9. Brenna
9
brENNA
“Can’t you just see yourself here?”
I make a diagonal tally mark across the previous four I’ve ticked throughout the day in my notebook, noting how many times Mr. Hovland, the local pharmacist here at Hickory Hills Drugs, has asked that question. He’s been averaging about every ninety minutes, but it seems he’s upped his game.
It’s gonna be a loooong summer…
Smiling politely, I turn to look at the older gentleman. He reminds me of Elmer Fudd—short, balding, and round in the middle—something that is not helped by the fact that every fall during hunting season he wears the same type of ill-fitting brown ball cap that the cartoon character did while he hunted rascally rabbits. He is thankfully missing the lisp.
“It’s nice to be home.” For a bit…
I leave the last part unsaid, just as I have all day. It’s not a lie—it is nice to be home. Sure, there have been visits over the last eight years, but I haven’t been home for more than a handful of weeks at a time since I graduated from high school. Mostly because sharing a house with my parents again makes me feel like I’m still in high school.
Thankfully, this time around, I can crash at Brandt’s. Although, I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my new roommate enough that I also still feel like the loser little sister all over again.
Cue prom flashbacks…
“Just think about seeing this view every day,” Mr. Hovland continues, starting to lay it on thick. He’s been pretty generic about his intentions so far, but I knew this was coming. I did think we’d make it more than one day though. Guess I was wrong. “Not sayin’ you’d have to take over right away. I’m still a few years from retirement, after all.”
He lets out a little Elmer Fudd-like laugh, his shoulders bobbing with the sound. Someone has to find his non-joke amusing. Glad it’s him.
“I need to officially pass the boards first,” I remind him, hoping that will end the discussion.
I am not that lucky.
“Oh, that’s a given!” He waves off my concern.
A given?! Not likely. The national pass rate for the federal level exam is something like eighty percent for first-time test takers. Meaning twenty percent fail. That’s a lot of people. I’m doing everything I can to not be counted as part of the numbers, but it’s still a far cry from “a given.”
“You’ve always been a bright girl, and I have no doubt you’ll pass with flying colors,” he continues, seemingly unaware—or uncaring—that I might have a response. “And when you do, Hickory Hills Drugs will be happy to have you. Ah, Hattie, are you here for your heart meds?”
He turns to the customer—and town gossip —walking down the aisle toward our counter, situated in the back of the store, simultaneously greeting her and announcing to the world what medication she’s on. HIPAA laws be damned, apparently.
Hickory Hills Drugs will be happy to have you…but who says I want Hickory Hills?
The question bounces around in my brain for the millionth time. Yes, it’s nice to be back. Yes, Hickory Hills will always be home. But, do I want it to be my forever home? I’m not sure. And if I agree to stay, that’s exactly what it’ll be. My forever home.
I know I shouldn’t borrow worry—and that’s exactly what I’ll be doing if I think about job placement prior to passing my exams. Being a pharmacist—much like being a nurse or a doctor, or even a lawyer—isn't quite like most jobs. You don’t just graduate and get a job. There’s that whole pesky licensing process. Sure, some people will have offers pending the passing of the exam, especially if they’re going to work for a big box store, but plenty opt to wait until they know they’ve passed and everything is legal.
Again, see the twenty percent failure rate.
“Miss Brenna, happy to see you back!”
“Thanks, Mrs. Burch,” I reply, a lot more formal in my greeting than Mr. Hovland. He might be able to call her by her first name, but I don’t dare. I enjoy being alive.
“Big plans this summer?”
“Studying. Studying.” I pause, pretending to ponder. “More studying.”
“Good girl,” she tuts. The vision of a velociraptor swooping in and eating her face sparks a giggle, one that I thankfully manage to suppress. Although, that might stop her from running her mouth… “With both you and MaryEllen back, I wondered if there would be a disturbance?—”
“Because Mell and I ever caused a disturbance?”
She must have a very different memory of my teenage years than I do. Or is confusing me with someone else. Like Bryce.
Pursing her lips, Mrs. Burch scowls at me for cutting her off. “I suppose not. You two were some of the better behaved children.”
The high praise continues… It’s gonna be a long summer…
Libby, the store clerk, rescues me, grabbing Mrs. Burch’s attention regarding some product she’d asked about last week. Before I know it, the two of them, plus Mr. Hovland, are armpit deep in a gossip session, leaving me be. I do my best to tune them out—as much as one can when they actually place bets on when we’ll see our first Wilder baby now that Dustin and Kenzie are married.
Before I know it, though, it’s closing time. Being a local store, our hours are limited, meaning I can work from open to close and still be home at a normal hour. Plus Sundays off. Add that to the pro column when considering my future.
The warm summer sun is still going strong on my walk home. Passing each of the local shops in the center of town, I can’t help but smile, enjoying the quaint feel of it all. Because sometimes it is nice to be somewhere everyone knows your name.
Then again, sometimes it’s nice to have a little anonymity too. Because I’m less than a block away from the drugstore and I already had to dodge Tracey Jerald outside The Curio Cabinet, the little local eclectic gift shop she took over from her mama, and have already seen three other people I went to high school with. Two of which had babies. Who knows who else I’ll run into by the time I get down to Sew It Seams, our quilt shop.
And here I am, unable to get a second date.
Ugggh…
I need a distraction. Pulling out my phone, I click on Mell’s name, knowing my bestie will do the trick. I haven’t told her about my conversation with Milo from last night, and am still a little torn on if I should. I know she’ll be supportive—it's not like she doesn’t know about my…situation. Hell, it’s part of the reason she suggested our hot-girl summer. Still, not really sure she needs to know that I halfway confided in older brother 2.0 on the subject. Especially after everything that happened last week.
Still, I’ve never kept anything from her and don’t plan to start. But it’s not really keeping it from her if I simply opt not to overshare, right?
Because something about that confession feels like it should stay between Milo and me.
Maybe that’s because I’m still mortified it even came up. And that I then word vomited it at him. But also because he was so accepting of it. Confused, sure. In that older, protective male figure way who thinks you’re the bee’s knees and that everyone should love you simply because they love you kind of way. But there really was no judgment from him. He was the safe space I needed in that moment. Which makes my heart swoon.
No, not swoon. We’re not swooning over Milo Hayes. We are not six years old anymore.
Mell’s voicemail picks up, and for a second I consider leaving a message. Then I decide against it. She’ll see the missed call and call me back when she can. No need to force her to listen to a voicemail that is going to last all of the three seconds it takes to say, “It’s me, call me back.” Besides, I’m almost home.
Loud music greets me as I click the door to the apartment closed behind me, stopping dead in my tracks. It takes a minute for my brain to catch up with my eyes and process what I’m seeing. Because damn…it’s the stuff of daydreams. And fantasies.
Moving his hips in time with the beat of an old hip-hop song, Milo moves through the kitchen like the music is flowing from his body rather than the small portable speaker on the counter. His khaki shorts show off his surprisingly athletic looking legs, giving way to his bare feet. But his legs aren’t what really steals my attention. No, that’s the charcoal-gray sleeveless undershirt he’s wearing, the full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm on display. The neck of his shirt scoops down just enough to show off a peek of the top of the tribal design on his pec that the sleeve connects to.
While all of that is sexy as hell, none of that is what is making my mouth water. Nope. It’s something else entirely.
Milo Hayes is cooking.
I step inside, as quietly as I can. I highly doubt I can make it all the way across the apartment without being seen, but a girl can try.
“Hey!” Milo calls.
Five steps. Not bad.
He taps his phone, stopping the music, and I turn to look at him, pretending like my heart isn’t racing like it’s competing at the Indy 500. Milo smiles softly at me and I relax, reminding myself who this is. Who we are.
Roommates. Almost siblings. Who cares if he accidentally saw me naked and masturbating and now knows my deepest secret?
“Hi. Whatcha making?”
“Just mac ’n cheese.”
Just mac ’n cheese? Is this man crazy?
I drop my bag, kicking off my shoes and placing them at the mat by the door. Inhaling deeply, I walk into the kitchen, examining the baking dish sitting on top of the stove. Sure enough, this is the real deal. Multiple cheeses melted into and mixed in with a roux, before folded over pasta and topped with breadcrumbs. A quick glance down at the counter reveals a loaf of bread and food processer, meaning these breadcrumbs are real, not store-bought. Fuck, yes.
“Milo, there is nothing just about mac ’n cheese. Especially real deal mac ’n cheese. I know you know it’s my fave. Especially if that’s Hayes mac ’n cheese.”
He laughs, the deep vibrato making my insides feel just as gooey as that cheese. “It is.”
Fuck, I have died and gone to heaven. Hayes mac ’n cheese, made by a sexy-as-sin Hayes man? Yeah…I’m done for.
“It was your first day at your first big girl job. I figured that was worth celebrating.” He gives me a wink, turning away from me to put the dish in the oven.
My first big girl job? Well then, if Milo’s going to talk to me the same way he and Brandt did when they took the training wheels off my bike, then I’d say seeing me naked is irrelevant. Thank goodness.
“Seriously? Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. I’m sure you had better things to do with your afternoon.”
Milo shrugs his tattooed left shoulder, stepping into me, winking again. My insides melt a little more. This is dangerous.
“I wanted to. You deserve it.”
I sigh, my heart grateful for not only the gesture, but how much he cares. I’m lucky to have him in my life.
“Also, I was thinking.”
“Uh-oh, that’s dangerous,” I quip.
Milo chuckles, stepping in closer, the gap between us now no more than a foot. My pulse kicks into high gear, his musky scent filling my nostrils. I don’t know if that’s his cologne or deodorant or some soap, but damn, he smells good. So good it might fry my brain.
“Whatcha doin’ Friday? ”
Friday? Ummmm…
“Errr…ahhh…studying?” I hope that’s the right answer.
“Take a night off.”
“Any particular reason?”
A list of possible answers rushes through my mind. The most likely is that he needs my help again at Pour Decisions. Which, if that’s what he needs, he can consider it done. I’m not only happy to help, but it’s the least I can do since I’m squatting in his apartment all summer.
“I’m taking you out.”
Record scratch—he's what?
Milo must see the confusion register on my face, because he steps into me even more, this time, taking my hand.
“Let me start over. Brenna, would you like to go out with me on Friday?”
“Like a date?”
Like a date? Oh good gracious, who asks that? Like a date. Of course it’s not a date.
“Yes, like a date.”
I stand corrected.
“You want to take me on a date?” My voice squeaks, betraying me and my excitement.
Milo Hayes wants to take me on a date. Well, dear diary, your preteen fantasies are coming true.
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday?—”
“Ugh, could we not?”
“No, we’re gonna. I hate to see you upset, always have. Yesterday was no exception. And I can’t fix everything in this world, but this, this I can. No, not fix. Because you don’t need fixing, Brenna. Change, that’s a better word. This I can change.”
“Milo, you don’t have to do this.”
“Bren,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. “This isn’t about have to, this is about want to . I want to take you. I want to show you what it’s like to experience a second date. And in order for there to be a second, there has to be a first. So, what d’ya say? Go out with me Friday night?”
My heart soars. Milo Hayes want s to take me on a date. How does a girl say no to that?
She doesn’t. That’s how.
I let my smile loose, a giggle escaping with it. I can’t help it. Because I’m giddy.
“I’d love to.”
“Good.”
He squeezes my hand again, keeping the small gap between us. Looking down at me, his blue eyes sparkle, upping my giddiness.
“Can I ask where we’re going?”
“You can ask.” He smirks. “But I’m not gonna tell you. It’s a surprise.”
Oh boy…
His smirk grows and he starts to lean in. My whole body is on high alert, calling out to the universe, trying to manifest something out of thin air. It’s not too much to also want a kiss, right? I mean, I did just get asked out.
Milo continues to lean, and I’m starting to think the universe might be listening to me.
At least until my phone goes off.
“Shut Up and Dance” blares through the air, causing both Milo and me to jump. He doesn’t let go of my hand though, a fact I’m all too aware of as I try to step back. It causes me to pause, locking eyes with him again. The song continues, and I silently curse it, praying for it to end. I can call her back.
“You should probably get that,” Milo tells me.
“I can call her back later. We play phone tag all the time.”
“No, answer it. Tell her about your first day and all the times Mr. Hovland tried to guilt you into staying. Dinner will be ready in twenty. ”
One more wink and he drops my hand, my heart going with it. I nod though, agreeing that I need to talk to Mell. I do have a lot to tell her. Although maybe not everything.
No, definitely not everything.
Because not everything needs to be shared.