He shook his head in mock annoyance. “Turn on the music, Dexter.”
“Hold up. I have more questions. What do you do at the mill specifically?”
“Many things. It depends on the contracts. Sometimes I do on-site work, check the health of the trees and forest, plan eco-deforestation, take down trees, haul them…whatever is needed. Lately, I work the sawmill. It’s a machine that cuts logs into usable lumber to make products to sell at the Mill Depot.”
I hummed. “Do you like your job?”
“Yes. Do you, um…like yours?”
“I do. I love it, actually.”
“Even though you don’t eat donuts?”
I gasped in mock censure. “I do fucking too. Not as many as I’d like to, but donuts are literally the best manmade creation ever.”
“Best ever? Better than bicycles, automobiles, the Golden Gate Bridge, or…macaroni and cheese?”
“Including an architectural wonder is a little extreme, and I’d put bikes and other moving vehicles in the invention column. But mac n’ cheese has got nothing on a good old-fashioned glazed, sprinkle, or a jelly-filled donut.”
“What about pancakes?” he teased.
“Ooh. It might be a tie.”
“When did you start making donuts?”
“I worked at a bakery in high school. It was a part-time after-school gig. Ten hours a week, tops. The owners were related to my girlfriend at the time. Aunt Alma and Uncle Joe were good people. They supported the local football team, raised money for education and sports, and they made amazing coffee. It was a great atmosphere. The bakers were these funny guys with thick Boston accents who’d make up weird flavors—like Cocoa Puffs chocolate brownie fudge donuts and hickory spice. They’d do taste tests with the part-timers just for fun. They taught me how to make donuts, and they encouraged creativity.” I smiled at the memory. “The girlfriend didn’t last, but I occasionally worked for Alma and Joe in the summers during college…before football training started. Years later, when I was trying to figure out what to do with my life, I remembered how much I loved those days and I thought…why not try donuts?”
“And Dexter’s Donuts was born.”
“Yep.”
“Why Wood Hollow? Why not somewhere in Michigan or…New York City or LA?”
“I was done with Michigan. I wanted out, and Troy had just been hired as the new coach at the high school. He asked me to behis assistant coach. I agreed, thinking I’d take a few months to reassess life and figure out what came next. I stayed.”
“For donuts,” Viggo commented.
“It was a side project, something to try out. If it worked, great. If not, that was okay, too.” I fidgeted with the cuff of my sleeve and shrugged. “I had low expectations. Wood Hollow was kind of a pit back then. Every freaking sidewalk was cracked, half of the shops were deserted or tired looking, the roads were in disrepair from the logging trucks, and everything had an aura of…blah. I actually felt bad for Troy that he ended up going from college superstar athlete to coaching in a Podunk nowhere town. That changed after Hank’s dad bought the mill. New jobs, new construction. It wasn’t an overnight phenomenon, but there was hope in the air. You could feel it. There was a new coffee shop, a new bistro, so…why not a donut shop?”
“And it was a hit,” he surmised.
“Not right away. The thing about small towns like Wood Hollow is that it sometimes takes a while for folks to warm up to you. They’re suspicious of new-fangled ideas and I got a lot of pushback at town council meetings.” I modulated my voice to sound like a cranky old man. “ ‘You can’t be serving a donut with cereal sprinkles! That’s pure laziness. And it’s bad for kids’ teeth, too.’ ”
“These are your best customers now?”
“You know it.” I pointed at the sign for Burlington. “Almost there. Shit. Now I’m nervous again.”
Viggo reached across the console and set his hand on mine. He didn’t say a word—no false assurances, no platitude that everything was going to be okay. Just the solid weight of his presence. And somehow that was exactly what I needed.
CHAPTER 14
DEXTER
Light jazz piped through speakers in the lobby of the doctor’s office and pics of chubby babies with big eyes, gummy grins, and tiny fingers and toes adorned walls papered in a muted jewel-toned seagrass. I greeted the friendly receptionist, sat next to Freya in a comfy upholstered chair, and checked out the enormous aquarium filled with brilliant colored fish.
Message received: This was a tranquil space. Everything was going to be okay.
I wiped my clammy palms on my khakis and took a deep breath.
