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Two hours later, Mack and I were in my car, backing out of the driveway. Wet asphalt greeted us as we made our way toward the road, courtesy of Gunnar’s snow blower and my snow shovel. The sun had worked its magic, too, helping to melt the remaining snow we’d left on the driveway.
“You guys did a good job,” Mack said as he surveyed our handiwork.
That was about as much of a thank you as I was going to get from him.
“So what’s up with the two of you?” he asked as he settled back into his seat.
“What do you mean?”
“You and your neighbor.” Mack grinned. “You got something going on with him?”
I could have told him. I could have casually mentioned the fact that I had not one, but two men interested in me in the town of Latney, and that I’d spent the better part of the last few months trying to decide who was best suited to me.
But Mack and I had never discussed our personal lives. That was probably why we'd been able to maintain our friendship and our professional relationship for so long. He asked questions, but never in a forceful, prying way. It was just his way. But I had no need to dump my life on him and had no problem ignoring his questions. Sure, he knew the kids, and he was aware of when Charlie and I went through our divorce, but it wasn’t as though I treated him as any sort of confidante.
And I certainly wasn’t about to start now.
“Not really,” I said, trying to keep my tone as neutral and casual as possible.
“Not really?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there’s nothing really going on.”
This was not a false statement. After unearthing Gunnar’s daughter, Jill’s plot to frame me with drugs—in which she accidentally framed her father instead—we’d come to a sort of fork in the road in our relationship. Things had cooled between us previously, back during Thanksgiving, just as things with Declan, the town pastor, had heated up. But now? Both relationships—if that’s what they were—were sort of in limbo, especially with Declan planning a move to Brazil to work on a church mission.
In most instances, I wasn’t a fan of being in limbo.
But at that moment, I was more than okay with it.
Because it meant I didn’t have to make any decisions I wasn’t ready to make.
“Where to?” I asked. I knew I was changing the subject, and abruptly, but I didn’t much care.
Thankfully, Mack took the hint. He pointed toward town. “That way,” he said. “About a half mile or so.”
The main road into town had thankfully been cleared, too, and the short drive was smooth. As we neared what I thought was the half-mile point, I slowed to a crawl.
“Are you sure it was this direction?” I asked. There wasn’t a car anywhere in sight.
Mack was staring out the window. “Yeah, I’m positive.”
“You sure you didn’t come from the other direction?” It made the most sense that he would have come in through Winslow and Latney, especially considering the fact that he’d been driving from Harrisonburg, but I knew some of the country roads crisscrossed, and it wouldn’t have been unheard of for his GPS to route him a different way. I’d had enough crazy adventures with the map app on my phone to know that the algorithms didn’t always find the shortest route.
“I’m positive.” He was still looking out the window, his eyes searching the shoulder of the road, a frown etched on his face.
“How do you know?” I wasn’t trying to be argumentative. “I mean, it was dark out, and with the snow it probably all looked the same...” I scanned the side of the road. “And there aren’t any tire tracks...”
“It snowed most of the night,” he said. “And the road has been plowed, so any tracks have probably been covered up.”
He had a point.
He pointed at the windshield, to a mile marker jutting out from a snow bank. “Mile marker 23,” he said. “This is it, right here. I skidded into the ditch right next to it. Thought I was going to hit it.”
“And you’re sure it was this mile marker?” I asked doubtfully.
“Absolutely,” he said, nodding. “I remember the number. It...it has special significance.”
“Oh?” I asked, my lip curling into a sardonic smile. “Is that how old you tell people you are or something?”
“Ha ha,” he said, not laughing at all. “Close, but not quite.”
Mack was about as close to 23 as I was. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sure I was closer. “What is it, then? I know it’s not your birthday.”
“You sure you wanna know?” he asked, squinting at me.
Now I was curious. I nodded.
“Fine.” He expelled a breath. “It’s the number of women I’ve slept with.”