Norwegian Woody

Chapter 2

It was already late May and the town was filled with tourists. Thankfully I didn’t have to deal with that too much during the day since I worked up the coast. But it still made getting around in town a pain since there was just one main road through the town center. At least it wasn’t so bad in the mornings because I left home before six-thirty. The afternoons were a nightmare.

I lived up against a hill in the cabin I’d renovated some years back. It was a two-bedroom residence that had a nice view of the ocean from the front. Serge had helped me with it over the years while we still lived at the Zumpano house. Our friendship had matured, though I didn’t see him as often since he traveled a lot on business. He didn’t seem to like it much.

After they’d moved to the southeast a few years ago, Mila and Peter Zumpano had left the family home to Rafe and Serge. Rafe was now the town sheriff. So, instead of just overprotecting me and his little brother, he did it for the town, too. It was in his makeup. Certainly his shoulders were broad enough to carry all the troubles in the world, not that I ever noticed. Much. What would be the point, since he went through women like candy?

I was Rafe’s complete opposite in temperament, though we matched each other in height, and I was actually a little wider than him now, go figure. Must be my Nordic genes. Black hair cut military short, his brown gaze piercing, Rafe reminded me of lawmen from the old west. He was intense in all things, whereas I tended to be mellower, unless really riled up. We’d both played sports in school, but he went to college on a football scholarship, and when it was my turn, I’d gotten a full ride because of my grades. Not that Rafe was dumb. He had to be smart, to make sheriff.

As to his sexuality, I often wondered what his deal was. On the surface, he seemed straight. I’d seen Rafe with lots of girls growing up, and he dated widely in town even now. He was a “catch,” after all. But the man was getting near forty and hadn’t settled down. And he never seemed to be that enthusiastic, either, when I saw him with his girl of the week around town. It was as if he was playing pretend. Or that was just my wishful thinking.

There was also that one time, too, that I could have sworn I’d seen him at a gay bar, but I figured I must have been imagining things, things I wanted badly, despite the truth before me.

Who was I to judge, anyway? My own dating life was sparse. I’d had lots of hookups in college, and enjoyed the occasional trick away from town. But I didn’t get out much, content to work on small renovation and woodwork projects around town, and teaching the kids at the school to which I owed so much was my passion. I was a loner, and comfortable that way. Too much attention made me skittish. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Rafe’s drinking concerned me, though, more and more each day. His personality changed when he was soused and things got out of hand, fast. I’d seen it happen many times, and was the one who’d get the call to drag his ass home from whatever hole in the wall where he was making trouble. It was a wonder he still had enough brain cells to do his job.