Page 12 of More Than My Hometown

4

MAISEY

Booby Trap.

The massive wood-burned sign stares back at me, damn proud of itself, if I do say so myself, and I can’t help but smile. It’s one thing to know that someone went and did something, but it’s another thing to actually see it with your own eyes.

And I’ll be, Ewan Hayes really did take Knox County Bait and Tackle and rename it to The Booby Trap. Fuck, I would have loved to have seen the looks on the old-timers’ faces when he did that. My Aunt Hattie must have had a fit.

I kill the ignition, the hum of my rental car’s engine quieting, as I reach for my phone, rereading my text thread with Emily for the 9413th time to verify that Ewan still likes his burgers the same way he did before.

Burger order is still medium with cheddar, horseradish, tomato, and onion, right?

Emily

that’s what he ordered last week, so unless he’s changed his mind since then

and you’re sure there’s nothing between y’all? I’m not stepping on toes? Because he acted kinda weird when I cut in…

I’m sure.

weird how? Y’all were adorable together on that dance floor.

When I told him I wanted to catch up he got squirrelly and basically did an about-face

ha, Mais, if anyone knows better, it should be you. You can’t just ambush Ewan like that. You have to ease him into talking.

Ha.

That’s the thing—maybe Emily and others have to ease Ewan into talking, but I never did. That was always the beauty of who we were. I was the one person on this earth who could ambush him. There was no “hello” or “what’s up” to start a conversation with us. Because everything was a continuation of one great big conversation that went in a million different directions and could tangent and pivot at any moment. With me doing most of the talking.

No part of me expected that to have changed. I figured we’d pick up exactly where we left off when I moved away. Guess not.

Or well, not yet.

Food solves everything though.

Gathering the to-go containers, I pile out of the car and climb the wooden steps onto the front porch of the old bait and tackle shop. Originally built in the 1940s as a hunting cabin, Bryon Jennings bought it in the sixties, converting it into Knox County Bait and Tackle. The store always did well—with Silver Lake right in town and the Flint River not far, fishing has always been a big part of the community.

“Alright, here goes,” I mutter to myself, flinging the door open.

A bell overhead tinkles, announcing my arrival, and Dennis Williams looks up from the lure he’s tying, cocking his head to the side, as if he isn’t sure whether he should greet me or usher me back out the door. I smile politely, not sure if he’ll remember me—this was his retirement gig when we were in high school, and he certainly hasn’t gotten any younger.

“He’s around the corner, doin’ inventory in the archery section of the addition, Miss Maisey,” Dennis says, nodding his head toward a door in the back right corner of the store.

“Addition?”

Dennis nods. “Yup. Take a look-see. Think you’ll like it.”

I wander farther inside, my eyes scanning over the store. It looks different—fresher—than it did when it was Knox County Bait and Tackle. Whatever changes Ewan has made have certainly breathed fresh air into the place. Walking through here, though, feels oddly…familiar. Like I’ve been here. Which, I have, but I haven’t. Not in this layout. Still, I know it.

Turning at the arrow that points me in the direction of the hunting section, I step into a large, open room with bright lights and open shelving. That’s when it hits me.

I know this layout.

Because I designed it.

This is exactly what I drew out on a set of napkins that night in Miami. The Hayes rifles front and center—because this store is owned by a Hayes after all—with the safety gear on the opposite wall. Archery has its own section in the back, and I would bet my life had I followed the stairs in the original part of the lodge, it would have taken me to an entire camping and “wilderness enjoyment” display.