14. Brooke
Brooke
What does one wear on a hiking date with their attractive neighbor? Technically, their meemaw’s neighbor, but semantics.
I settle on a pair of black athletic capris, a pink short sleeve top, and a light pink jacket. It’s still cool in the mornings here in the mountains. When I told Meemaw about our date last evening, she laughed and clapped her hands together like a child.
“I knew it!” she exclaimed and then turned to her friend who brought us dinner—Miss Essie—and told her all about how I would be getting married before long.
It was a lot. But part of me really wants to believe that it will be that way.
That Beck and I might work out. I was the little girl who dreamed of being a princess, rescued by her prince on a white horse.
Beck isn’t the prince I imagined, but I’m willing to shove my childish imaginings aside and experience real life, and a real date, with Beck.
A knock on the front door startles Meemaw awake from where she’s been dozing on the couch.
I spring up off the floral cushion and smooth out the non-existent wrinkles from my athletic outfit.
When I open the door, Beck stands there with his hat in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.
I can’t see his full face over the bouquet, but his eyes are bright, and if I had to guess, he’s smiling.
“Miss June,” he says to Meemaw as I usher him inside. “These are for you.” He shows her the flowers, and she smiles.
“He’s a gentleman, Brooke.” She nods in approval at me.
“I try,” Beck says before turning back to me. As I see his face, I realize he shaved.
He extends the flowers to me, and I take them and put them in a vase for Meemaw. When I return, Beck is sitting on the couch next to Meemaw, asking her questions about her ankle and her recovery.
“How are you getting around now? Any pain?”
“No, no pain, just using that silly scooter thing you brought over.”
Beck brought the scooter over?
He nods solemnly. “And you’re not using the scooter as a step stool, right?”
Meemaw frowns. “This bossy doctor I know told me not to.”
I laugh at their banter. I had thought that Beck was annoyed by Meemaw, but it seems that under that gruffness, there’s a heart of gold.
“You’ll be alright while I’m gone?” I ask Meemaw while I set the vase of flowers and a glass of water by her.
“Yes, stop worrying about me.” “But you’ll call if you need anything, right?”
“Brookie, I am not about to ruin your date. I need my granddaughter to get married because so far, none of my grandchildren have. I’m getting up there in years and only have so many left where I can do all those new-fangled dances like the Macarena.”
Visions of Meemaw doing the Macarena fly through my mind, and it’s all I can do to not snort in laughter. A glance at Beck shows his hand curled into a fist and covering his mouth. He’s also struggling not to laugh.
“I’m glad you’re doing better, Miss June,” Beck says as he stands up from the couch. “I’ll have her back by two this afternoon.”
“As long as there’s a marriage at the end of this, any time you bring her home is fine.”
Beck’s cheeks flush, and I intervene. “I’ll be back by two, Meemaw, and call if you need anything.”
Beck clears his throat. “You can call Ben if you need something right away. He’s not working this morning ... if for some reason we don’t have service on the trail.”
“Go on now, you two, enough hen pecking at me.”
I shrug as Beck looks at me, his eyes snagging on my long braid with the pink streaks before he looks down at my feet. I’m not wearing any shoes because I’m inside.
“You need some good shoes,” Beck says as we walk to the door with an awkward amount of space between us.
“I have some hiking boots on the porch.”
“Good.”
I open the door and step onto the porch as Meemaw calls out, “You two need to figure out how to talk to each other. It’s like dry cornbread without butter or honey listening to you.”
My entire face flushes at Meemaw’s comment as I shut the door on my meddlesome grandmother’s commentary.
I shove my feet into the hiking boots I left by the door and grab the bag I left next to them.
It’s an over-the-shoulder single-strap backpack with my ID, phone, debit card, and a snack, and of course it’s pink.
“You never said where we’re going.” I look up from my crouched position as I tie the bright pink laces of my hiking boots.
Beck’s brow furrows. “Is everything you own pink?”
I blink at him. That was not the response I expected. “No, not everything, but it is my favorite color, so if I have a choice, I choose pink.”
He nods once. “I thought I’d take you to Long Point. It’s touristy, but it’s the best view of the bridge.”
“Oh, do we get to drive across the bridge to get there?”
“Yeah,” Beck responds before rubbing his hand on his bare chin. It’s like he can’t believe the beard is gone either. “You won’t see much from the bridge while we’re driving, but if you’re here for Bridge Day…”
“Bridge Day?”
“It’s an annual day every year in October.
The Bridge closes to traffic, and people BASE jump and do all sorts of really dangerous stunts that I can’t condone as an E.R.
doctor, but it’s also a big festival and loads of fun.
I haven’t been in years, but if you’re still here, I could show you around. ”
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him say so many words at one time, and the undercurrent of nervousness in his voice makes butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“Sounds fun.” I smile at him and am rewarded when his smile lights his eyes. It’s a different look, seeing him without the beard, but I really like it.
We reach his truck, and he opens the door for me. I inhale his woodsy, soapy scent, and also catch a whiff of something I can’t identify. It’s familiar, but foreign.
I buckle in as Beck crosses in front of the truck and taps the hood while he passes by.
I watch the muscles in his forearms flex as he clicks the buckle into place, starts the truck, and pulls away from the drive.