The day had sped by quickly for Sally at the store. All morning and afternoon, she had stolen quiet moments, hunched over the small notebook, its pages bearing the weight of her imagination. The world inside her head had collided with the one around her, and by the end of the day, the notebook was full, its last page adorned with her hastily penned words. She sighed with satisfaction, even squeezing in a final paragraph on the cardboard backing. As she closed the notebook, her neck was stiff, her hands sweaty, and her fingers sore.

Flicking through the handwritten notes, Sally couldn't help but smile to herself in surprise. She had managed to complete the first draft of her Reefmaker sequel in a single day. Her literary achievement filled her with a sense of accomplishment. Carefully, she slipped the completed notes into her handbag, ready to attend to the store's neglected duties.

Outside, Ted had been fussing with the firewood, meticulously arranging it for the impending fall season. Each log was placed with care, distributed evenly to ensure his customers would benefit from his thoughtful arrangement. He admired his handiwork, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done.

As Ted stepped back into the store, his phone pinged with a message from Becky. He read it with a grin, eager to share the news with Sally. She was busy wiping the counter, her eyes weary, and her movements sluggish.

"I can see you've finally finished with your scribblings, I thought you'd never put that notebook of yours down. How are you feeling?"

Sally looked up at Ted with unimpressed eyes and exhaled deeply. "Tired," she replied. "I'm really looking forward to my relaxed night with the ladies at the crochet club meeting."

"But you hardly did anything today. Why are you so tired?"

"It's mental exhaustion, Ted," Sally explained. "Plus that little sandwich I had for lunch was not remotely enough."

"Well, you can relax a bit," he said, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "I just got a message from Becky and she's not coming back home tonight. Don't worry, she's all right, she's just staying overnight in Millerton."

"Really?" Sally's tired eyes widened in surprise, "How come I didn't get a call from Becky?"

Feeling a pang of worry, Sally pulled her phone from her bag and checked it. Her heart sank as she realized she had missed a call and several messages from her daughter. She had been so engrossed in her writing that she had missed everything from her dear daughter.

"Aw," Sally sighed, disappointment etched on her face. "I was looking forward to sharing my first draft with her, but I suppose it'll have to wait. Why isn't Becky coming home tonight?"

Ted couldn't help but tease Sally, a playful grin on his face. "Seems like you've been a negligent mother," he chuckled. "Don't worry, I can fill you in. She's hanging out with Dan and a few friends. She's going to stay over at his place and come back tomorrow morning."

Sally nodded in acknowledgment, her mind racing with thoughts. A sudden concern crept into her expression.

"But what about spare clothes?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "How will she shower? Does Dan have a spare bed in his apartment she could use? And Ted, do you think she'll be drinking?"

Ted offered a reassuring smile. "She might be drinking, Sally. She's a big girl now."

Sally sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I know," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "But I keep worrying about her, even though I shouldn't."

Ted nodded, his eyes filled with affection. "We did a good job as parents, Sally," he reassured her. "We needn't worry. I'm sure she's not getting up to anything worse than she would normally do in California. Becky can hold her drinks, you know. She came second place in a drinking contest in university."

Sally's gaze immediately sharpened, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and disapproval.

"Yeah...I wasn't meant to mention that," Ted quickly added, realizing his slip.

Without hesitation, Ted walked over to Sally and wrapped his arms around her, tenderly stroking her hair as if to soothe her worries.

"Look, Becky's going to be fine," he said, his tone light. "My only worry is that she won't be bringing back something nice from the deli tonight for dinner."

Sally rolled her eyes with annoyance. "Always thinking with your stomach," she chided. "Well, since Becky won't be home tonight, I'm going to take the entire night off and hang out with the ladies. Maybe we'll even go out for dinner. And no, Ted, you're not invited. You'll have to take care of yourself tonight."

Ted leaned in and kissed Sally on her cheek before letting go of their embrace. "Fine," he said, feigning a hurt tone. "Fine I get it. I'm not a big deal like Becky who gets to have your concern and attention. So while you're off with Maggie and the other cool crochet ladies, I'm stuck by myself with... Paul?"

Sally shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't care what you do, Ted," she replied. "You're a big boy now."

Ted sighed dramatically. "It's so sad I'm the only one without friends to hang out with."

"Tough cookies," Sally retorted with a playful grin. "I'm going to call Maggie right now to book her in for dinner. Listen Ted, I'll help you out a bit. I'm gonna tell Maggie to tell Paul that you're free as well. Maybe you two can catch dinner together and talk about Dan, so you can useful for a change."

Ted's eyes widened in protest. "Wait, wait, wait," he stammered, crossing his arms with a hint of petulance. "I was just joking about hanging out with Paul. I'd rather be hammering my own fingers instead."

"I'm not joking, Ted," she insisted, leaning against the counter. "It's a tad disappointing that you don't have friends of your own. Imagine if you invested as much time building relationships as you do in following baseball; you'd have a few more friends."

Ted scratched his head, his brow furrowing in defense. "I do have friends," he argued, his voice a touch defensive. "Harry Sullivan is a good friend, and I did have a lot of friends at one time! But most of them have left Sommerfield."

Sally raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "Barely seeing Harry once a year hardly makes you a good friend," she countered, her tone firm. "You'd better learn to make do with whoever is left. You can talk to Paul about baseball, or beer, or whatever secret business men talk about when women aren't around."

"Crochet, Sally. Men talk about crochet when women aren't around."

Ted flashed a mischievous. Sally gave Ted a strange look, her lips biting back a smile. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her laugh at his jest.

"Ted," she said, her tone firm, "you'd better start thinking about somewhere you and Paul can go, or else you'll be stuck somewhere lame like the grocery shop."

As the evening hours crept in, Sally had departed for dinner with Maggie, leaving Ted alone to complete the closing routine for their store.

Ted had been looking forward to a leisurely evening of watching baseball on TV at home, but his plans had been thwarted when Paul arrived at the store at Sally's suggestion, catching him in the midst of closing up.

With a sigh that went unnoticed by Paul, Ted invited him inside to keep him company as he wrapped up the tasks at hand. Paul walked in, his eyes scanning the store and picking out things he'd change or fix up. He moved with ease around the space, eventually finding his way to the back of the counter where Sally would usually be seated. Without a word, he settled into her chair, his gaze trained on Ted.

Paul watched Ted methodically power down the food bar and clean the counters, which were littered with small food scraps. Paul's eyes wandered, and he couldn't help but notice some of Sally's personal belongings scattered about the counter. Silence hung in the air, only broken when Paul finally spoke up.

"Is it always this quiet in the evening?" Paul asked dryly.

Ted chuckled as he continued his work. "Well, it's after hours, Paul," he replied, wiping down a countertop. "We're normally shut by now, so of course, no one would think to come to the store for groceries at this hour."

Paul idly played with one of Sally's hair elastics that had been sitting on the counter, his fingers twisting it thoughtfully as he considered his next question.

"Ted," he began, his tone contemplative, "have you ever thought about opening the store for longer hours into the night? You know, to service the interstate travelers and late shift workers."

Ted's face contorted with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. "Damn it, Paul," he exclaimed, pausing his cleaning. "I still want to have a family life."

Paul waved off Ted's concerns with a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense," he retorted. "It's just you and Sally. You can afford to spend more time at the store."

"As I said, Paul," he replied, "I still value my family life." Ted resumed his cleaning.

He tossed a dirty napkin into the trash, irritation flickering across his features at Paul's persistent questions that seemed to intrude upon his final moments of work.

"If anything, I've been thinking about us spending less time at the store. I want to make Sally's life a little easier, give her the time to do the stuff she loves."

Paul, seemingly impassive to Ted's initial annoyance, stood up and walked over to him, his posture protective, and his eyes filled with an intense curiosity.

"Is Sally feeling stressed out working at the grocery store? I've heard she is always running around town taking care of her friends and maybe not looking after herself. Ted, you need to watch Sally a lot more closely and listen to her feedback seriously." Paul said, his voice probing.

Ted, feeling slightly cornered by Paul's relentless questions, took a step back. Paul had edged a little too close for comfort, and Ted found himself needing space to respond.

"Well," Ted began, choosing his words carefully, "it's not that Sally is vocally complaining about anything. But I know how hard she works." He sighed, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes. "I feel she deserves time to herself. Sally's got her friends and her crochet club, but she's given up a lot of other things to be the best wife and mother that anyone can ask for."

Paul seemed to listen intently, his interest in Sally's well-being palpable. His eyes quivered slightly in the white light of the grocery store at night, as if he were processing Ted's words deeply.

Ted, having finished his tasks, wiped his hands clean and switched off the light at the food bar. He gestured for Paul to walk with him back to the front counter, where their conversation could continue in a more comfortable setting.

"Did you know that Sally's a writer?" Ted inquired, a sense of wonder in his voice. "Or at least she seems to have a real knack and interest for writing."

"Of course, I do," he said, his tone filled with admiration. "A darn good one too."

"I had no idea, it seems I'm the only one who doesn't know."

Reaching the front counter, Paul settled back into his chair, positioning himself next to the cash register. His eyes held a certain fondness as he reminisced.

"It's hardly your fault," Paul explained, "Sally has always kept her achievements and abilities very close to her heart. However, Sally is so overabundant and overflowing with talent that people around her couldn't help but notice."

Paul's smile held a loving quality, and his expression took on a pensive, nostalgic look—something Ted had never seen before.

Paul continued, his voice filled with admiration and a hint of pride. "Back in high school, Sally was always dedicated to playing the role of the perfect daughter. Even when Sally's younger sister, Gracie turned her back on Sommerfield and the farm life, leaving for Minneapolis with that no-hoper boyfriend of hers at the time."

Ted's face scrunched up with confusion. "You mean Fred Manning?" he asked. "He's a kind and generous man and a wonderful husband to Gracie."

"I can't remember his name," Paul shared. "At the time, I advised Gracie to stay in Sommerfield and ditch Fred to help out Sally on the farm, but Gracie wouldn't listen to my good advice."

Ted laughed sarcastically. "Well, who would've thought that Gracie wouldn't listen to your sage words? As convincing as you would've been, Gracie has always been single-minded and confident."

"Anyway, all by herself, Sally stuck by her father and learned the farm trade. She was excellent at it. You probably didn't know Sally very well at the time Ted, but I saw firsthand the lengths she would go to learn the farm. The dedication and grit that Sally showed taught me a thing or two about the importance of hard work."

As Paul picked up Sally's hair elastic once more and gently played with it, a longing for the past filled his eyes.

"It's something that Becky picked up from Sally," Paul remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. "Something I really wished Dan had picked up being friends with Becky."

"Dan and Becky have two very different personalities," he replied, his tone thoughtful. "You can't just expect things to rub off like that."

Paul let out a frustrated sigh, clearly grappling with his own feelings on the matter.

"Ted," Paul began, his voice softer now, "you didn't know me well back in the day. Heck, you don't know me well even now. But I wasn't always the man I am today."

"I am sorry to hear that." Ted spoke with a sarcasm that Paul could not understand but had learned to ignore.

Paul paused, his gaze distant. "Spending time with Sally taught me about how precious life and time are. You don't get many chances to have life-altering relationships. When you do, you're grateful and don't ever look back."

Sitting up straight, Paul locked eyes with Ted, his words lingering in the air. Ted's expression softened as he absorbed the heartfelt sentiment Paul had just shared. Without a word, Ted stood up and walked over to the alcohol counter, located off to the side of the cash register. He picked up a new bottle of whiskey, the label catching the soft glow of the store's lights. With a practiced twist, he popped it open.

Paul raised an eyebrow in surprise as the faint aroma of the whiskey filled the air. "Didn't think you'd touch anything that wasn't a 'brewski'."

Ted grinned and poured two generous cups of the whiskey into coffee cups he fetched from the nearby dispenser. "I'll make an exception just for today," he said, handing a cup to Paul.

"Easy there, cowboy," Paul quipped, his voice filled with amusement. "We aren't young anymore and can't drink like we used to."

"Keep up, old man, or you'll be left behind."

Raising their cups in a silent toast, they took their first drinks. Paul sipped the rough and cheap whiskey, a far cry from the single malts he cherished on his whiskey shelf at home. Yet, tonight, he found himself enjoying the conversation with Ted more than the drink itself.

Ted reminisced with a wistful smile, "I'm trying to make up for lost time here. Remember how easy it was to make friends with literally anyone over a drink when we were Becky and Dan's age?"

Paul let out a gravelly laugh, "We had more uses for friends back then."

"You know what? We should take a leaf out of Sally and Maggie's book," he suggested. "The ladies have their crochet club; we should start a gentleman's gathering right here at the front counter of the grocery shop. For each meeting, we open a new bottle of whiskey every week. We'll ask for club donations to cover costs, but I'll put up the venue."

"Don't be stupid, Ted," he warned. "We'll all be up for liver transplants if this idea of yours goes afloat."

Ted chuckled and continued in a teasing tone. "And we should name it the Wet Blanket Club in honor of you Paul. A place where old Sommerfield fogeys come to reminisce about their glorious baseball pasts and where their dreams go to die."

Paul took the joke in stride, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It seemed that, in the midst of their conversation and the whiskey they shared, a sense of camaraderie and youthful spirit had returned, even if only for a moment.

"You were always a much better baseball player than I ever was. Even if I did whack your pitch for a homer that time at lunch. You could have played in the Minor League at least, if not the Majors, if you weren't so God damn lazy."

Ted replied with a wry smile, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of bitterness and humor. "I'll quote my old man for you. He used to tell me, 'Who would want to play in the Major League if one could run a grocery store instead?'"

"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself," he admitted, "but I think it's a great idea for Sommerfield men in our generation to get together every now and then, share their experiences, invite the young guys over every now and then to network, to give them some actual good advice."

Paul took another sip of the average liquor, his expression contemplative. "Who would listen to us these days anyway?" he pondered, "I've got some great advice, but it seems like people prefer to learn the hard way."

Ted, undeterred, took a deep breath and decided to humor Paul. "Alright, Mr. Know-It-All. I'll give you a chance to share your wisdom. Can you condescend to share a drop of your knowledge? Or should I prepare for an advisory fee?"

Paul finished off the rest of his whiskey in one big gulp, impressing Ted with his resolve. "I'll take one more drink as the fee," Paul declared, his voice steady.

"Are you sure your liver can handle it?" he quipped.

"Edward Jones Jr., lay it on before I change my mind."

With a smile, Ted poured another large cup of whiskey, their impromptu gentleman's gathering beginning to take on a life of its own.

"I want to discuss business strategy," Ted began, his voice steady and determined. "How to have continuity of business without ourselves having to be so hands-on."

"I'll be delighted to help. I like seeing you think more like a capitalist. You do realize how big a deal the grocery shop is in Sommerfield."

"There's no point being a big deal if it doesn't serve our purpose," he pointed out, "How can we optimize the sale of the business?"

"You're not actually thinking of selling the grocery are you?" Paul asked, taken aback by the notion.

"It's just a theoretical situation," Ted quickly clarified, his words reassuring, "The idea of selling the entire business never crossed my mind until Sally casually brought it up recently. Managing the entire store on my own is a daunting task, and it wouldn't be fair to burden Sally with it either." Ted's gaze turned distant as he continued. "We've got dreams of travel. Sally has never been more than an hour away from Sommerfield. What kind of life is that?"

"Back then, Sally was committed to being the perfect daughter for the love of her parents. Sally is now committed to being the perfect wife for you."

Ted regarded Paul with a sense of accomplishment, as if he had successfully drawn out these honest thoughts. But Paul wasn't finished.

"I don't hide the fact that I don't think you deserve to be with Sally."

"Oh, I know that! But it's funny how it seems like Sally is an individual with her own thoughts and the freedom to decide who she spends her life with. Quite a concept, isn't it?"

"It's like a punch to the gut thinking about it," he admitted. "But she always did know what she wanted, even if she didn't always tell me about it."

"Listen, Paul, I'm not here to discuss the what-ifs of our lives. We can save that for the next whiskey club meeting, provided you support its establishment. But for now, how much do you think we can get for the store's real estate?"

Paul's brows furrowed with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Are you really serious about selling the grocery store?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Ted's response was a nonchalant shrug. "No, I was just curious," he admitted.

Paul leaned forward, his hands resting on the counter. "The thing about real estate," he began, his tone thoughtful, "is that you should never sell it until you have something better to do with the money."

Ted, however, had a different perspective. "Oh, I've got a bunch of ideas on what to do with the money," he said, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "I'm thinking about all the freedom that money can buy. I've never had love for the store, and with Becky perhaps never coming back to Sommerfield, there's little to tie us down."

Paul countered, his voice earnest, "Sommerfield is a beautiful town. Why would anyone want to leave? Where would you even go? There's no place like Sommerfield."

Paul then shifted the conversation towards a more pragmatic perspective. "You and Sally are sitting on a gold mine with the grocery store," he emphasized. "The rent alone could cover three or so regular stores. Do you realize how much money that is?"

Ted nodded, acknowledging the financial potential, but he had other ideas in mind. "Yeah, I know," he admitted, "but a change of scenery could be good for us. It seems like everyone else is doing it. Maybe we can move our business elsewhere, or better yet, convince some grocery chain to buy out our store for a load of cash."

Paul, however, expressed reservations. "Ted, you haven't thought things through," he cautioned. "That's a dangerous game to play with the big boys. If a big chain comes in, they could drive you out of business instead."

Ted's response was laced with determination as he explained, "You know what? That was the exact thing that haunted my father all his life. That's why he worked so hard to maintain his edge and connection to the community. It wasn't because he loved people or Sommerfield. He sweated bullets about losing his business. But I have no fears about it. I won't be held hostage to such thoughts like my father was."

Paul nodded in understanding, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and admiration. "I get your father's perspective," he admitted. "I know how tough it can be to be the man of the house, the sole provider. But you've got the right attitude about it. You can't live life with a dark cloud always hanging over your head." Paul's voice held a tinge of sincerity as he confessed, "Ted, in more ways than one, I'm jealous of you."

"It's easy to be grateful for my life. I've been blessed with many gifts—the grocery store, Sally, and a wonderful kid like Becky. I've learnt that sometimes you've got to swallow your pride and let others into your life, not try to shoulder everything yourself."

Paul's eyes bore into Ted with a bitterness that he struggled to hide. But Ted remained diplomatic, continuing, "Paul, you've been given a lot too."

Before Ted could elaborate, Paul cut him off, "Everything I have now, I fought tooth and nail to win. I'm proud of my strength and tenacity." He was unapologetically prideful.

"You're right," Ted conceded gracefully. "But it's time for you to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Maggie is the heart and soul of Sommerfield society. You've got two great kids—Dan, a responsible young man with a mean baseball throw, and Mary, who has big dreams and a tenacity worthy of your name. If you showed a bit more compassion and love to your kids, you'd get infinitely more from your relationship with them."

"I don't need parenting lessons from you." Paul said, bearing a hint of defiance, "However, I must concede that you and Sally did a wonderful job raising Becky."

"You don't need to do much as a parent, just stay out of their way and give them the space to find their own path. The most important thing is to provide a good environment and try to be good humans; the kids will turn out well."

Paul shook his head dismissively, as though Ted had just cracked the funniest joke in the world. He drained his glass with a single gulp and halted Ted's attempt to pour another drink with an outstretched hand.

"You're from the Harry Sullivan school of fatherhood too, aren't you?"

Ted, with genuine enthusiasm, responded, "Harry's a great father. We should invite him to our secret grocery whiskey club."

"Harry should have never let Mike's mother walk out of his life like that," Paul argued. "Mike suffered from not having that oversight and discipline. Did you know Mike got into trouble with the police back in high school? He could very well turn out like Steve—a brute with a broken marriage. Freedom is a poison pill for those who don't know how to harness its power."

"Mike may be rough around the edges, but at his core, he has a heart of gold. I've seen how deeply he thinks, and his repentant and reflective nature will win out in the end."

Paul chose to be diplomatic, their differences set aside for the sake of their growing friendship. "We'll just have to agree to disagree,"

Ted nodded in silence, feeling uncertain about how to break the conversational deadlock. He reached for the jar of hard candy resting on the counter, a treat he often shared with the children who came to the store with their parents. Ted extended the jar toward Paul. Paul shook his head, politely refusing, while Ted sifted through the jar and selected his preferred lime-flavored candy.

"Say, Paul," Ted began, his searching for a topic that he sorely wanted to ask about, "I've always wondered about your father. I don't think I've heard much about him."

Paul chuckled, the sound carrying a mix of humor and bitterness. "You want to know about my old man? Go ask Sally." Paul suggested with a wry smile. "She knows everything about him. Suffice to say, he's hardly the father of the year." He paused, "But I've accepted him for what he is. I've managed to surpass him in every way imaginable." There was a sense of pride in his voice. "Thank God I never had to depend on him for anything," Paul added, his tone growing cynical. "I still send him a check every month just to keep him off my case."

Ted chuckled, a knowing grin on his face. "Fathers," he said, shaking his head, "can't live with them, definitely can't live with them."

Paul couldn't help but smile a little, the connection between them going that little bit deeper. It was a shared understanding of the complexities of fatherhood, and for a brief moment, Paul seemed almost human.

"You know, Ted, I don't understand why you're making such an effort to know me. I thought you hated me. Truth be told I'm only here tonight because Sally insisted that I meet up with you. You know how persistent she can be."

Ted smiled with understanding, "I don't hate anyone. Well, except maybe my father on a bad day. And you Paul, I don't hate you at all, I'm scared of you yes, but hate? No, I don't hate you. I've learned that everyone does what they do for their own reasons. In their own mind they are doing what they feel is right given their circumstance." Ted paused, his gaze fixed on the jar of candy that sat on the counter. "If I can understand that, I'll have one less enemy in the world." He smiled warmly. "I always knew we could be friends."

Paul shook his head, a mixture of admiration and amusement in his eyes. "Ted, you never cease to amaze me. That's such a load of literary poppycock, you know. Still reading Fitzgerald I see."

"You mean Hemingway," he corrected.

"It's all the same,"

"Well Paul," he said with a grin, "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree."