Page 30 of Red Hunt

I watched him from my side—watched him expertly look around while he maneuvered the truck with ease.

“So, now it’s monkey?”

I could feel the vibrations of his deep belly laugh. Man, that guy… “Do you have a favorite lunch-place in Whitebrook?”

“There’s this great sandwich place, not far from the hospital. I sometimes grab lunch for my grandpa there.” My grandpa. “Hey, do you think you can drop me off at the hospital before you run your errands? I can visit my grandpa, and you can do your thing.”

“Sure, though I really could use your help.”

“Why?”

“Because. I need to buy stuff like drapes and linens and stuff like that.”

“And you think just because I’m a woman, I have the “homemaker” gene.” Teasing him felt good.

“That’s totally not what I thought.” His face lost the easy smile. And for a second, I felt bad for the teasing.

“But I would appreciate a second opinion.”

“I can do that.”

“And you like the lodge, right?”

I looked at him sideways. Was he fishing?

But his expression gave nothing away.

And why shouldn’t I tell him the truth? Nothing to lose. “I love the place. But I’ve never been inside, so I really can’t help you with that.”

“Why?”

“Why I can’t help you? Because you need to see a place to know what colors would work and stuff like that.”

“No, why do you love the place?” His eyes met mine for a second, long enough for me to realize he was really interested in my answer.

I shrugged. Why did I love the place so much? “I can breathe up there.”

“And you usually can’t?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He grinned. “You didn’t have to. I know the feeling. And I feel the same way. The lodge is something special. A special place.”

I nodded.

“Did you ever do research on the place?”

“No, but there are some amazing books in the town library about the history of this town. Maybe the lodge is mentioned in one of those.”

The rest of the drive we spent in easy conversation, easier than anything I’d ever experienced. Once in Whitebrook, we found a parking spot right next to the sandwich place. Max told me to sit tight while he got out, got my crutches, and helped me out of the truck. I’d grown used to him touching me. Gotten used to him being around and caring for me. We settled on a table outside on the sidewalk, and he helped me store the crutches without me asking for it. The guy was beyond attentive.

“Tell me about your life,” I said.

“My life?” He looked at me as if I’d thrown him a curveball with my question.

“Where did you grow up?”

“New York.”

---