That one’s dead last on the big brain scale. He’s got a good heart, though.
I rear back to see him better. “How do you know about that?”
He waves a hand at himself as if the answer is obvious. “I’ll be holding down the fort at the medic tent.”
“Right. Seems like a lot of worry for a two-hour event.”
“People aren’t smart. I told you about the guy who got his tongue stuck to a light pole at the last Christmas Festival.”
“Only about a hundred times,” Graham says.
“He said he thought the scene inA Christmas Story?—”
“Was CGI,” Graham and I say together.
Nathan grins. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have I told this story before?”
He doesn’t care. He’ll tell it a hundred more times. A full-grown man stuck to a light pole is an understandable highlight for a small town EMT.
“Yeah,” I say before he can recount pouring warm water over the guy’s tongue to set him free. “We’re doing the concert series.”
Nathan leans closer, his grin turning wolfish. “Is the ‘we’ you and Troy, or you and Rose?”
He’s harmless, I tell myself.He’s harmless. He’s harmless.
Nathan’s a flirt, but nothing worse. He’s twenty-eight, so I won’t pretend he’s innocent, but he’s not out there trying to make conquests or anything. He’s like a puppy running from one thing to the next without a thought in his head.
The problem is, everybody loves puppies.
I grip the cushioned chair arms so tight, my fingers will leave marks in the fabric. “Why?”
“Because Rose is a cutie. She’s like a movie star or something in those long dresses she always wears.“ He makes a sound in the back of his throat I’d like to erase from my memory. “Is she seeing anybody, or…?”
Graham smacks him hard on the arm. “Read the room.”
Nathan looks around, searching for a clue. “Read what? What room?”
Graham and I lock gazes over the couch. What does he think he knows? And since when?
His eyes give nothing away behind his glasses. For the first time, I wonder just whatI’mgiving away. It’s not my feelings—I’ve got those locked down tight. But Graham’s a scientist. He’s good at quiet observation. I’d rather not be the test subject he’s poring over.
“How’d it go this morning?” He’s giving me an out, which is more than I could expect from Nathan if he had similar suspicions.
“Good day on the river. Caught a couple of rainbow trout.”
Jovie returns with our sling puck game and puts it on the coffee table in front of me. She doles out the small, wooden playing discs, then rolls Dad’s ottoman over to sit on.
“This won’t take eight hours.” Her smirk makes her look more like Nathan than Luke. Over the years, I’ve caught glimpses of all of us in her expressions. Luke when she’s serious. Graham when she’s trying to make sense of school work. Lucy’s mischief, naturally.
Even me on those rare occasions she’s in a dark mood.
“You want to go?” I tease, sitting up so I can reach the wooden game board.
She flexes her biceps and kisses them. This kid. I’ve got very few soft spots in my life, but she’s most of them.
The game is simple: use an elastic at one end of the board to slingshot your pucks to the other person’s side through a narrow gate in the middle. There are no set turns, and as easy as it is to learn, it’s difficult to win. It’s chaotic and noisy, but Jovie’s giggles every time she gets a point over on me make it worthwhile.
Of course, my brothers are cheering for her. We always do.
