Is he going to paint the living room? It’s a rather unfortunate shade of yellow. Does he have furniture? Does he know the Calmezzos have a foosball table in the basement closet?
Yes, the friendly folks in Elmwood literally knew what was in your basement closet. It only made sense that they’d be curious about the state of his refrigerator too. I’d bet big bucks that whoever was working the till at the market would report to anyone interested that Smitty had purchased an obscene amount of Top Ramen.