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.