Page 12

A shadow passes over his face. "Family business."

There's something in his tone that warns me not to push further, so I switch tactics. "And the auto shop? Was that always your plan?"

"Needed a job," he says with a shrug. "Good with engines."

I can't help but smile at his economy of words. Most people I know fill silences with endless chatter. Riley seems content to let silence breathe between sentences, offering only what's necessary.

"Well, I'm glad you're good with engines," I say. "Otherwise I might still be sitting on the side of the road."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Town would've sent someone eventually."

"But then I wouldn't have met you," I say without thinking, then feel heat rise to my cheeks. "I mean, you've been so helpful, and I—"

I'm saved from my rambling by a knock at the door. The pizza has arrived, mercifully early.

Riley rises before I can, moving with surprising grace for such a large man. "I'll get it."

I hear murmured conversation at the door, then Riley returns with a pizza box and a paper bag that smells of garlic.

"I paid," he says, setting our dinner on the coffee table I've hastily cleared of boxes. "You don’t need to pay me back."

"That's... incredibly thoughtful," I say, touched and slightly overwhelmed by this continuing kindness. "Does everyone in this town just take care of each other like this?"

Riley's expression darkens slightly. "Most do."

There's a story there, but again, I sense it's not one he's ready to share. Instead, I focus on opening the pizza box and distributing napkins I found in a kitchen drawer earlier.

"Help yourself," I say, gesturing to the food. "I'm starving."

The pizza is surprisingly good—thin crust with just the right amount of cheese and perfectly spiced pepperoni.

"This is delicious," I say between bites. "Even better than yesterday’s pizza. I didn't expect to find pizza this good in a small town."

"Gino's from Chicago," Riley says. "Married a local girl twenty years ago. Brought his family recipes with him."

I smile at this unexpected bit of local gossip. "You do know everyone here, don't you?"

He shrugs, but there's no denial. "Hard not to in a town this size."

"That must be nice," I say, trying to imagine it. "In Phoenix, I barely knew my neighbors' names."

"It has its downsides," he replies, his tone neutral but his eyes revealing more. "Everyone knows your business. Your history."

I think about my father's cryptic journal entry. Unfinished business. "I guess that's why my dad never talked much about growing up here. Maybe he had something to hide."

Riley looks at me with sudden interest. "What's his name?"

"James Mitchell. He left when he was eighteen, like you." I reach for another slice of pizza. "Did you know him?"

Riley shakes his head. "Left before my time. Mitchell... I don’t really remember any. Did he go to Cedar Fall’s high school?"

"I don't know. Dad never talked about his family here."

"Town records are at the historical society," Riley offers. "Newspaper archives, too."

"Let me guess… Mrs. Abernathy again?" I ask with a smile.

He nods. "Building's only open Tuesdays and Thursdays, but she's there most days working on the anniversary exhibit."