Page 29 of Off the Trail

“Would have been?”

“My parents died, and I came home to take care of Brooke. What was your major?” I don’t feel like talking about what might have been. This is what is.

He shrugs. “I was a business major. It’s the fallback for all of us meathead jocks.”

“So you’ve invested wisely, I take it?”

“I’ve done okay.” He looks at another photo, this one of my dad in his shop in the shed out back, making the very coffee table that’s in the living room right now. “I took a woodworking class once, for an art credit I needed. It was probably my favorite class I took all of college.”

“Is that why you chose construction work?”

“I guess so. That job was mostly strip mall remodeling. I watch those old-school carpentry shows sometimes.” He turns away from the mantel. “So, where are we going?”

I get that he’s changing the subject. We’re both pretty good at doing that when we want to. Since I’d rather not be a hypocrite, I let him.

“Laketon’s the nearest outpost,” I say as I gather up my wallet and keys. “You would have driven through it on the way here.”

I pause our departure to drop down to my knees next to Misty. “Hey, we’re going to town. I’ll be back later. Be good.” I kiss the top of her head and rise to find Shawn smirking at me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “It’s nice. If I had a pet, I’d definitely talk to them, too.”

“She’s a smart one. I don’t want her to worry while I’m gone.”

“Of course not,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of me.

“Just so you know, there’s not much to the town. Grocery store, post office, a couple of restaurants, the elementary school Brooke and I went to. For everything else, you have to go to Naples. That’s where Brooke’s work is, and the high school. It’s about a forty-minute drive from here.”

“Wow, so you grew up rural, rural,” he says as we climb into the truck.

“Pretty much. Hang on, let me text Brooke while I still have Wi-Fi.” I shoot her a text letting her know we’re going to town and that we might get dinner there.

“It’s so weird to not even have my phone on me,” Shawn says.

“You want to go back to get it?” I fire up the truck and pull onto the lake road.

He thinks for a second, then makes a dismissive noise. “Nah. Forget it. If I bring it, I’ll be tempted to look at my email and messages, and none of that is going to be good for me.”

“Smart.” I check my watch. By the time we get to town, it’ll be too early for dinner, but too late for the coffee shop that closes early. And then I get a genius idea.

“Hey, I have the perfect place to take you.”

“Where’s that?”

“Let me keep it a surprise, in case they aren’t open when we get there.”

He rubs those big hands on his thighs. “I like surprises.”

I like you, I want to say.

I don’t.

I drive, and soon Laketon appears out of the trees. It’s not a very big town, just a couple of residential neighborhoods branching out from the two main streets that intersect in a town green. I turn onto the higher road, the one with the bed-and-breakfast and the town hall. Across the way is the historical society building, which houses the town’s archives and photographs going back to colonial days. And next to that is our destination. There’s a parking spot right out front.

“We’re here.”

Shawn peers through the windshield at the carved wooden sign. “Laketon Woodworks?”