Page 16 of From Nowhere

I think about his words—his life—even after he’s no longer speaking. “You’re a good father. A good person, Ozzy ...” I laugh. “I don’t know your last name.”

“Laster.”

“Ozzy Laster.” I nod. “Is Ozzy short for anything?”

“I’m named after my mom’s father, Oswald. Everyone called him Grandpa Waldo, but my parents didn’t want my nickname to be Waldo.”

“Well”—I pull my knee toward my chest and take another sip of wine—“it’s a great name.”

Ozzy belly laughs while tipping his head back. “Thank you. I don’t know if I agree, but you’re the first person to say it, so today is the first day I like my name.”

I start to speak, but the doorbell rings.

“Let me.” Ozzy stands and heads to the entry. “I assume it’s the pizza.” He opens the door. “Hey, Mike, thanks. Have a great evening.”

I finish the last of my wine while padding toward the kitchen to retrieve plates. “You know the delivery guy?”

Ozzy sets the box on the table and grabs his phone from the counter, probably tipping delivery-guyMike. “People who don’t drive tend to be on a first-name basis with all the delivery drivers.”

“That makes sense. What about groceries? Do you have those delivered too?” I set the plates on the table.

He waits for me to sit before he does. Seriously, single dads are gold.

“It depends. If I need a lot, I have it delivered. If I need only a handful of things, I pick them up. And Brynn’s parents pick stuff up. Lola’s okay with them driving. Her fear is over losing me.”

I give him a sad smile and a slow nod before focusing on the pizza.

“Tell me, how did you end up living with two guys?” he asks. “Is it a financial situation or a kink?”

I pick a mushroom off my pizza and flick it at him.

“You’re such a child.” He laughs, peeling the mushroom off his neck.

“I’m not the child. I’m trying to have a serious conversation about your daughter.”

“And I’m trying to have a serious conversation about your living arrangements.” He takes a bite of pizza, but his smile still reaches his eyes, even while he’s chewing.

“Brandon, my brother, was friends with Fitz. He moved in when a room opened up. And when they built a she shed in the backyard, I moved into it. I’d been living with a friend who returned to Nebraska, so I chose to live here instead of looking for another roommate. WhenBrandon died, I eventually moved upstairs to his old room. It was hard at first, but now it’s a comforting space for me.”

“And when will your roommates be home? How long do I have to make my move?”

I laughed. “Will’s on shift until tomorrow morning, and Fitz is visiting his grandma in California until his fiancée, Jamie, returns, which should be soon. She’s a travel nurse. They met when she rented the she shed.”

Three knocks at the door pull our gazes in that direction. Ozzy gives me a questioning glance.

I shrug while sliding my chair back. “Probably someone selling something.”

When I reach the door and open it, my prematurely aging neighbor smiles through his full, dark beard. “Maren, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?” Reagan removes his straw cowboy hat and smooths his hand over his thick, messy, salt-and-pepper hair. His jeans and ratty T-shirt are as weathered as his loose, wrinkly skin.

“I’m well. What’s up?”

“You haven’t seen Kentucky and Slim by any chance, have you?”

My eyes narrow. “Uh, I’ve been to Kentucky. But I’m not sure what you mean by Slim.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny. I love your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not trying to be funny.”

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