Page 28 of Best Friends for Never

Really, a whole theater named after me? Sure, I found success outside of this town, but I’m still me. I’m still that same kid who used to run these streets until the porch lights came on, who used to hang toilet paper on the fountain just to have the chance to laugh as I watched someone try to fish it out, who used to help place the wreaths on light poles every November.

Having a building named after me feels ridiculous when I’m just me and these people have known me since I was born.

But if it means this town’s arts community will be revived, I’ll do it, even if Parker didn’t tell me she was heading the committee.

Why didn’t she say something? She had the chance earlier when we were working side by side in the café, which looks incredible now. Or why didn’t she mention it last night? Or anytime over the last ten years? Hell, why didn’t Gran ever bring it up? I know this project has to be years in the making, and yet I haven’t heard a peep about it. I’ll have to ask her about it later, but maybe after I’ve had my daily dose of caffeine.

Tucking my hands into my pockets, I head toward the south end of the strip, sticking to the residential side of things rather than the business side. Maybe that’ll keep people out of my hair.

I pass a few houses with square signs stuck near their mailboxes. They have bold letters printed on them that readSay no to the Theater Restoration—sell the land!

Huh. I guess Leonard isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to see the theater happen. I’m not surprised. It wasn’t that big of a hit when I was younger, but I have no doubt that with Parker behind it, she has a plan to turn it into something everyone will soon love.

Goose bumps break out over my arms, thinking about her. Or maybe it’s just because I left my damn jacket behind and the morning chill of the Pacific Northwest isn’t something I’m used to anymore.

“I’ll be darned,” a smooth voice calls as I speed-walk past the signs.

It’s familiar. It’s warm. And it’s a voice I haven’t heard in far too long.

I skid to a halt, turning my face up to the house I’ve stopped in front of. My smile is automatic as I get a glimpse of the gal sitting on the front porch wearing jeans, a floor-length cardigan over a tank top, about twelve rings on ten fingers, and no shoes, as usual.

“Astrid.”

“How are you, son?”

Son.

NeverNoel, neverKid, neverLittle Shit Who Kept My Daughter Out Past Curfew. Alwaysson.

“Doing all right. You?”

“I’d be a heck of a lot better if you stop lingering at the end of my driveway and come give me a hug.”

I practically run up the short drive, taking the porch steps two at a time, and wrap the woman who was like a mother to me in my arms.

She smells like she always has—incense, coffee, and home.

That’s what this place was to me. For the first six months Parker lived here, I never came over. Then one day, she told me her dad had taken off, and she wouldn’t stop crying at school, so I walked her home to make sure she was okay. Astrid was sitting on the porch cradling a cup of coffee like she is right now and invited me inside, and just like that, this place became my second home.

“Come on, now. Let me get a good look at you,” she says as she pulls away. She grabs my face between her hands, squeezing my cheeks as she looks me over. “Uh-huh. I see. You look good. Healthy. Your feet are clearly still working, your hands seem fine, and it sounds like your voice box is in working order. Right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then how come you ain’t bothered to call or come by in a decade?”

Of all the people disappointed in me for staying away for so long, Astrid being upset by it hurts the worst.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It’s been ... well, it’s been an eventful ten years.”

“I’d say,” she says with a pointedly raised brow. She gives my cheeks another light squeeze before releasing me. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you some coffee, and you can tell me everything I don’t read about in the magazines.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She disappears into the house I know like the back of my hand, and I settle into one of the mismatched chairs.

The smell of incense wafts out the door, and it takes me back to a time when things were a lot less complicated than they are now. A time when I used to slip off into imaginary worlds, play video games or charades, or sit at a dinner table full of laughter and love.

A time I miss more than I’d like to admit.

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