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Bennett shrugs. “Same as always, I’d guess.”

“What do you mean?” I set the stool upright and test its stability before moving to the next one.

“Exactly what I said. I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks, but this time of year is busy for her, with playoffs and shit.”

I don’t miss the disdain in his voice.

He never liked football, no matter how hard his father tried to share his love of the game. With Bennett’s size, Coach Hayes figured his son was born to play.

But Bennett wanted nothing to do with it.

“Why are you asking about Wynter anyway?” he presses.

“I saw her at your parents’ house yesterday,” I explain. “Her dog escaped into Mom’s yard.” I pause, then correct myself, “My yard.”

I thought by now I’d be used to calling it my house. It doesn’t feel like it, though. It still feels like Mom’s.

“She’s here?” He pauses mid-slice. “And she brought Gary?”

I finish tightening the stool and flip it back on its legs, giving it a shake. “Looks that way.”

He stares into the distance for a beat before continuing to slice the orange. “Maybe she’s finally decided to leave Wyatt.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

As close as we are, I can’t remember ever hearing him talk this way about Wyatt Patterson.

He’s the golden boy of Sycamore Falls. Local football player who made it big in the pros. He and Wynter dated throughout high school, the stereotypical story of the star player dating the head cheerleader. It didn’t come as a surprise that Wynter ended up going to the same college a year later. Or when she came home with a ring on her finger after Wyatt’s team won a big bowl game his senior year, which eventually led to him being drafted by the pros.

“I’ve just never liked the guy. Always thought she deserved better.”

I open my mouth to press him about this side of Wynter and Wyatt’s relationship I never picked up on, but before I can, Claire, one of my other childhood best friends, hurries into the bar.

“There you are,” she says on a rush of breath. “Did you get my text?”

I pat my pocket for my phone. “You texted?”

“A few minutes ago. You usually respond right away, so I figured you might be doing something involved.” She glances at Bennett. “Or fucking around with this one.”

“Or both,” I offer with a smile. “I can multitask.”

“Do you mind finishing this later? The heating units in a few of the booths aren’t working.”

“They probably just need a new propane tank, but I’ll go check them out.” I gather my gear and toss everything in my toolbox.

“Thanks, Josh. Second row. It’s the bookish gifts booth, the stained-glass ornament booth, and the one selling wine advent calendars.”

“I’m on it. You doing okay?”

Claire pushes out a breath. Stressed doesn’t even begin to cover her life lately.

Last year, she was working the front desk at the Inn at Holley Ridge. But after Parker renovated and added even more rooms, she promoted Claire to head of marketing. Because she’s so young, Claire’s been doing everything to prove to Parker and everyone else she can handle the new responsibilities.

But sometimes I worry she’s pushing herself too hard.

“I am. A little busy, but it’s okay.”

“You should take some time off.”