Thirty-Two
When Alastair got back into his truck, he was already drenched. The rain had come fast and hard. It drummed on the roof of his old truck. The sound of buzzing alerted him to his phone, which had fallen between the gear shift and the passenger seat. He’d been so caught up in his conversation with Buck Walsh that he hadn’t even realized that his phone was missing.
It wasn’t easy to dig it out while he was driving, but obviously someone was trying to get in touch with him. Probably Ruthie, wondering where he was. He should have texted her that he might be cutting it close. He didn’t even know what time it was, thanks to his truck’s broken clock, but judging by the light, he was probably late for the town meeting.
A bruised knuckle and a bloody scrape later, he retrieved his phon
