Page 56 of Relief Pitcher

Austin: Aww man. Can you bring me some?

Ethan: You literally live with a professional chef. Have him make you some.

Austin: But he doesn’t make it like Aunt Carolyn.

Ty: I’m so telling Caleb that.

Dom: Can I get in on the meatloaf train? I don’t care who makes it.

* * *

Dad followedCooper around as he assessed the tree at Grandpa’s house. He was like a kid getting attention from a new visitor—all full of questions and excitement. The May sunshine was out, which boded well for a successful upcoming Memorial Day weekend. The field at Grandpa’s house had recently been mowed, and the scent of fresh-cut grass lingered in the air.

“Have you ever seen a silver birch in the snow? I’d love to go to Scandinavia and see them in winter. I read that their bark evolved to be white so it reflects light.” Dad was obsessed with Scandinavia. I was glad my parents were finally planning a trip there. They deserved it.

“I haven’t in person, but I’d love to. I’m especially interested to see the fly agaric toadstool that can sometimes be found around them there. They look unreal.” Coop described the mushroom, which got Dad talking about where to find the best mushrooms at the coast.

“Aren’t our guys so adorable nerding out together?” Mom hooked her arm through mine.

“Don’t start trouble,” I said quietly so Coop didn’t hear.

“What? It’s the first time you’ve brought a man home.” She blinked innocently at me. There wasn’t an innocent bone in my mom’s body when it came to her love for meddling in her sons’ lives.

“I didn’t ‘bring a man home.’ I invited a professional with a very specific set of skills over to fix your tree issue.”

Mom laughed. “What, is he Liam Neeson? He seems good with his hands.”

“Mother.”

“Son.”

“Wicked, wicked woman.” I would’ve teased back, but I was distracted by Coop’s smile as he looked over at us. A little indulgent, a little curious. Oh god. Just like Dad’s whenever he looked at Mom.

I needed to stop that line of thinking immediately. My parents had a wildly successful marriage that spanned forty percent of a century. Meanwhile, I’d never had a successful relationship or wanted one.

How were we already halfway through softball season? I couldn’t believe Coop and I hadn’t grown sick of each other yet. We’d been hooking up a couple of times per week and hanging out almost as much. And now the guy who’d rescued me in the storm back in March was building a bromance with my dad. And I didn’t hate it. What the fuck?

I’d only messed around with one guy all spring. The same guy. Over and over. I wasn’t sure if I still believed that being busy between work and softball was the only reason I kept going back to him. My interest in wanting to fuck Coop had to fade soon, so the only thing between us was the strong friendship we’d been developing. Any day. Because no one had held my interest for more before. It was a statistical inevitability, but even as I thought that, I watched him take my parents’ concern over their tree seriously, and it made me want to suck his dick and hang out afterward.

They stopped chatting and walked over to us. Coop shifted into professional mode and began asking my parents questions about the tree’s history before going into a close examination. I admired Coop in his element. His serious expression as he peeled back some bark, scratched at a twig with his pocketknife, and crouched to study the trunk turned me on. Competency was fucking hot.

Then he dragged his fingers across the spot I’d carved my initials on when I was little. I wasn’t sure he even realized he’d done it. My heart lurched into my throat, and I felt Mom’s eyes on me. I didn’t dare look her way because I was more afraid I’d see softness than teasing on her face.

After a few minutes, Coop turned toward us with his lips pursed and an expression more serious than I had seen on him since he first told me about his late husband.

“Mr. and Mrs. McNeill—”

“Oh lord, that makes us sound old.” Mom turned and narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t say a word.” She turned back to Coop. “Call us Larry and Carolyn. What’s going on with it? We can take the news.” She squared her shoulders.

Dad gripped Mom’s hand, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder.

Coop’s mouth lifted in a small smile as he took us in. “Larry and Carolyn, I’m sorry to say your Oregon white oak is dead. The cracks in the trunk, peeling bark, dead limbs, no foliage, and other signs point me to that conclusion. Since a branch recently came down, the tree is a safety hazard. In my opinion, the safest course of action is to fell the tree before it causes damage. There are several other trees that should be checked out too.”

I kissed the top of Mom’s head, and she patted my hand hooked over her shoulder.

“If you want a second opinion, I’d be happy to give you the names of other arborists in the area who do good work. That’s never a bad idea.”

Dad shook his head. “No need for that. Is this urgent? Should we schedule for you to take it down as soon as possible?”

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