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Mama was right—I hadn’t seen that boy in a long, long time. This strange version of Keaton was shrouded in brooding silence and mystery.
Silence that he maintained as he backed away from the house.
“Just head that way, past the stables and into the woods a bit,” I said.
Another nod, his eyes trained on the strip of grass in the middle of the dirt road he ambled down. There might have been some secret of the universe written there, a message from God, maybe the cure for world hunger for as likely as he was to look away.
Careful to keep one arm in front of my chest, I fiddled with my bangs in a blind effort to fix them, not even knowing whether they were a mess, though it was a safe assumption.
“So,” I started, desperate to break the silence, “how are your brothers?”
“Fine, thank you.”
I put on a smile and kept trying. “Well, that’s good to hear.” A pause. “Are you gonna be out at the barn all day?”
“Just long enough to make sure all’s well. The crew hasn’t been a bother, have they?”
“Not at all. They use one of the back gates, so all we’ve heard is some sawing when the wind switches direction.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes.”
“We will.”
Another dead end. I kept the small smile on my face as my brain scrambled for something else to say, but all I could think about was how the inside of the truck smelled like leather and campfires, with a crisp undertone of soap and a hint of rubber. Why that was tantalizing, I did not know.
“Sorry to surprise you this morning,” he said, startling me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, that’s all right. I hope Cole was able to get everything squared away.”
“He was. Thank you.”
At least this time when the conversation died, the turn-off to the barn was in sight. “Turn just up there, past the reflector.”
He did. I picked another topic and tried again.
“Well, I have to say—I never knew Main Street could look so good until you got ahold of it. Y’all did the impossible.”
Bingo.
Something in him lightened, bringing the smallest of smiles to his lips. A smile I watched as he spoke about the Main Street restoration, but I was too busy tracing the strong line of his profile with my gaze—from his brow to the bridge of his nose to the cut of his jaw—to listen. The slight crinkling at the corner of his eyes belied his stoicism, marking a time when his smiles were free.
“—had me build custom tables for inside the store, so I used all reclaimed materials we found in Mr. McMahon’s barn after we tore it down. Been hanging on to that wood for a year. Glad to use it for the town. I don’t like the thought of all that history being lost. Now it gets a new story.”
“A new story,” I mused. “I like that.”
He glanced at me, still almost smiling, his eyes alight. I didn’t remember seeing him like this, not in a long time. Since we were in school.
“Everything abandoned deserves a new story,” he said. “Otherwise, what’s the point to all this?”
I didn’t know what to say, struck by his honesty and, frankly, that he was still talking.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything.
He pulled the truck to a stop in front of the barn and put it in park, waving at the guys by way of a single hand held briefly in the air.
“Maybe you should stay in the truck,” he said as he opened the door.
I frowned at the command, but that almost-smile rose a little on one side. He nodded, his eyes cutting to my crossed arms as he slid out.
“Wouldn’t want you to start a riot.”
My cheeks were hotter than a meteor. “That sounds like a them problem, not a me problem.”
A noise escaped him that sounded almost like a laugh. “Tell that to Helen of Troy.”
Before I could answer, he shut the door with one gigantic hand, grabbing some bags out of the bed of the truck and heading to the barn without looking back.
I sat there, stunned and stupid over Keaton Meyer, considering all the things I could never have.
Including him.
6
HOT DOG
DAISY
That afternoon, I was busy in the kitchen, waiting for Poppy to get home so I could exact my revenge, just like I had been since Keaton dropped me off that morning.
It had been a similarly awkward ride back to the house, and I’d spent the rest of the morning doing chores, contemplating my revenge. But when Poppy finally walked in the door, slamming it behind her hard enough to bounce the pictures on the wall, I decided her comeuppance could wait.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as she stormed straight to the fridge, took out a beer, and slammed that door too.
