Page 27 of Rhett

“Make a mess, why don’t you?” I complain, though I don’t really mean it.

“Good to see you too, Rhett.” Dusty takes off his snow gear, hanging up his jacket and leaving his boots by the door. “Smells good in here.”

“Shit. I hope I’m not burning it.” I hurry into the kitchen. The bacon is crispier than I like, so I get rid of those pieces and put a couple others in. “It’s better if it’s softer,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to waste that. I’m good with crunchy.”

I shake my head. I’d feel weird serving him that. “If you don’t like it better crunchy, I’d rather just make more.”

I feel his gaze on me but don’t make eye contact. “That sounds good to me.”

I breathe out a sign of relief.

“How you been?” Dusty leans against the counter, his sandy hair flat from the beanie he’d been wearing.

“You just saw me at the birthday party. It’s not as if it’s been weeks.”

“That mean I can’t ask you how you’re doing now?” He cocks a brow.

I shrug. “I’m fine.” I keep an eye on the bacon so I can flip it at the perfect time.

“Meadow’s party was nice. It was good to see you there.”

“Are we going to stand here small-talking?”

“Is there something else we’re supposed to do?” he asks, and again, I guess he’s right.

“I don’t know, Dust. How’s Morgan?”

He grins. “He’s doing well. You should come hang out at Gracie’s one night. It’s doing real well. He’s loving it. I’ve been heading over in the evenings after work. Cass, Archer, and East came the other day too.”

“Tripp was there?” The question comes out without forethought, and I wish I could suck it back in. Why does it matter if Tripp was there?

“Yeah, he was. You two becoming friends?”

“Did he say that?” I flip the bacon. It’s perfect. That’s much easier to focus on than what Dusty is talking about.

“Not in those exact words, but I assumed since you’re asking about him and you were at Meadow’s party. Plus, Cass got you to skate. It’s basically a miracle. You had fun.”

“Ha-ha,” I find myself saying rather than getting annoyed. I grab the small pot of soup from the fridge, the tomatoes and lettuce. Once the soup is warming up, I wash the tomatoes. “I wouldn’t really call us friends. Meadow invited me, and…”Say it. Spit it out. Don’t act like this is a big deal. It shouldn’t be.“I’m going to start working with him part-time. Just for something to do.”

“Working with him doing what?”

“At his job. What else?” His words grate, though I can’t blame him. It’s not as if I’ve ever told him I’m interested in building.

“Oh. I didn’t know you’re familiar with carpentry. Is that what you’re always doing in the shop?”

Damn it. Here we go. “It’s just a thing. It’s not important.” I pull the bacon from the skillet and set it on paper towels to soak up the grease, then begin slicing the tomatoes.

He looks at the dining-room table, then back to me. “Where did that table come from, Rhett?”

“Jesus, Dusty.”

“The swing on the porch?”

“Are you psychic now?” Is everything I made completely obvious? Maybe that’s because it’s all shitty.

And when his pupils blow wide, I know he’s remembering the barstools that magically showed up at Morgan’s bar.

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