I went over to the bag and opened it, pulling out the last of the cookies.
“Thank you,” he said. “I know,” he continued through a mouthful of cookie, “my dad is going to win this bet.”
“That’s nice you believe in him. Sometimes that’s all someone needs—is for someone to believe in them.”
Declan smiled, a smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. “It’s just really easy,” he said, laughing. “It’s easier than doing a somersault. I heard Uncle Ben say he bet my dad couldn’t sleep with you. Isn’t that funny? Because sleeping with someone’s so easy—you just climb right up into bed next to them! Do you still take naps? I do sometimes.”
“Wait a second,” I said, certain that I must have misunderstood, “you heard your father saying what?”
“He was making a bet. Or no—Uncle Ben was making a bet, and it was about you! Isn’t that funny?”
“Yeah, that is pretty funny,” I said. “Hilarious, actually. How’s that cookie?”
Declan grinned. “Awesome.”
And then there was a knock at the side door, and there was Cole, looking as handsome as ever, wholesome, too, and it seemed a little hard to believe that this guy had been making bets with his friend over whether or not he could sleep with me. I glanced at Declan. Typical of most 4-year-olds, he had quite the imagination, so wasn’t it possible that he was just making this whole thing up? Part of me just wanted to believe that because it would be easier than thinking that his dad was the sort of creep who would bet his friend about sleeping with someone, like having sex was no more of a big deal than a poker game. But there was no way that Declan just imagined a scenario like that—not if he hadn’t happened to overhear something.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” Cole asked as he came in.
“I just shared one of my cookies with him,” I said quickly, hoping that Declan wouldn’t get into the whole story and let on that he’d mentioned anything about this bet Cole and Ben had.
“It’s chocolate chip!” Declan exclaimed.
Cole smiled. “Your favorite.”
“It was my last one,” I said, “otherwise, I’d offer you one, too.”
Cole went over to Declan and wiped the chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “Your last one, huh?” he said. “It’s probably not good manners to take someone’s last cookie, now, is it? Maybe we should remedy that and all head down to the bakery.”
It’s probably not good manners to make a bet about sleeping with someone, either, I thought, but only smiled brightly. “Sure,” I said. “I have to go into town and do a couple errands, anyway, and I certainly wouldn’t mind picking up some more cookies.”
Chapin’s downtown consisted of a post office, a library, a church, the town hall with an open space with benches called the Village Green, the Brown Bag Bakery, and a market/general store. All of this was clustered around the one set of traffic lights in Chapin, at the intersection of Main St. and Route 42.
At the market, I got a basket and threw in some floss, a box of dryer sheets, and a package of steel wool. I paused at the wall display of seed packets. I was pretty much a novice when it came to gardening, but even I knew that it was getting to be late in the season to do any planting, so if I was hoping to have any success with that, I’d need to get started sooner rather than later.
“Are you having a garden?” Declan asked as he walked over and stood next to me, tilting his head back so he could take in the whole wall of seeds.
“I’m thinking about it,” I said. “I’m not that experienced when it comes to gardening, though.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “You just have to try; that’s the most important part.”
I smiled. “You’re right.”
Chapter Six
Cole
That Sunday, my parents took Declan to the children’s museum in the next town over, so Ben came by so we could go for an off-road ride. He was wearing a T-shirt and baggy shorts that probably didn’t have a chamois, and his “riding” shoes that looked more like skateboarding shoes. He made a face when he saw that I had changed into my kit.
“We’re not doing Tour de France, here, fucker,” he said.
“Yeah, I know, but if I’m going to be riding, I’m more comfortable in this, whether we’re on the road or the trails. Not interested in getting chafed, thank you very much. Maybe you’re into that sort of thing, but I’m all set with that.”
He sat down at the kitchen table and watched me fill up my water bottle. “So how goes it?” he asked. “I assume no progress has been made in terms of you winning our bet; otherwise, I would have heard about it by now.”
“I might not have won the bet yet, but I’m working on it,” I said.
He gave me that Cheshire cat grin of his that he gets when he’s up to no good. “You sure about that?”