Page 84 of Sweeter Than Fiction

Finally, her face gets cold, and she comes back inside the rented truck. Mom offered to pick us up, but since I had Abby with me, I thought us having our own vehicle was a good idea. We can go do whatever we want without having to worry about how to get there.

We drive on the country roads for about twenty more minute before hitting the town limits of Wyling. As we start passing the tiny shops, Abby stares out the window in awe.

“You didn’t tell me that you grew up in a little town like the one in Gilmore Girls.”

“Eh, I don’t know that it’s quite as picturesque as that one.” I smile over at her. “And I don’t know that Wyling has all the cooky, fun characters. It’s just a farming town where people work hard to earn a living.”

“You didn’t want to be a farmer?” She asks.

“Nah. Most of the farms around here have been handed down through generations—from fathers to sons. Or sometimes, newbies will buy an already-established one. I had no interest in that life. I decided on construction because I’ve always been good with my hands.”

She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “Don’t I know it?”

After another pause, she asks, “Did you go to any type of schooling or anything?”

“When I first got out of high school, I started doing some handyman type stuff around town. It took me awhile to get my foot in the door with a bigger company out of Omaha. I started learning as much as I could and slowly worked my way up. I’ve never done any actual college or anything, but I did take the time to get all my licenses.”

“How did you go from just being low man on the totem pole to big boss man?” She asks.

“The owner of the company I work for is named Phil, and he kind of took me under his wing. He eventually asked me to be foreman for some projects in Omaha. If you want, while we are here, I’ll take you and show you some of the buildings I worked on.” She smiles and nods in return as I go on. “When he branched off into New York, he needed a superintendent, so he asked me to do it. As much as I love it here, it was too great of an opportunity to pass up. And fuck, I’m sure glad I went,” I say, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I probably should have asked this question before this exact moment, but what exactly do you do as a superintendent? Is it like a project manager or something?”

“Kind of,” I begin, trying to think of how to describe it without boring her half to death—or mansplaining it. “I am on the jobsite pretty much all the time. A project manager does a lot of administrative work, too. I’m the go-between guy between the foreman and the project manager.”

“Oh, okay. Makes sense.”

“How did you get into your line of work?” I ask, still trying to get her to relax a bit.

“Well, obviously, I wanted something I could do remotely.” She smiles at me. “Back in school, I had ADHD pretty bad and a mild form of Dyslexia. So, most of the time, it felt like what I was looking at or reading was just a puzzle. But when I looked at computer code, I saw it all clearly. It made sense to turn it into a career.”

“And look at you now—writing programs that the military uses.”

She giggles. “I promise it isn’t nearly as cool as it sounds. Usually, I’m just staring at a screen all day, writing code. It’s not all that glamorous.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Abs. It’s awesome.”

Her cheeks blush a little. I wonder if she will ever get used to someone giving her compliments. I guess I’ll just have to keep doing it and find out.

A minute or so later, and we are pulling into my mom’s gravel driveway. I put the truck in park but don’t take the keys out just yet.

“Listen, baby, I know you said you were okay with staying here, but I’m warning you now that this house is pretty small. I can’t guarantee how much privacy we will actually get. At any time, if you want to go stay at the local town inn, we can.”

“Don, I highly doubt that there will be room at the inn on Thanksgiving.”

“Then, we could go stay at a hotel in Omaha. It’s not all that far.”

She squeezes my hand. “Thank you, but I think I’ll be okay.”

We step out of the truck and head inside. Before we even hit the front door, though, my mom is already rushing out onto the porch.

“You’re here!” She cries.

“Yep. We’re here,” I reply, walking over to hug her.

One thing about my mom—she gives the best hugs. I remember her telling me one time that as our mom, she will never be the one to end a hug first because she never knows how bad one of us might need that hug.

“How are you doing, darlin’?” She asks.

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