Page 5 of Small Town Frenzy
Peaches comes in from the back. Her entire expression lights up when she sees me. “Griffin, you’re back.” I give her a quick hug because she’s the lady who used to sneak a piece of candy across the counter at the Sundries store when I didn’t have enough money in my pocket to pay for it. She’s also now dating my dad, which in a strange way feels full circle somehow.
“Hey Peaches, how are you?”
She swats my arm. “Devilishly good these days.” I catch how she glances at my dad when replying.
I thought I’d feel more hurt somehow by their relationship, but it’s been the opposite reaction. I’m happy for them. Though I’m not sure how the newlyweds, Baylor and Lauralee, handle their parents hooking up. It’s notsomething I care to think about at all. “The place is looking good. Dad said on our last call that he was enjoying the pace of the pizzeria.”
She replies, “It’s a lot different from working the ranch, that’s for sure.”
“And air-conditioned,” my dad adds with a laugh.
“Don’t blame you for that.” When Baylor cuts out to return to the other space next door, I say, “So I know my showing up out of nowhere is a surprise. I can get a hotel room if I need?—”
“I won’t hear of it.” My dad pats my arm. “Your room will always be your room, and you always have a place to stay.”
“Even at thirty-five?” I can admit I’m old enough not to have a “room” at my dad’s house any longer.
He chuckles. “Your age doesn’t change that you’re my son, kid. Why don’t you head back to the ranch, get cleaned up, and rest before dinner? I’m sure you’re tired after traveling and having practice today before that storm rolled in.”
“How’d you know I had practice today?”
Gesturing to the uniform, he replies, “Besides you walking in wearing a Dover Creek Armadillos uniform, which is blasphemy in some circles, Coach Barth contacted me for your current email. I figured you wouldn’t mind hearing about a chance to help the local high school teams.”
“I’m glad you did. It feels good to be able to help.” Taking a step back, I say, “I’m going to take you up on the offer and head back. I could really use a shower and a nap.”
“You go do that. You know the way back.”
We don’t embrace again, but a shared look kind of says all either of us needs to. I walk toward the door but stop just shy of opening it. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yes?”
“It also feels good to be back with family again.”
He’s not a sentimental guy by any means, but even I can see the emotion swarming in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, son.”
I walk out into the shade of the covered sidewalk and stroll to the truck. The rain stopped before I crossed county lines, but the sun still struggles to come back out. I don’t mind springtime storms. It’s like the Earth’s way of replenishing itself. I have so many memories of the rain in the Amazon while exploring, and the storm that rolled in too fast to escape when hiking in Nepal. The storms in Australia were wild one summer but a welcome reprieve from the heat. I remember recording the sound of raindrops hitting palm leaves as I stood underneath them during a quick shower in Hawaii.
After starting the truck, I pull out onto streets that haven’t dried yet. These storms and the rain here are different. The dry ground begs for it to prevent cracking. The crops will only survive if we get what’s needed to protect them. I will never complain about the rain after experiencing so many droughts growing up in Texas.
The drive isn’t long—another fifteen, twenty minutes on a slow day. When I see the weathered metal Rollingwood Ranch sign arched high above the cattle guard embedded in the ground, I know I’m finally home.
CHAPTER 3
Cricket
“He wasn’t cute,”I say, unimpressed as I drop my purse on the top of my desk.
Savvy sits back in her chair, grinning like she already knew how this would play out, though I know she’s still in the dark regarding splash-gate and the infamous Mr. Greene. “Do tell.”
“He’s an ass just like every other athlete I’ve met or made the poor decision to date.”
“Do we have a number to assign to ‘every other athlete’ you’ve met, or are we just generalizing this morning?”
I flop down in my chair, already over this week, and it’s only Tuesday. “Yeah,” I say, laughing. “That number is none of your beeswax.”
She laughs, sitting forward again and resting her arms on the wooden top. “You never share the good stuff.”
“I’ve shared plenty of good stuff when there was good stuff to share.” Popping my shoulders up playfully, I start shuffling papers around and organizing the top of myexceptionally messy desk. “There hasn’t been any good stuff to share in so long that I’m not even sure what ‘good stuff’ entails anymore.” I punctuate the statement by dropping two pens into a cup holder.
