Too soon, it was time for her mother to head out for a hair appointment, but first she circled back to the topic of Matt. “You should put a picture of him on Facebook so I can see him.”
“We’re trying to fly under the grapevine’s radar, Mom. I’m not putting a photo of him on Facebook.”
“I’m going to Google him. But right now I really have to run.”
Since she was pretty sure she hadn’t given her mom Matt’s name, Hailey felt fairly safe ending the call without admonishing her mom about the internet, privacy and accidentally posting something on Facebook for everybody to see.
“I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
Hailey dropped her phone and lay back against her throw pillows. Her house was clean. Matt was at work and so was Tori. She knew Mitch was home, so she didn’t want to bother Paige.
With a sigh, she picked up her phone again and went surfing the ebookstore she liked. Maybe some of those glamorous eighties novels were available in digital now. She could use a dose of glitz in her life.
SEVENTEEN
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Matt pulled up at the address Josh had given him and parked in a line of pickup trucks that had arrived before him. He grabbed the Crock-Pot off the passenger seat and made his way to the front door.
His knock was answered by a tall, blond guy who matched the description he’d been given. “Hi. You must be Max Crawford. I’m Matt Barnett.”
“Barnett. Oh, you’re the game warden who moved in next door to the librarian. Harley? Hailey? I swear, I can never remember her name.”
“Hailey. And yeah, that’s me. Josh said you wouldn’t mind if I came over and watched some baseball with you guys.”
“Of course not.” He stepped out of the way, but then held up a hand. “Wait. You’re not an Indians fan, right?”
Matt laughed. “Born and raised a Red Sox fan, my friend.”
“Okay. I invited an associate to watch a football game with us once because he was passing through, but I didn’t know he was a Jets fan. The other guys wouldn’t let him eat their food, so it was rather awkward.”
“I can see how it would be.” Matt set the slow cooker on the counter. “You mind if I plug this in?”
“Feel free. What’s in it?”
“Swedish meatballs. I wasn’t sure what to bring, but they go with anything.”
Max lifted the lid and sniffed at the steam rolling out. “I’m glad Josh invited you. The others are in the living room. The game starts in about five minutes, I think.”
He went in the direction his host pointed and was glad to see he knew everybody in the room. Josh and Katie were there. Butch Benoit, Fran’s husband and owner of the town’s only wrecker service and gas station. Luckily for all of them, the Benoits were good people because having all the food and gas was a golden opportunity for price gouging. And he recognized Gavin Crenshaw, even though he’d only ever see the cook through the kitchen window at the diner. Since he tried to pay attention to things like connections, he also knew the young man was Tori’s cousin.
“Small crowd today,” Josh told him, shaking Matt’s hand. “A lot of honey-do lists were handed out this morning and not all the guys finished their chores in time to come.”
“You didn’t bring Hailey with you?” Butch asked, his voice booming in the room. Or maybe that was just in Matt’s mind.
“No, sir.” He didn’t elaborate. It was none of their business, and he wasn’t sure if Hailey had been confirming the stories that had to be circulating, or ignoring them. She hadn’t outed their relationship to his family, so he wouldn’t out it to the town. They could suspect, but he wouldn’t confirm.
“Did you get some food, Matt?” That was Katie, who gave Butch a stern look.
“Not yet. I thought I’d say hello first. I also contributed a Crock-Pot of Swedish meatballs.”
“Dibs!” Josh headed for the kitchen.
Butch scowled at him. “You have a Crock-Pot? Aren’t you single?”
Matt wasn’t sure what to say to that. Working the hours he did, the slow cooker saved him from eating nothing but microwave pizzas or cans of beef stew all winter when it was too cold to throw a frozen slab of meat on the grill. But apparently, to a certain generation, Crock-Pots were for women.
“You’re looking a little ragged, Butch,” Katie said, and Matt was grateful for the change in subject. “You need to get into the shop before you can’t see past your hair to drive the tow truck.”
The older guy looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I bet Max has a decent pair of scissors around here. You could give me a little trim while we watch the game.”
She snorted. “Sure, and I bet you’ve got your tools in your truck. You can go change the oil in my Jeep during the seventh inning stretch.”
“Oh, you’re a hard one, Katie Davis.”
“And you’re a cheap one, Butch Benoit.” She turned to Matt. “Go fix yourself a plate before the game starts.”
He did as he was told, loading up a paper plate with a variety of snack foods that weren’t good for him, as well as a few meatballs. Max was doing the same and, when the silence became awkward, Matt felt compelled to talk.
“So you’re single, too, huh?”
“Yes.” That was all the guy said for a long moment, but then he scowled. “Aren’t you dating the librarian? I think somebody said that.”
“People in Whitford seem to say a lot of things. Some of it’s true. Some of it’s not.” And he didn’t say which it was in this case.
“Are you looking for a wife?”
That was a weird question. “I haven’t put out any personal ads, but I’d like to have a wife someday. It’d be nice to have somebody to come home to at the end of the workday.”
Max nodded, pausing in the act of scooping meatballs out of the slow cooker. “I work in my basement, but it would be nice to have somebody to come upstairs to. I’ve been thinking about finding a wife.”
Matt wanted to crack a joke about ordering one online, but he wasn’t sure Max would get it. That was probably enough wife talk. “Your basement, huh? What do you do for work?”
“According to the gossip network in this town, I kill people.” Matt must have looked shocked, because Max put up his hand immediately. “It’s not true, though. I paint brass rolling stock. Uh, model railroading stuff. Though I’d appreciate you not spreading that around.”
The guy was a little odd, but Matt found himself liking him nonetheless. “Don’t want people thinking you’re not a killer?”
“It’s more about the value of what’s in my basement, most of which is very limited edition and belongs to other people. But the speculation does amuse me, yes.”
“I won’t tell a soul.” Matt grabbed some plastic cutlery and a napkin, then juggled those so he could take a soda from the ice bucket on the end of the counter. “Sounds like they’re gearing up for the first pitch.”
Matt thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon, watching the Red Sox play the Indians with his new friends. He’d liked Whitford from the start but, now that he was becoming a part of the community, it was starting to really feel like home.
It would have been nice to have Hailey there with him, but she said she’d rather get together with Tori and catch up over coffee and pie at the diner since sports weren’t really her thing. Wednesday night, when he put the Sox and Orioles game on, she’d curled up against him with a book and read while he watched it.
It had gotten a little rough when a bad call pissed him off and she whacked him with the book in the middle of his rant because she only had one chapter left, but all in all, it wasn’t a bad way to share their time.
She liked to read a lot. And reading books could be done anywhere. At a cabin in the woods. On a fishing boat. In a tree stand. Of course, there wasn’t a comfy leather sofa at the cabin, on their boat or up the tree, but it was a start.
Something happened on the TV and the crowd in the room went wild, but Matt had missed it because he was thinking about Hailey. More importantly, because he’d been thinking of ways he could make his life more palatable for her.
He really needed to stop doing that.
SLEEPING IN ON a Sunday morning was a wonderful thing, Hailey mused as she burrowed deeper under the blankets, but it wasn’t very conducive to getting chores done. Neither was spending more time at one’s neighbor’s house than in one’s own, which was why she’d made a point of sleeping in her own bed last night.
Matt had stopped by yesterday after the baseball game and they’d fooled around on the couch for a while. But he’d needed to get home because he’d been doing laundry earlier in the day and the longer his uniforms sat in the dryer, the harder they were to iron. She’d declined to join him. Not only because she had no intention of being charmed into helping him iron, but because going back and forth between their houses was starting to feel a little ridiculous.
Stretching, she rolled over to look at her clock. She really needed to get up, get dressed, and clean her house. And she’d taken a roast out of the freezer, so she needed to cook it before it had to be tossed. Maybe that’s what she’d do today. She’d make a roast dinner with herbed potatoes and have Matt over for supper.