Page 47 of Good Directions

“I’m familiar with it.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised.

“You’ve been to Wall Bangers?”

“What college kid has spring breaked in Hurricane Shoals and didn’t go to Wall Bangers?” He shrugs.

Good point. And now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t be too surprised that Hurricane Shoals is where he went on spring break. A lot of college kids from the south do. And the little detail that I keep forgetting—that Dustin Wild is from Hickory Hills, and friends with Anton’s sister—should also have clued me in.

“Fair point. Well, my family owns Hull of a Good Time Cruises. They do fishing trips and day cruises, and then booze cruises at night. Because of that, my parents were gone a lot. Like, a lot a lot. During the summers, I could go a week without seeing them, and that wouldn’t be abnormal, leaving me to kinda raise my siblings.”

“That…wow…”

I nod. “Going to visit Eliza and singing was…my escape. It was something I got to do by myself. A way to disappear and be someone else for a little while. Even if that little while was just the three minutes of a song. So, I’m sorry if it comes off that way, but I’m not trying to be rude. But I’m not interested in doing karaoke with you.”

“More than fair. I totally get it.”

He grabs his water, chugging it. I watch, entranced by not only the muscles in his neck, but his answer. His easy acceptance and understanding.

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. Sawyer, I’m a middle child. Of seven kids. Yes, I absolutely get it.”

Anton closes up his food, setting it on top of mine. Everything around us slowly fades, the sounds of the conversation in the distance dimming even more as Anton turns to face me, mirroring my position.

“I understand exactly what it’s like to need to have something that is yours and yours alone. You don’t grow up with a whole bunch of siblings and not feel the need for some alone time at some point. That room you’re staying in, it wasn’t always just mine. Hux and I shared that room for most of my childhood. It wasn’t until we were teenagers and Gus and Milo moved out that we got our own space.”

Suddenly I’m realizing that maybe he’s not simply the shallow clown I stumbled across on the side of the road. That there’s a lot more to Anton Hayes than I thought. A whole lot more.

I want to know it all.

Reaching over, he takes my hand. The butterflies reappear, a giggle building inside me. I want to look away. Pull my hand away. But I can’t. Much like earlier, the feel of his skin against mine is electric—magnetic—holding me in place.

“How about this, Sawyer Brown,” he says, hopping off the tailgate and gathering our trash. “There’s a great little ice cream place over in Merritt. What if we take a drive over there, and on our way, you can tell me all about growing up in Hurricane Shoals, and how you ended up interested in soil instead of marine biology, since your family runs a boat company.”

“That’s easy,” I answer, joining him on the ground. “I hate boats.”

“You…hate…okay, then, no Fishy Business for you then. Now get in the truck, because I can tell this is going to be a good story.”

Next thing I know, two hours have passed. For something I didn’t think would take thirty minutes, the fact that we’re out well past my bedtime has me more than a little surprised. Then again, it was equally surprising to find that Anton Hayes is really easy to talk to. And a damn good listener.

For a self-proclaimed instigator, there is absolutely a side to him that he doesn’t let anyone see. Listening to him talk about his siblings, how each one of them plays a different role in the family—his descriptions mirroring his mother’s, only with some more colorful details added in—I couldn’t help but start to see him differently. It made me want to open up to him, to tell him all about my own life back home.

And spend more time with him.

“Can I ask you something?” I stop on the top stair of the landing at Magnolia Manor, turning to face Anton.

“Of course.”

“When I told you I didn’t like boats, you said no fishing business. I don’t get it. Does Hayes even having a fishing division?”

Anton throws his head back, a deep laugh rumbling through him. The sound rings out into the warm, summer night, resonating deep in me.

“Fishy Business,” he clarifies, taking my hand and leading me to the door. “It’s Auggie and Miss Belle’s sex boat.”

“Sex boat?” I croak. TMI…

I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, my eyes going wide as I try to keep the visions from entering my head. Anton laughs again, shaking his head.