I rub a hand over my face. “And if he chooses the city?”
“Then you’ll survive,” Trask says, a glint in his eyes. “You always do. But if you never say it… you’ll always wonder. And I know which outcome is worse.”
The server drops the check even though we haven’t asked. Small-town habit. I pull out my wallet, but Trask waves me off.
“My treat. You’re buying next time.”
I grunt. “Fine.”
We dig in. The eggs are perfect, sausage spicy, and biscuits flaky. Racer’s already cleaned his bowl, now sprawled under the table snoring.
Trask watches me over his coffee. “You gonna see him tonight?”
“Woody Hollow. Seven. You’re coming too.”
“Hey, that’s cool. But take him somewhere quiet after. To talk.Reallytalk.”
I don’t answer, just eat.
But his words stick.
Forever.
The word rattles around in my head like loose change.
Could he be?
The way he laughed last night, head thrown back under the stars. The way he fit against me, soft and trusting. The way he called me Daddy without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yeah.
Maybe.
But I’m not ready to say it out loud.
Not yet.
We finish breakfast and make some plans for the forest, trees, and all the usual stuff we talk about. It’s time to move.
“Think about it, man,” Trask says. “Life’s too short to play it safe.”
I nod once. “I’ll think.”
Racer stretches, yawns, follows us out into the bright morning.
My trusty truck’s waiting. And that means work is waiting too.
But my mind is on a boy with a messy thatch of hair and a smile that could undo me.
Tonight.
Seven.
I’ll see him then.
And maybe—maybe—I’ll find the right words along with the courage to say them.
The Woody Hollow is alive tonight.