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I glance back at Charlie, whose smile has turned into a frown. “Have you ever asked him about it, McManus?”

Charlie shakes his head. “I think I’ve always been too afraid to know the answer. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.”

I reach back and squeeze Charlie’s knee, offering what I hope is a kind gesture for such an awkward moment. “I can’t wait to meet him. Maybe he just doesn’t like guys with hairy asses.”

Charlie erupts into a fit of laughter, while Daniel splutters, his eyes wide and his face red—in embarrassment or anger, I can’t say.

“Harrison!” Daniel exclaims indignantly. “Did you seriously just suggest that?”

I shrug, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “I mean, it’s a possibility, isn’t it? Maybe he’s not into that.”

Daniel’s face flushes a deeper crimson, the color spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. “You’re gonna pay for that, Price,” he seethes playfully.

“Oh, yeah? And how exactly are you going to make mepay, Hollingsworth? Are you gonna spank me? Call me a bad boy?”

If it’s possible, Daniel’s face turns even redder at my suggestive words. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate a response. Charlie, meanwhile, continues howling.

“You two are ridiculous,” Daniel squeaks.

“You love it.” I reach over the console to poke his cheek, and he swats my finger away.

The laughter eventually dies down, and my mind drifts to a weekend of meeting Charlie’s family and seeing where he grew up. It’s a big step, one that fills me with a shit ton of excitement but also nervousness.

As if reading my mind, Charlie says, “Don’t expect too much excitement, H. Bomont’s nothing like the Big Apple. We’ve got one stoplight, a diner that still has a jukebox, and more cows than we know what to do with. The most action we get is at the annual tractor pull in the summer.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Tractor pull?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Charlie says with a wink. “It’s a Bomont tradition.”

Charlie’s descriptionof Bomont proves accurate as we roll into town. A single stoplight hangs above the intersection of Main Street and Main Road, blinking lazily in the afternoon sun.

“There it is,” Charlie announces, pointing to a weathered building on the corner. “Tools & Things, where Roy spends most of his waking hours. If he’s not there, he’s out in the fields.” He points to a set of windows above the sign. “That’s his apartment. Pretty neat, huh?”

I peer at the hardware store, trying to picture Charlie’s older brother inside, helping customers find the right drill bit or recommending the best fertilizer for their crops. It doesn’t sound all that interesting, but if he’s chosen to stay here all these years, then it must be something he enjoys.

Charlie gestures to a sprawling brick building set back a way. “And that’s good ol’ Bomont High. Home of the Mighty Muskrats.”

Daniel snickers. “Muskrats? Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t hate on the Muskrats,” Charlie defends. “We may not have had the most intimidating mascot, but we had heart.”

I grin, picturing a teenage Charlie in his baseball uniform, proud to represent his school no matter how silly the name.

The houses grow fewer and farther between as we leave the main part of town behind. Fields of green stretch out on either side of the road, broken up by the occasional red barn or grazing cow.

Charlie sits up straighter as we turn onto a long, winding gravel driveway. “Almost there,” he says, excitement creeping into his voice. “Just watch your step when we get out. The chickens like to leave little presents everywhere.”

Daniel wrinkles his nose. “Noted.”

I chuckle at the image of a teenage Charlie tiptoeing through chicken droppings in his bare feet.

The driveway opens up to reveal a charming two-story yellow farmhouse, complete with a wraparound porch and a swing. Flower beds burst with color along the front of the house, and a massive oak tree spreads its branches over the yard.

Charlie is out of the car before Daniel even puts it in park, bounding up the porch steps two at a time. Daniel and I exchange a smile as we climb out of the car, heeding Charlie’s warning to watch out for the chicken shit.

A flutter of nerves rises in my stomach as we approach the front door, but it’s overpowered by the warmth radiating from this place.

Charlie spreads his arms wide, shouts, “Home Sweet Home!” and then bounds inside, a bull in a china shop, shouting for his mama.