Page 83 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

I wait, watching the man.

No Kelsey.

A half hour passes, so I quickly shower and dress and head downstairs.

She’s not there, either.

Has she already met him?

There’s a basket of pastries on the table. Coffee is brewed and ready in the pot, but it looks to have been set up automatically. There’s no evidence that Kelsey has been down.

I step up to the sink to look out the back window. He’s out there, an impressive pile of neatly stacked firewood growing at his feet.

This is too much to deal with before coffee. I find a mug and pour a cup. I take it straight black, needing the jolt.

Maybe I’ll text her. She could be sleeping late. It’s not like her, but we did a lot of driving yesterday.

I realize thewhack, thunkshave stopped. I return to the window. The man must notice me there, because he waves and points to the back door.

He must want in. I head there and open it.

“You must be the guy staying in the house,” he says, stomping his shoes before coming in. “Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to fill up the downstairs wood rack.”

“Won’t it be a little warm for a fire?”

He chuckles. “It will, I guess. But heck, I don’t know what they’re going to do at a summer Christmas tea. We have all these traditions, but they’re set up for winter.” He takes off his cap, runs the back of his hand over his forehead, then sticks it on again. “Mom is running the show.”

“Do what you need to do,” I tell him. I’ll text Kelsey now, so she won’t show up downstairs in something she wouldn’t want her future husband to see.

“I’m Randy,” he says, extending a hand. “You met my brother, Jack, yesterday.”

“I see the resemblance. I’m Zachery.”

Randy tilts his head. “You look like—”

And here we go. The recognition. I steel myself to be outed as the man who does objectionable things to old women during bingo.

“—this guy I played ball with at UW. A dead ringer. You have family up here?”

I’m momentarily taken aback. “Nope. Just a sister in LA.”

“Dead ringer. It’s uncanny.” He heads for the back door. “I’m going to bring a load through.”

“You need a hand?”

“Oh, no. If my mama catches me letting a paying guest haul firewood, she’ll skin me alive.”

“We don’t want to upset Mom.”

The screen door slams as he heads back through.

I sit down with my coffee at the round table in the center of the kitchen. I didn’t realize our house would be the center of so much activity.

Randy comes through with a stack of firewood in his arms, aiming for the swinging door between the kitchen and the front room.

I forgot to text Kelsey. I better do that or she might come down to investigate all the noise.

But then there’s an “Oof” and a crash, and logs start to fall.

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