Page 35 of The Only Thing That's Real

“What about you? You going back home?”

“Which one?”

“Goose Hollow.”

He shifts so his back is against the wall, his eyes to the ceiling. While he internally wrestles with whether or not he wants to answer my question, I rest my back against the wall as well. Maybe it will be easier for him to open up if I’m not staring at him.

“I miss it, but it comes with a lot of... stuff.”

“I understand. I feel the same,” I commiserate.

“About going home to your family?”

“Yep. It’s complicated.”

Why is talking to him so easy? Why do I want him to ask me why it’s complicated when I’ve never talked to anybody about my family?

“I get complicated.” He doesn’t inquire further.

“Still off the record. What do you miss most about home?”

“Family. Quiet. Freedom.”

“What’s your favorite place in Goose Hollow?”

“My cabin. Specifically, my ass on the porchswing at my cabin.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. He really loves that porch swing.

“It’s a great porch swing.”

He stiffens and looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “Excuse me?”

“The cabin on the lake, right?”

“Excuse me? How do you know where my cabin is?”

“C’mon. Of course, I know you have a cabin on the lake. Everyone does.”

He pushes off the wall, tension radiating from his body. His hands fist at his sides and he’s seething when he speaks again.

“Very much off the record. How exactly do you andeveryone elseknow about my cabin?”

“Goose Hollow is a small town. I know I’m younger than you, but my sister and Cal go way back and Daisy and Mia are two of my closest friends. In fact, Daisy and I were paddle boarding on the lake a couple summers ago when I was home for a visit, and we may or may not have stopped by and used your bathroom.”

His hands are in his hair. If he’s not careful, he’s gonna rip those beautiful locks right out of his head.

I’m so confused.

“What in the world are you talking about?” he asks, desperate for me to make sense of his confusion.

“Wait. You didn’t’ know I was from Goose Hollow?”

“What the actual hell?” he spits, leering at me like I have three heads. “I don’t know any Staleys.”

“Staley is a pen name. My last name is Jameson. My sister is Rebecca. She owns The Hollow on Main Street. You know, the coffeeshop?”

“Your sick grandfather, is Mr. Jameson? Former mayor of Goose Hollow?”

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