22. Milo
22
MILO
“Have you heard about the rising political tensions between yogurt and penicillin?” Brenna asks.
I give her a sideways glance, trying to be nonchalant, but she doesn’t even notice me. Probably better that way. Still, I keep my ears perked as I sip my Party Mode, waiting for the rest of her joke.
“One’s probiotic, while the other’s antibiotic. They’re calling it a culture war.”
She sticks the landing perfectly, and I do my best to hold back my laugh, not wanting to give away my eavesdropping. Ewan groans, shaking his head, but I have no doubt he’ll be tucking that one away to add to his dad joke collection.
“Shit, she’s as bad as you are,” Gus comments, his own beer hovering at his lips.
I throw a look to my left, the large dinner table on our parents’ back porch separating us. My older brother’s dark features, paired with his semi-permanent grumpy expression, make him look older than he is today, and I wonder if something is eating at him. Gus has always been the serious one, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he doesn’t need to, and it worries all of us that it’s going to catch up with him sooner rather than later.
I lift one shoulder carelessly, liking that he thinks that about Brenna and me. Maybe a little too much. I shift in my seat, turning so I can watch Brenna, who is settled into one of the Adirondack chairs on the far side of the deck, deep in conversation with Ewan and Willa. She looks beautiful in her long, flowy sundress, even if it does hide her legs.
More important than how beautiful she is, is how at ease she is. Like this is any other Sunday. To be fair, in some ways, it is. Hanging out with my family isn’t new for her. But hanging with my family as something other than Brandt’s sister is. Even if whatever that something is remains undefined. Today might be a lower-key afternoon—with Anton, Jace, and Nash helping Anton’s best friend, Cary Adler, Hayes’s chief horticulturist, in the groves since it’s the height of peach season—but that doesn’t change that she didn’t bat an eye when I mentioned coming here today.
“This is…real, huh?” he asks, keeping his voice low enough so only we can hear.
“No, it’s make-believe,” I quip, rolling my eyes.
“No, I…I mean…” he stammers. He leans, then swallows hard, as if he’s trying to find the right words so he doesn’t offend me. “I thought you said there was nothing there.”
I did. I did say that. I lied when I said that, but I did indeed say that. Taking a long drag of my beer, I search for a response, one that will satisfy my older brother. The guy who told me to end it.
The sliding door opens, and for a second, I think maybe I’m saved. Until I look over and realize that the person walking out and joining us at the table is the brother who told me that best friend’s little sisters are bad news.
Great. Just fucking great.
“There wasn’t. Now maybe there is. ”
There. That’s an answer. We’ll go with that.
“There is what?” Hux ask, cracking open a Sob Story.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Gus continues.
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
I stare at him pointedly, trying to make it clear that I don’t give a damn what he thinks. He should know this by now. We’ve been brothers for thirty-eight years, and in all this time, I can probably count on one hand the number of instances that I cared what he thought.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but Gus and I are not exactly aligned when it comes to lifestyle choices. Hence why he’s Hayes’s Executive Vice President and heir apparent, and I brew beer.
“Nope, but you’re gonna get it. Because as your boss?—”
“Not my boss,” I remind him.
“As EVP, Southern Brothers falls under me,” he chides. “Should this cause a rift, it’s not just with your best friend, but your business partner.”
Thank you, August, I am aware of whose sister she is…
“Ohhhhh…” Hux mutters.
“Are you done being the harbinger of joy? I’d hate for us to be having too much fun in this conversation. Might make the others jealous and ruin the whole afternoon.”
My response is nastier than I intend. Then again, what he said to me wasn’t exactly kind. I get that he’s worried, although it might be nice if he was worried about me as a brother rather than an asset to his business. I also resent the fact that he assumes that I am unaware of the risk here. That it’s not just my feelings—my heart—that’s in play. That my longest friendship could be at risk.
A knot tightens in my chest—the one that resurfaces every time I think about this. Part of the reason I keep trying not to think about it. Something that is surprisingly easy when I’m around Brenna. Letting my eyes land on her now, her laugh settling in around me, I push that thought from my mind, replacing it with the memory of her draped across me this morning, the warmth of her body cocooning me, her breath tickling my skin.
I’d like to go back to that…
“Not to mention, twelve years is a hell of an age gap,” Gus comments.
Fuck, he cannot let this go.
“Like you fucking have room to talk,” Hux snaps. “Smudging phone numbers in airport bars.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Hux rolls his eyes. “He who can’t successfully save a hot girl’s phone number doesn’t get to give shit to he who…” he trails off, unsure how to finish the thought. Honestly, I’m curious myself. “Anyone. Doesn’t get to give shit to anyone.”
Nice save…
“Why can’t Gus give anyone shit?” Willa calls over from the chairs.
“Because he doesn’t know the difference between a 3 or an 8,” I remark.
“I know the difference.”
“Do you though?”
Pushing up from their chairs, Willa, Ewan, and Brenna make their way over to the table, joining us. Willa slides into the open seat next to Hux, a mischievous smile taking over, while Ewan silently plops into the spot on the very end. I reach out to Brenna, stopping her before she can sit down next to me. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I tug her into me, her giggle ringing out into the thick summer air, making my dick stiffen as she lands in my lap.
I can’t help but steal a kiss—partly because she’s so damn irresistible and partly to annoy Gus. She tastes as sweet as the peaches half my family is out harvesting, and it’s hard to stop, wanting more and more of her. That I have to save for later though.
“Have we told you that story?” I ask her as she pulls back.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not that I know every Hayes story, but I think I’d remember a story about one of y’all struggling to learn your numbers.”
“Oh, this wasn’t a learning story,” Hux says. “This was last fall.”
“What?” Brenna’s eyes go wide, and she shifts in my lap to face my older brother. “Gus!”
“Oh, for the love!” Gus throws his hands up, his grumpiness showing.
Willa laughs, then launches into the story, more than happy to sell Gus down the river. Despite not being there, she doesn’t leave out a single detail about Gus’s adventure getting stuck in JFK airport last fall thanks to a thunderstorm. Granted, if anyone would know, it’s her, since his getting stuck meant that he didn’t make it back to Atlanta in time to help get Bronwyn to Hickory Hills as planned, but that’s a different story.
By the time she’s done, we’re all laughing—even Gus. Who has busted out the photo he took of the smudged phone number on his hand, showing it off to Brenna.
“To be fair, I’m not sure I would have thought about the pen smudging either,” she sympathizes.
“See!” Gus exclaims.
“Nope,” Hux says, taking a drink.
“Also, for what it’s worth, I think that’s a three, not an eight.”
I lean over her shoulder, taking another look at the photo. I agree with her, but I’m keeping that to myself, letting her opinion stand on its own. Last thing I need to do is give Gus any more ammo on the “Brenna is a bad idea” argument.
Squeezing her hip, I tickle her side. She wiggles in my lap, elbowing me playfully as her ass rubs against the semi I’m sporting. There’s no hiding it, so I know she felt it, and I wish I could see more than just her profile to know if her composure broke. It doesn’t look like it from this angle, but based on Willa’s smile, I have a sneaky expression it might have.
“Well, it’s a moot point now,” Gus says, his voice resigned. Brenna hands him back his phone, giving him a serene smile.
“What’s a moot point?” Miss Belle asks, breezing onto the deck, a serving platter in one hand and a jug of her famous sweet tea in the other.
Brenna hops up out of my lap, skipping over to Mama to help, taking the sweet tea wordlessly. The bright smile on my mother’s face kicks up a notch, and it’s impossible to miss the look she gives me as Brenna turns back toward the table. As if she’s reading my mind that there’s something special about this one. A lot special.
Right behind Miss Belle is Auggie with the sides, completing dinner. We all settle in, digging into the simple summer meal of chicken salad sliders, with pasta salad, potato salad, fresh sliced tomatoes, and fried okra. If I know my mama, and I do, that’s Helena Wilder’s chicken salad recipe, which means that it’s the best chicken salad in Knox County, if not all of Georgia.
“So, the big test is comin’ up, huh, Brenna?” Auggie asks once we’ve all finished the initial shovel of food into our mouths.
“Wednesday,” she sighs. “Ready or not…”
“You’re ready,” I assure her.
“I’m glad you’re so confident.”
“When will you know the results?” Miss Belle asks.
“Seven to fourteen business days.”
“And what do you need to pass?” Gus asks.
“A seventy-five. Only, that’s not a percent; that’s a score. It’s hard to explain, because it’s scaled…and well, it’s really co mplex. And actually, all I’ll receive initially is a pass or fail. I can go find out the actual score later, but the initial results are just pass or fail.”
“No pressure,” Ewan mutters.
Brenna nods, taking a big bite of her chicken salad. I can feel the nerves radiating off her, and wish there was something I could do to ease them. She’s been battling them all week, and the only thing I’ve found that takes her mind off the possibility of failing is distracting her—usually with my mouth. Although my dick has done its fair share as well.
Not that I’m complaining.
“I just hope I pass. I’m not sure I can study any more. Plus, I’d really like to start actually making plans for my life.”
“No job offers?” Gus inquires. Because of course he does.
“I have a standing offer with a major box store. There’s a pharmacist shortage in the country right now, so they basically walked into the pharmacy school and offered everyone a job on the spot who wanted one, pending the passing of the NAPLEX. I don’t have any desire to work there. If I go the retail route, I’d prefer something smaller. Some place that I can actually work with people rather than just fill endless prescriptions. But there’s also this smaller, boutique chain based out of Savannah that is looking to open a store on Somerset Island, and they’ve been in touch. That’s also dependent on passing my boards, of course, but it’s nice to know I have options.”
“Word has it that Mr. Hovland wants you to stay here,” Miss Belle comments.
He’s not the only one…
I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. It’s not the first time I’ve had it, but same as before, I dismiss it. I won’t put that on her. It’s part of why I haven’t asked her if she views us as more than a fling. I want her to be able to make any and all choices about her future independent of me. As she should. Brenna needs to chase her dream, in whatever form that comes, without some almost middle-aged beer brewer playing into things.
“He has expressed that opinion…”
“To everyone,” Willa adds. “He felt the need to tell me. Like I have some sway in Brenna’s decision-making process.”
Ahh, small towns…
Hux jumps, whipping his phone from his back pocket. Face contorting, he pushes back, turning away as he answers it.
“Dolly?” Auggie asks.
“Because there is someone else who would make him react like that?” Ewan retorts.
“Like you wouldn’t react the exact same way if Maisey called?” Willa tosses at him, eyebrows raised, a look on her face that says she already knows the answer.
Ewan shifts uncomfortably, the mention of the one who got away like an ice bath to the conversation. “So, Brenna, once you pass, what do you plan to do with all the extra time you have from not studying?”
“Good question. I’ve spent so long in school, I don’t even know. Guess I’ll have to find a new hobby.”
“We could teach you to shoot or fish?” he suggests.
Brenna crinkles her nose, the idea not sitting well. “Maybe something else. Milo also needs a hobby though, so come Thursday, I’ll start working on one for both of us.”
“I have a hobby. I brew beer,” I tell her.
“No, that’s your job. We’ve had this discussion—your livelihood cannot also be your hobby.”
“She makes a good point, son,” Auggie says.
I sit back. She really does. And we have talked about it a bunch. Because brewing beer did start out as a hobby. Well, the illegal still we made in high school was what started it, but that turned to beer in college. Which turned into Southern Brothers. And as much as I love it, my job is not my hobby.
There’s no denying I’ve been too focused on it for too long. The fact that I haven’t been able to come up with a name for our latest creation when all the others came so naturally should tell me something.
Plus, a new hobby—one of Brenna’s choosing—is a great excuse to spend time with her. Zero complaints here.
“Fine, we’ll get a hobby.”
Brenna nods victoriously, then rises to clear the table. I tug on her arm, stopping her. Giving her a wink, I grab her plate, then some of those around us, and head into the house. The air conditioning hits me hard, sending a chill through me, but does nothing to cool my ardor, my dick still twitching at the thought of that yellow fabric flowing over her hips.
“I still think twelve years is a hell of an age gap,” Gus says, coming up behind me, putting the plates he collected down on top of mine. “But she clearly makes you happy.”
Well then…
“She does.”
“As long as you know what you’re doing.”
“Not a fucking clue, man. And I bet if the stars had aligned with airport bar angel, you’d have felt the same way.”
Gus shrugs. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
“That’s the goal.”