He’s still smiling, but his eyes narrow a little bit. “I struggled after I got out of service, too. If you ever need someone to talk to—”
“Izzy and Gabi talk too much.” I try to laugh. I knew I shouldn’t have told them about my past, but they have a way of getting stuff out of me without me even knowing it’s gone.
“Gabi’s not your problem. She’s a vault. Izzy, on the other hand . . .” He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you in peace. Thanks for the blocks. I’ll work on these today.”
“I’ll try to start doing more than two sets a week. Getting this shack in shape is taking a lot of my time.”
“There’s no rush at all. It’s a nice hobby. Do as much as you want to or none at all.” He heads toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Hey Sam,” I say, taking a few steps in his direction.
He turns around—the grin still lighting up his face.
“Thanks for offering to talk. It’s a little too new for me, but I appreciate the effort,” I say, forcing a severely underused smile to my face. “And yeah, I was a Ranger. Just between us, shrapnel in my knee took me out. One of my buddies died on the same mission.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Nash. My best friend died over in ‘Nam.”
I nod at him. I know he understands.
“Just please don’t tell Izzy any of that.”
“I’m so old. I’ll probably forget what you told me by the time I get back to my house.”
I hear him chuckling as he disappears behind the woodpile.