“True.”
Drew knew what Max did because he was the police chief and he’d shown a strong interest in what secretive and lucrative business one of his citizens was running from a basement. That wasn’t surprising, so Max had filled him in and headed off any unnecessary suspicion on the part of the Whitford Police Department.
“When’s she due?” Josh asked.
“Mid-May. I can’t even believe it’s finally happening.”
Looking at the obvious joy on Drew’s face, Max felt a strong twinge of envy. He couldn’t wait to have children. Little ones he could share his life and his passions with. Toddlers with little wooden train sets running around the kitchen floor, even though they’d be tripped on, because it was the only room without carpeting. Following real tracks until they found a train coming through. They’d get out of the car and wave to the engineer as the lights flashed and, if his kids were lucky, they’d get to hear the whistle blow.
Then there were sports to watch and books to read and favorite movies to share. He could teach them how to cook and how to organize their schoolwork for maximum efficiency.
He felt like he’d be a great dad.
The other two men talked babies for a few minutes, and Max kept a smile on his face when Josh flagged his sister down to offer hurried congratulations in a low voice. Somehow he’d imagined having lunch with “the guys” would have gone much differently.
Max was glad when their food came because it gave him a reason not to say too much. The discussion moved from Liz’s pregnancy to work to the Northern Star ATV Club, which oversaw the four-wheeler trails that had helped revitalize Whitford’s economy.
“We need to revamp the website,” Josh was saying. He was the club’s president and Drew’s dad was the trail administrator. “And get a real logo, not the clip art we’ve been using.”
“That won’t be cheap,” Drew said.
“I know, but it needs to be done. And once we get the logo, we can sell hats and sweatshirts and stuff. Maybe offset the cost a bit. I hate spending the money, though.”
Max set down his coffee mug. “Have you thought about asking Tori for help?”
“Tori?” Josh shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“She’s a graphic designer. Book covers mostly, but this kind of job would probably be easy for her.”
“I knew she did something on the computer, but not what. I was hoping you, being an artist, could give us a hand, actually.”
“Two different kinds of art, unfortunately. I’d gladly help if I could, but design is beyond me.”
Drew shrugged. “It was worth a shot. But you think Tori would do it?”
“I don’t know if she would do it, but I think she could do it.”
“Since you know about her work, you and her must be friends, huh?”
Max was pretty sure he could guess where Josh was going with that. “Yes, we’re friends.”
“Maybe you could run the idea by her? See if she’d be willing to come up with a logo for us. And maybe one of those banner things for our website and Facebook page?”
“I could give her a call.”
“Appreciate it,” Josh said. “I know you don’t ride, but we’re glad to get whatever help we can.”
“You should come out with us sometime,” Drew added.
Max laughed. Meeting them at the diner for lunch was one thing. Riding an ATV through the woods was quite another. He could barely ride a bicycle. “Maybe. Someday.”
As the conversation went back to trail conditions and increased ATV traffic with the upcoming Columbus Day weekend, Max thought about his promise to call Tori.
He’d do that later, when he got home, and hopefully not disturb her while she was working. Or maybe he’d text her. He’d have to give some thought to how long the conversation would be before he figured out the best way to contact her.
He’d prefer to call her, though. Texting seemed too impersonal for asking a favor and, besides that, he liked the sound of her voice.
*
When Tori’s phone chimed, she gave it a quick sideways glance. Phone calls she let go straight to voice mail, but she didn’t have the willpower to not peek at the preview on the lock screen.
It was from Hailey. Books! Let me in.
She grabbed her phone and typed in coming as she walked across the apartment. Two years ago, when she’d rented the apartment in the old brick building that housed the bank, they’d told her the buzzer system didn’t work, but that they’d get around to fixing it.
She was still waiting. But it wasn’t that big a deal. Anybody who wanted to visit was somebody who already had her cell number, so whoever it was would simply text. It might have been a problem for deliveries, but nobody delivered in Whitford.
Except for the library, apparently.
After jogging down the stairs, she opened the glass door that was tucked into a recess at the other end of the building from the bank’s entrance.