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Liam, on the other hand, grew up in what Liam’s moms jokingly called “the lesbian commune”—a family farm outside of town where several lesbian couples lived. They raised goats and pigs, grew veggies for the household, and made craft soaps and other stuff they sold at markets and online. They’d even had a horse that Nick had ridden a few times.
“Dad always asked the same questions,” Nick added. “How school was, whether I finished my homework, and what the grade on my last test was.”
Liam threw up his hands and flopped backward, shaking the booth. “See?”
Silas nodded as he picked at the coaster in front of him. “No offense, seems kind of odd to me.” The comment was followed by Silas’s cheeks turning bright red, as if he thought he’d gone too far.
“None taken,” Nick assured Silas while he wondered at Silas’s reaction. “None at all. It was totally fucked up.”
“Anyway, Nick,” Liam said, “back to what I was getting to before we went on the parental detour. Which is, maybe give Purdy a chance?”
Give Martin Purdy a chance? Nick gave Liam his best scowl. Why the hell would Nick want to do that? In Nick’s experience, giving people a chance meant they fucked with him. Not that Purdy had done any such thing—yet. The reality was Purdy could have fought the lease the Davies children had given Nick and probably won, seeing as it had been a verbal agreement and not a signed document, but he hadn’t.
“He doesn’t even remember me.”
That comment earned Nick a pointy elbow jammed into his ribs. “Ow. What the fuck was that for?” He rubbed his side dramatically.
“Of course he doesn’t remember you, moron. How many students do you think he’s had over the years? I remember you telling me how huge your classes were. Dude,” Liam finished with a disappointed headshake.
Nick opened his mouth to protest further, but he was stalled by Magnus, who was now standing at the head of the banquet.
“Evening, everyone. I won’t keep you…” Magnus paused because there was a rumble ofquit talking,let us eat then,hurry up, old man, and other comments. Magnus was used to the friendly abuse. “The more crap you all give me, the longer I’m gonna talk,” he warned them with an evil grin. The crowd quieted again. “That’s more like it. Thank you all for coming, even if I had to twist a few arms.” He glanced over at the booth Nick, Silas, and Liam occupied. “We are nothing without our community. Thank you to the old-timers for continuing to stay in town and supporting small businesses here, to the younger generation who hasn’t quite given up yet, and lastly, welcome to the newcomers—the newest newcomer. Before we eat, let’s raise our glasses to our future.”
“Let’s hope the future doesn’t get drunk and fuck everything up,” someone murmured into the silence. The comment was met with laughter and agreement as everyone began eating.
Not long later, Nick leaned back against the back of the booth with a massive sigh. He was both full and satisfied. He’d have been more satisfied if Magnus hadn’t instilled a ridiculous round-robin rule and forced everyone to move to a new seat and chat with someone else every half hour.
Being contrary, Nick had refused to move, but Liam and Silas had abandoned him. He’d then been joined by Critter and Mags, the two Forest Service officers. Everyone in town suspected they were a couple, but Nick figured it was none of his business what the two got up to in their spare and private time.
“You ready for the storm?” Critter asked him, rolling a toothpick around his mouth.
Critter was about Nick’s height and had the leanness of someone who’d never had a desk job. Mags was short and curvy, but Nick knew from experience that she could hike for miles and not break a sweat. She normally kept her curly black hair in braids but tonight she’d let them free—her words—and Nick found himself staring at the cloud of dark hair that moved when Mags talked.
“Ah. What storm?” Nick was the only adult he knew who didn’t own a cell phone; the cabin had a working landline, so he didn’t see a need. It wasn’t like he wanted to talk to people, and he could always just look outside to see the weather. His powered-off laptop stayed shut down in the cabin, where he’d been successfully avoiding it for months.
“Oh,” Mags added, waving her hand, “you know, the usual post-holiday storm. Forecasters are saying this one will hit the coast tomorrow afternoon, and they’re predicting higher than normal winds,” she informed him with glee. “And,” she whispered, “there’s a king tide, the highest of the year. Critter and I are gonna hunker down in one of the observatories.”
“Huh. I had no idea.”
He wondered if Purdy knew about the upcoming weather and decided it didn’t matter if he did or not. The weather was still going to happen. His attention drifted to the bar, where Martin sat chatting with Wanda Stone and Rufus.
Not that Nick was keeping an eye on him or anything.
The fact that he knew Martin had been through the buffet line twice and had already drunk a stout and some sort of pale ale was pure chance. It looked like he was having a good time. Nick was enjoying this chance to watch him without Martin being aware of it.
It irritated him that he had a difficult time focusing on anything else when Martin Purdy was in the room. Just like twelve years ago, when he couldn’t remember the difference between an igneous rock and a metamorphic rock because the hot older guy teaching the class was distractingly good-looking.
“How is the new guy?” Critter asked, interrupting Nick’s perusal of Martin’s thick biceps and muscly chest.
For a moment, Nick wondered what Critter was talking about. Then he cocked his head toward the bar.
Oh, right.
Nick dragged his attention back to his table partners. “Uh. He’s only been here for what, four days? It’s early yet.” Crap, had Critter busted him staring? Surely, they were about to move along to a new table? He mentally crossed his fingers.
“You haven’t talked to him?” Mags asked.
Nick shrugged. Mags had this way of meaning more than she actually said. No, he hadn’t greeted Martin Purdy with a housewarming gift or even helped him and his friends unload the moving truck.
