24. Milo
24
MILO
I stare at the brightly colored poster plastered to the window of Hickory Hills Drugs, my hand wrapped around the handle of the door, my whole body frozen midmovement. I know I have a dirty mind—that has never, ever been in question—but I cannot be the only one who sees this.
Staring back at me from this year’s Rhythm and Brews poster is a dick.
The longer I look at it, the less sure I am what it’s supposed to be, because the clearer it is that it’s a dick. Complete with streams of expulsion jetting from the top. Whoever the owner of the scribbled signature at the bottom of the illustration is, they should be damn proud of getting this past the old ladies on the committee. Hell, I’m proud for them. Might need to see if they want a job.
Laughing, I walk into the store, nodding at Libby in greeting as I walk to the back toward the pharmacy counter. I can hear voices wafting through the air, and I steel myself, ready for the inevitable third degree.
Until I feel my phone buzz.
I pause, reaching into my pocket, saying a little prayer it’s not Ben. For whatever reason, he seemed a little jumpy when I walked out of Pour Decisions earlier, even though everything was exactly as it should be. He knows what to do, and with no special events planned for tonight, the evening should be uneventful. Tell that to my racing pulse.
The same racing pulse that kicks into hyper speed with the name on the screen. Because it’s not Ben. It’s Brandt.
I swallow hard, knowing that I should pick up. I have no excuse not to talk to him. I should want to talk to him. He’s my best friend. My business partner.
And there’s a part of me that does want to answer this call, then without even saying hello, tell him I can’t talk because I’m on my way to surprise this girl that I’m oddly crazy about and so I’m going to have to call him back. But I can’t.
Because that girl is his baby sister.
So I let it go to voicemail.
“I was just telling Hattie that there might be some trouble between Dana and Marc. I haven’t seen the two of them out together all summer. Not once. He’s been picking up all sorts of extra shifts at the firehouse. Every time someone’s looking to switch, there’s Marc! Sounds to me like he doesn’t wanna go home,” Mrs. Chamberlain says, as if those two things right there were enough to end the entire world.
I turn my focus back to the matter at hand, shoving my guilt for ignoring Brandt’s call down deep enough that it’ll soon be a distant memory.
Mr. Hovland shakes his head. “Oh no, that’s not it at all. They’re trying for a baby. She’s been in here buying up every ovulation kit and pregnancy test I got. He needs all those extra shifts just to pay for them.”
I roll my eyes. Gotta love small towns. It’s no wonder Willa went to such lengths to keep her secret when she thought she was knocked up. These folks would have eaten that up so fast.
Mrs. Chamberlain shifts, keeping her back to me, leaning in toward the older pharmacist. No doubt her eyes are wide with interest, her curiosity piqued with what else he knows. Fine by me. It gives me the chance to sneak past.
Brenna looks up, just in time to see me heading her way. Her face lifts, eyes brightening as a smile takes over, stretching from ear to ear. My stomach does a somersault, unable to handle just how fucking gorgeous she looks in her lab coat. Yeah, I said it. She looks gorgeous in a lab coat.
Holding my finger up to my lips, I signal to her to be quiet. I slip up to the high counter, raising my arms up to lean against it.
“Hi, beautiful,” I whisper.
“Hi! Whatcha doing here? Need a prescription filled?”
Her voice is light and flirty, and the look she is giving me makes me want to hop over this counter and kiss her until we both can’t breathe.
“Well, there is something I’m suffering from that I think maybe you might have the remedy for.” I give her a wink, letting her mind take that wherever she wants. That’s not how I want to start this evening though. End it, sure. But not start. “Before that, however, I was thinkin’ maybe we could try this surprise thing again.”
Brenna covers her smile with her hand, muffling a giggle. “You know, I did just fine with the murder mystery dinner.”
“You did. But I told you dinner was involved there, so…”
Brenna purses her lips, narrowing her eyes, like she’s trying to come up with some witty comeback. My pulse speeds up in anticipation, excited to see what she comes back with.
“Milo Hayes!”
And then there’s that bucket of ice-cold water .
I spin on my heel, turning to face my former math teacher, forcing the most charming smile I can muster. I can hear Brenna’s exasperated sigh behind me, and my heart has never felt more connected to another human. Ever.
“Mrs. Chamberlain. Lovely as always. New Rhythm and Brews posters I see,” I comment, unable to help myself.
“Yes!” she replies, looking proud. At least until her gaze lands on my T-shirt. The stick figure humping the word “it” proudly displayed on the front sours her expression, her look of disapproval flicking upward quickly. It hasn’t changed in twenty years. “Nice to see that your sense of humor has remained consistent since you left my class, Milo.”
Brenna chokes out a laugh, making me smile. I remain silent, undeterred by the town gossip’s commentary.
“Andy Cowherd—he’s a junior in my class this year—drew up this design, and we just fell in love with it. The second I saw it, I thought, that needs to go on the poster!”
Grabbing a rolled-up sheet from the counter, she unfurls it and shows it off to the group. Mr. Hovland nods in approval, but Brenna gasps, and I immediately know that she sees the same thing I do.
That’s my girl…
“It’s a…” Brenna starts.
“A silo with grain,” Mrs. C. continues. “I know it’s a bit different from our usual focus on the BBQ aspect of the festival, but we figured it was a nice change. And grain is used in the brews part.”
“Sure is,” I offer.
“I think they look great,” Mr. Hovland adds. “We can put one up back here!”
He takes the poster from Mrs. Chamberlain, and we all watch as he tapes it up to the side of a metal shelving unit. Brenna turns to me, trying to be sly, her eyes still wide and barely holding in her laugh. And I know this is my cue .
“Mr. Hovland, I know it’s not quite closing time, but I was wondering if just this once, I might be able to steal Miss Brenna a bit early?”
“Oh, well, I?—”
“Why?”
I stop, the single-word question from my former teacher catching me off guard. It shouldn’t. I’ve been expecting it. It’s long overdue, really. Somehow though, I think that deep down, I thought that maybe I’d gotten away with it. That I wasn’t going to get questioned. I should have known better.
“Because.”
“That is not an answer, Milo Hayes,” she scolds.
Touché.
“Truthfully, Mrs. Chamberlain,” I say, turning to face her fully, leaning against the counter, “it’s a surprise for my girl. And I’d prefer not to spoil it by announcing it in the middle of the drugstore in front of God and everybody.”
Leveling me with the same look she did when I sassed her as a teenager, the now well into middle-aged woman takes a moment to consider my response. I stand my ground, not willing to give in on this one. My plans for Brenna are mine and mine alone.
“As long as your intentions are honorable,” she says, acquiescing after a long moment of silence.
They most certainly are not…
“When have my intentions ever been anything but?”
Her eyes flick down to my T-shirt, then back up at me, looking down her nose at me the whole time. I shrug, giving her a polite nod, because frankly, there’s nothing left to say. I just fueled this town’s rumor mill for the next week, easy. Maybe the next two.
I turn to Mr. Hovland, still waiting for his blessing. He is the boss, after all, regardless of what Mrs. Chamberlain thinks. He nods, a much more devious smile on his face. Like he’s devising a plan in his head to use this as a way to get Brenna to stay. I’m here in Hickory Hills, which should be all the motivation she needs, right? Sorry, sir, that’s not how we work.
“Bren?”
“Huh?” She looks up from her phone, apprehension mixed into her features.
My insides clench, wondering what could have changed in the ninety seconds I was being interrogated. What popped up on her phone that changed her disposition?
“Shall we?”
“Oh, sure.”
She forces a smile, one that to anyone else wouldn’t look out of place. But I can tell she’s nervous. No, this is more than nervous. Something isn’t right.
I watch as she shrugs out of her lab coat and grabs her bag, waving goodbye to the town elders. Coming out from behind the counter, she slips under my arm effortlessly, but I stop short of kissing her. We’ve given this town enough to talk about today.
“What’s Brandt think about you bein’ an item?” Mrs. Chamberlain asks, angling to get the scoop.
I ignore her but internally bristle. Brandt is one subject we don’t need to think about right now. Especially since I just ignored his call.
Unless that’s why Brenna suddenly went silent.
“Everything okay?” I whisper, saying my own little prayer that it’s something else.
That said, Brandt has a knack for calling one of us, and if he doesn’t get an answer, he immediately calls the other. Probably out of boredom, since we’re essentially the only two people he talks to. Either way, in moments like this, it makes things more than a little tricky .
She nods. “I got an email that my NAPLEX results are posted already. That’s all.”
Oh, that’s all…
I give her a squeeze, leading her toward the front of the store, trying to give her some space from ears that will want to hang on every word of this conversation. Or that are still waiting on an answer to their questions. Which, if she didn’t hear them ask about her brother, then neither did I. We’re silent until we hit the sidewalk, the thick August humidity surrounding us in an instant.
“So, whatcha wanna do? Open them now? At home?”
Brenna sighs. “Can I ask you to ruin the surprise so I can make a decision?”
I smile, looping my arms around her waist, finally giving her that kiss that I’ve been dying for since I saw her inside the store. Our lips press together as if in a choreographed dance, knowing the next move instinctively. I linger here for a moment, drawing it out, not giving a damn that we’re in public. I keep it PG though. For now.
“Sure can. I took that suggestion of yours to try cooking as a hobby and made us dinner. Figured we could go have a picnic and watch the sunset.”
Brenna wraps her fingers in my shirt and tugs me closer, kissing me hard. “That. I want to do that. And once we’re someplace where it’s just us, I’ll open them. That way, if I pass, we can scream and shout and celebrate without disturbing anyone, but if I fail, then no one but you sees me cry.”
“When you pass,” I correct her, pressing my lips to her forehead, ignoring her comment about crying. The only tears today will be happy ones. I’m confident about that. “And I think that sounds like a great plan.”
“I’m nervous.”
The evening sun hangs low in the sky, making the shadows long, giving everything a soft, warm glow. Leaning up against the hood of my truck, with the golden light shining behind her, framing her perfectly, Brenna looks like an angel. One that God sent to this earth just for me.
A smart, chemistry-loving angel who fills out a pair of blue jeans like a dream.
Fuck, I’m a lucky man.
“I know you are,” I tell her, smoothing out the last corner of the blanket I brought for us to sit on. Turning around, I take a moment to drink her in, committing her beauty to memory. Everything about her in this moment is perfect, and I never want to forget it. “When Willa was little and just starting out with her pageants, Miss Belle would tell her that nerves are nothing more than wasted energy. And that she should save it for something more productive.”
“Such as?”
“In her case, I think it was her walk across the stage.”
Brenna giggles, shifting against the grill of my truck, crossing her arms, pushing up her beautiful breasts. My dick twitches, lust rushing through me as all my attention shifts to them for a split second. I try really hard not to be that guy, but sometimes I can’t help it. Especially when she calls attention to them like that. And right now, if left up to me, we’d be putting this conversation on hold so I could focus solely on them.
“And in this one?”
Focus, Milo…
“Err…actually checking the results, rather than just thinking about it.”
Narrowing her gaze at me, Brenna studies me for a moment. Almost as if she can tell that my thoughts were on something other than her test results for a moment. If only she knew how much of my time was spent on other parts of her. Like her breasts. Or those hips.
“Okay, here goes.”
A swift nod, and her thumbs are flying across her phone screen. My heart starts to jackhammer in my chest, my stomach rising into my throat. Apparently I’m a lot more nervous than I realized. It’s not even my test.
These results hold the key to Brenna’s future though, and that’s what matters. Not that her failing is the end of the world, and technically, it would mean that she would stay in Hickory Hills a little longer as she continued to study for a re-sit. But that’s not what I want for her. I want her to succeed. To follow her dream. Whatever that looks like and wherever that takes her.
I meant what I said to her in that sushi place right after she finished the exam. I’m confident that if we decide to continue whatever this is between us and she leaves Hickory Hills, we’ll find a way to make it work. That is, if she wants to. If I’m what she wants.
And shit, I really hope I am. Because she sure as hell is who I want.
Brenna stops, her breath catching. Mine all but stops, my heart right with it. Shit. Fuck. What’s happening? I can’t tell. I need her to do something. Say something.
Slowly, she looks up, tears in her eyes.
Happy tears. Sad tears. I have no idea.
Shit…
“I…I passed…”
Her voice is barely audible, almost drowned out by the crickets that have begun chirping in the dusk that has started to settle, but my heart heard every word as if she had shouted it from the top of the town monument. She passed.
She passed.
“I passed,” she repeats, louder this time .
“You passed.”
Brenna squeals, a happy, high-pitched sound that only the most ecstatic of human beings could produce. It’s borderline earsplitting, but I can’t help but laugh, loving seeing her this happy. Good call on wanting to be in the middle of nowhere.
“I’m a licensed pharmacist! Or I’m going to be. Holy shit!”
She launches herself at me, and I scoop her up, hauling her into me and spinning her around. The weight of her body against mine is heavenly—like something I didn’t realize I missed until it was there again. Lowering her to the ground, I waste no time in kissing her—this time it’s hard, fast, and deep. Like I wanted to kiss her on the sidewalk but couldn’t. I let my tongue find hers, moaning as she bites my lip, and running my fingers through her hair.
I run my hands along her back, slipping them into the back pocket of her jeans and grabbing ahold of her ass. She whimpers, knees wobbling, so I kiss her harder, fighting back the urge to pick her up and fuck her against my truck.
“Milo…” Brenna whispers, pulling back.
The way she says my name makes my head spin. Her kisses are more than enough to make me feel drunk, so I shouldn’t be surprised by the effect, yet here I am.
“Hmmm?”
“Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me for kissing you.”
Giggling, Brenna shakes her head. “I meant for believing in me. And for cooking dinner.”
Oh yeah…dinner…
I step back, putting a couple of inches between us. Just enough space to cool the ardor, allowing me to catch my breath and calm my dick so that I can focus on why I brought her out here in the first place.
“You don’t have to thank me for believing in you either. I’ve always believed in you. Dinner though…here’s hoping it turned out.”
“What’d you make?”
“You’ll see.”
Giving her a wink, I let her go, then head back to the truck to grab the large, insulated transport bag I commandeered from the brew house. While not traditionally used for food—unless you consider beer a food—I figured repurposing it for an evening wouldn’t do any harm, and that the insulation would work in keeping items warm just as well as it does keeping the beer cold. Here’s hoping that worked.
Brenna watches me intently for a moment as I unload everything, but then turns back to the truck. I don’t think anything of it, until I hear the engine turn over and the radio comes on. An old Garth Brooks song blares through the speakers, the familiar melody and fast-paced lyrics about a redhead sneaking out to join her boyfriend at a honky-tonk filling the air.
I park myself on the blanket, the small meal I prepared set up on one edge, a forty of the still nameless brew cracked open next to me. Legs stretched out, I settle in, watching the most beautiful brunette I’ve ever seen dance to a classic country song. Each time she moves, weaving in and out of the low beams of my truck, I think I fall a little more for her.
Watching her like this, all the reasons I told myself she was a bad idea earlier this summer fall away. The age gap, the fact that her older brother is my best friend, her potentially leaving. None of it matters. All that matters is the way she’s hypnotizing me. Weaving her way into my very soul.
Because watching her like this, you’d think I’d never seen a pair of blue jeans before.
I take a long sip of the beer, the light, sweet taste lingering on my tongue. And it finally hits me. That’s what this tastes like. Like falling in love .
With a pair of blue jeans in the low beams…
“What’s that shit-eating grin for?”
Brenna stops midbeat, planting her hands on her hips—those fucking glorious hips—leveling me with a come-hither stare that I swear to God is a challenge.
A challenge I’m more than willing to rise to.
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Miss Rawlins.”
“Sure you don’t…” Sauntering over to me, she gives me a look back that I know mirrors mine. “Then you won’t mind telling me what you’re thinking about.”
“Blue jeans in low beams.”
“Blue jeans in low beams?”
I nod. “Yup. Might be a little long for a beer name, but I think we can make it work. Bronwyn and Rose can probably spruce it up somehow.”
Brenna gasps, hands flying to cover her mouth, eyes as wide as the paper plates I brought. “You did it! You figured it out! Milo!”
Her arms are around my neck in a flash, tackling me to the ground. No complaints from me though. In fact, if I could find a way to hold her like this for the rest of the night, under these stars, I would.
“Blue jeans in low beams…” she says again, pushing up. “I like it. But, what does it represent? Every Southern Brothers beer has a story. A meaning.”
A love story…
“Summer in the country,” I lie.
I might be ready to admit it to myself, but out loud? Naw. Not yet. I’m not sure she has any kind of feeling for me past the I enjoy fucking you kind. Much less the big four-letter kind. I don’t need to be that guy either.
“It’s perfect.”
Much like you, Brenna Rawlins …
“Hungry?” I ask, changing the subject before I say something I can’t take back.
“Very.”
“Good. Because I have what I think is a very exciting surprise.”
I grab the glass baking dish, peeling back the tin foil covering it, as I show it off to Brenna. She inhales deeply, instantly recognizing the smell, mouth falling open in shock.
“Is that…OMG, it is…”
“I spent some time with Miss Harriett this afternoon, making sure I didn’t burn anything.”
“I would have paid money to watch Miss Harriett teach you to fry chicken.”
I throw my head back laughing, setting the dish down so I can serve us. I can’t lie; it probably was a sight. Hayes Industries’ longtime catering manager asked me multiple times if I was trying to prank her—very specifically if she was on that punked show—when I showed up and asked her for her help making my favorite food. Even once I explained that no, it wasn’t a joke, she was still more than a little skeptical. At least until I let her in on my motive of wanting to impress a girl, and then swore her to secrecy since said girl is the daughter of the man who oversees payroll. The end result is still not as good as when she makes it, but it’s good enough to get us through tonight.
“It was a sight, that’s for sure.”
“So, cooking the new hobby?”
I shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see. I will admit, it was fun.”
“See!”
I chuckle, letting her comment remain. She’s right, and we both know it. No need to beat the dead horse. We continue to eat, chatting as we make our way through the chicken and the cornbread Miss Harriett was kind enough to throw in. It’s the perfect summer evening, the sun finally setting and the stars coming out as we finish the last of the Blue Jeans brew. By the end of it, I don’t know what is more full, my belly or my heart. Probably the latter.
Leaving only one thing left.
The soft melody of a slow song floats from the truck. An oldie but goodie, the kind of song that you can’t help but want to dance to, while holding your girl close. Exactly what I plan to do.
Pushing to my feet, I hold out my hand and yank Brenna up and into my arms.
“Dance with me, baby.”