Page 70 of Home Game

“Babe, what’s the thing Peyt had when she was talking about this fool? You know, like her face? Glow! That’s it; she was glowing.” He turns back to face me, pointing and smiling a bit more, though I think only because he remembered a four-letter word.

“Ugh, I’m sorry for this. They’ve been drinking, and they’re in their forties now. One of us is gettingupthere,” she says, weaving her fingers into his free hand.

“It’s fine. I’m just waiting for Peyton. I’m?—”

“Oh, we know. You’re Wyatt. The boy,” the woman says, her half smirk pushing a dent into her right cheek.Boy. I’m still the boy.

“I’m Sarah, and this is my dumbass husband, Jason. Peyton’s on her way out. She had to grab a jacket. She thinks it’s cold.” Sarah rolls her eyes. I don’t dare mention I’m a little chilly too. I don’t know why I feel everyone in Peyton’s family can kick my ass, but I do. I believe there’s fact woven in that theory.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, nodding but keeping my hand right where it is. I don’t trust her grip, either. Not on my throwing hand.

“Uncle Jason, are you trying to ruin my love life?” Peyton says, pushing through the door as she zips up a light pink jacket and pulls the hood up over her hair.

“Of course I am. It’s my job. And you’re too young to have a love life,” Jason says, slinging the trash bag over his shoulder. Bottles clank inside.

“You ready?” I say through a toothy, freaked-out grin.

“We can’t leave fast enough,” Peyton says, her expression much the same. She skips down the stone porch and takes my hand, leaning in to kiss me. My eyes remain on her uncle the entire time, and I swear he’s making threats without speaking.

I lead her to my truck, opening the passenger door and blocking her view of what’s in the back. I fumble my keys and drop them on the ground outside my door, and by the time I get situated in the driver’s seat, Peyton is having a good laugh at my expense.

“What? The men in your family are intimidating! I thought your dad put me on edge. Your uncle is just plain direct,” I laugh out, checking my mirrors and half expecting him to pop up in one of them.

“Wait until you get to know my grandpa,” she warns.

I adjust the rearview mirror, then glance at her profile. Her lashes are like butterfly wings batting wildly with her laughter, her smile, the way she fidgets with my vents to adjust the heat, then sits on her hands to keep them warm.

“I’d like to get to know your grandpa,” I say, my eyes on her. She sneaks a short glance my way and a faint smile puckers her lips.

“He’s going to love you,” she says, and for some reason, that little tip of confidence is enough to get me to go full out tonight and be the corny romantic my dad always said I’d be one day. When I knew. When I met that person who was . . .different.

I let Peyton pick the music as I drive us to the main square in Old Town. I promised her hot chocolate at the late-night coffee shop, but we have a little pit stop to make first—therealreason I’m dragging her out at midnight.

The downtown area is basically rolled up for bed when I stop in front of the library, the storefronts all dark, small parking lots empty, and the blue glow of security lights shining on the front book displays of the library. The statue of an old man feeding birds is just where Jeff, my dad’s old captain, told me I’d find it, so I shift into park but leave the motor running as I dash around the front of my truck while Peyton eyes me suspiciously.

“Give me one second. I promise it will be worth it,” I shout over the grind of my engine.

Her brows lift, and she mouths, “Okay.”

I dip behind the statue and feel around the base for the electric panel Jeff said would be there. His cousin is a captain with the Coolidge Fire Department, and he called in a favor for me when I came up with this crazy idea at about eight o’clock this morning. I guess that’s yesterday by this point. I only wanted Jeff to hook me up with a little ride-along, but once his cousin Dale got involved, he wanted to do things up right. Because, as it turns out, Dale happens to be a big Reed Johnson fan. Doing a solid for his daughter? No brainer.

Does this guy have any haters?

I pull my phone out to text Jeff and Dale that I’m in position, and then I shine my phone’s light on the panel so I can type in the twelve digits that Dale sent me earlier tonight. In a blink, the sleeping downtown turns into a winter wonderland of sparkling trees and candy cane light poles. It’s still months until the holiday season, but instead of paying to put lights up every year, Coolidge invested in a sort of permanent installation that they can use year round for events like, well, parades.

“Wyatt? How—?” Peyton’s gotten out of the truck, so I jog around to kill the engine. I only wanted to keep it running to keep her warm.

I step up behind her, my hands at her hips while she spins in a slow circle, taking in the trees I’m sure she’s seen many times. I hope they look different tonight, though. I hope they look like a surprise, like a stupid boy in love. Because that’s what they are. A really cheesy gesture that maybe will make all the shit she’s put up with for me worthwhile.

“Your chariot, my queen,” I say, nudging her to turn to her right, where the fire truck is pulling around the corner and driving our way.

“Wyatt? What did you do?” Her skeptical tone is also flush with giddiness, so I reach into the back of my truck for the crown, robe, and scepter that I borrowed from the Vista theater department.

“I officially ordain you this year’s pre-fall festival parade queen. Your crown,” I say, taking a knee and holding the plastic gold headpiece in my palms.

“Are you serious right now?” She giggles and takes her crown from my hands, placing it on her head as I stand and unfurl her robe. I swing it around her shoulders, my eyes meeting hers as I tie the purple ribbon below her chin.

“I’m very serious, Peyton. You are not missing out on being someone’s queen.” My hands drop to my sides, and I take a step back. She sucks in her bottom lip, and I nearly tell her I’m falling in love when the oh-so-romantic sound of air brakes spoils the moment.

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