“I remember,” I say with a small laugh. “The new one is fucking beautiful though. Thanks for showing me all the behind-the-scenes stuff today.”
“No prob, man. I’m taking you to the town where I live. It’s about a thirty minute drive east of the city, but the drive really isn’t too bad.”
“What’s the name of the town?”
“Pine Tree Falls.”
“That sounds nice,” I say.
“It is. Like I told you, it’s small but a great community. The public schools are excellent. There is a private school too if that’s something you want for your future kids, but to be honest, their sports teams suck.”
Future kids. That hits me hard in the chest. It’s not something I’ve contemplated a lot, but I would have a baby with Juliette in a heartbeat. My mind goes back to Rocco and his hug in the airport.Will I ever have that? A son or daughter who wraps their tiny arms around my neck. A kid I can take to the park and get ready for bedtime?
I picture myself tucking a little blonde girl with a pretty braid into her pink bed with Juliette leaning against the doorframe. She would watch me with that sweet smile on her lips as I read our daughter a bedtime story. And when the little one is asleep, I’d take my wife to bed and try to put another baby in her. Yes. Lots and lots of babies.
Snapping out of the reverie, I realize Baylor is still talking, and I tune in mid-sentence. “...nice park and a great library. The grocery store is small, but there’s a Whole Foods in the next town over that my wife likes to shop at.”
“You said a lot of our teammates live in…” I forgot the name of the town.
“Pine Tree Falls,” he fills in. “And yes. Our goalie lives here. You played in college with Gibby, right?”
I laugh. Bryce Gibson is a damn good goalie and quite a character off the ice. “I did. I’m surprised they haven’t runhim out of town.”
Baylor grins and puts on his blinker. “He’s calmed down a lot since he got engaged.” He exits and turns right. A few minutes later, I see two gas stations flanking the road before we take a side street into the town square.
The courthouse sits in the center, rising above the other buildings in a mass of tan brick. Everything is so green, from the manicured lawns to the lush oak trees that appear to be at least a half century old. Most of the buildings are two-story and boast wrought iron balconies reminiscent of old New Orleans architecture.
I feel myself relaxing because I’m hit again with that sense of belonging, like this little town could be a real home.
“Not a ton to see,” Baylor chuckles, pointing at various buildings. “That’s our diner there. Couple boutiques, mostly women’s clothes. We don’t have a Starbucks or other chain coffee shop, but Caffy’s is excellent and has the best damn homemade pastries you’ve ever had.” His finger waggles toward a neat wooden storefront on the corner.
“The kind that makes you have to put in extra hours at the gym?” I ask with a sardonic smile.
“Exactly.” He turns beside a sign that readsOak Streetand nods at a stunning brick building. “That’s our library. The whole town is really proud of it. It’s one of the only Carnegie libraries still in existence that functions as an actual library.”
I stare at the imposing structure with its wide stone steps and zone out again, wondering how Juliette’s summer program is going. Are there lots of kids there? Does she want kids of her own?
“But they’re done with that now,” Baylor is saying, and I mentally force myself back to real life because I have no idea what he just said. “This is the nursing facility I was telling you about.” He slows down in front of Shady Pines, which is a sprawling design that takes up an entire city block. Pine and oak trees surround it, and a few elderly people sit on the wide front porch sipping what looks like lemonade. Several nurses are seated with them, also enjoying a cool drink on this warm Texas day.
“This is beautiful,” I say.
“It really is. And very well-run. We’ll come back to it in a bit so you can check it out. I want to get you settled in your room first. The team arranged for you to stay at one of the bed and breakfasts.”
After another turn down a shaded street, Baylor pulls up in front of a three-story Victorian home painted in a pale lavender. A few minutes later, I’ve been greeted warmly by the owners, Gayla and Sam, and placed in one of the second-story rooms.
Back downstairs, Sam slaps my shoulder. “I make a mean breakfast, Reno, so make sure you come down in the morning before ten.” The man is probably in his sixties and sports a beard that wouldn’t look out of place on a ZZ Top album. He leads me into a living area with antique-looking furniture and a sturdy mahogany bar along one wall. “You can help yourself to the spirits if you want to unwind in the evenings. I’m a retired bartender, so I keep it well-stocked for our guests.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I reply, taking the keyring he offers.
“The gold one will get you in the front door, and the silver one is for your room. Come and go as you like, but just lock up when you come in.” He has a deep Southern drawl and an affable smile hiding behind all that facial hair.
His wife is a kind, stout lady who’s constantly fussing with a curtain or a lampshade, making sure everything is perfect in their bed and breakfast. “We live on the third floor,” she remarks, swiping non-existent dust from a spindle-legged end table, “so you let us know if you need anything.”
“I will, and thank you. Your home is beautiful.”
She offers me a beaming smile that tells me that was the exact right thing to say.
With their arms around each other, the couple stands on the porch and waves at me and Baylor as we walk down the pristine sidewalk. They look like they should be on a postcard. Hell, the entire town is postcard-worthy, and I think Ma is going tolove it here.
