23. Beck
Beck
Brooke likes June’s porch swing. And somewhat foolishly, I look for her on it every time I am coming or going from my house.
I’m glad I braved the naked old men at the gym facility attached to the hospital after my lengthy E.R.
shift, because today I do not smell like antiseptic and fried onions.
I’m doubly glad because, as I pull into the shared portion of my and June’s driveway, my eyes track to June’s porch swing, where Brooke sits.
Brooke sees me, hops up, and waves. It almost looks like she’s waving me over, but I can’t tell for sure.
I roll down the window, and she runs down the porch steps and to my truck.
I guess she did want to see me.
“Hey, Beck!” she says through a slightly labored breath. “I know you’re busy, but could you help me with something?”
“Sure,” I say, my eyes tracking to her lips as she bites the bottom one, but what I really mean is, Absolutely, I’ll help you with anything. Is it by chance mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?
“I’m looking for a job, but I can’t figure out what’s a good place to work around here.”
“Oh.” My shoulders deflate. She wants me to help her find a job. A job means she won’t be sitting on June’s porch swing all the time. I really like her on that porch swing.
“It’s just that I’m here for a while, and Meemaw’s doing better, so I need something to do.”
My mind glitches. She’s here for a while. Of course she should find a job. Maybe a job she loves so much she’ll stay forever.
“Tourist season is winding down, but maybe Logan will know something,” I suggest. “Or maybe Ben?”
“Would you ask? I need something to do.” Her fingers grip the side of my car over the window, and she looks conspiratorially from side to side. “I’m losing my mind.”
“I would have thought that taking care of June was a full-time job,” I drawl.
Brooke beams at my joke as she tucks the one pink strand of hair that always seems to be escaping from her ponytail behind her ear. The woman actually understands my humor.
“It can be, but we both need a little space. She’s used to her quiet time, and by quiet time, I mean time to watch her soap opera shows without me around.”
“I thought her favorite show was Beverly Hillbillies .”
“Oh, it is,” Brooke says as she absentmindedly fingers the ponytail resting over her shoulder. “But I like that one too, so she doesn’t have to watch it alone.”
“Is that why you’re always on the porch swing?” I ask.
She flushes a light pink in return. “No…” She doesn’t look me in the eye. “I just like the porch swing. Nice…scenery out here and all.”
The way she doesn’t meet my gaze directly makes me think that maybe she’s on the swing because she’s looking for me. A thrill works its way up my heart, and never mind the fact that it’s eight in the morning and I’m exhausted after a long shift.
I turn the truck off. “I can help you look for something now, if you’d like.”
Brooke’s smile seems to have the same effect on me as straight caffeine. My heart beats a little faster, and suddenly, I’m wide awake.
Brooke steps back as I open the door and start walking to June’s porch along with her.
“So what do you want to do?” I ask.
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“What sort of job do you want? What things do you like to do?”
“Oh,” she breathes. “I enjoy painting, but that’s not really something I want to do for money, and also, I don’t know, just something fun where I can be around people a few hours a week.”
By now, we’ve reached June’s porch swing, the white paint on the slats chipping a little after years of exposure to mountain air.
Still, the pillows on the swing make it comfortable, and I hold the swing steady as Brooke sits down.
When I sit down, she tucks her legs up under her, and I use my own to start the swing in motion.
“You want to interact with people?” I ask after a moment of silence.
“Definitely.” She nods. “I can’t help it. I’m an extrovert.”
That makes exactly one of us.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and fire off two texts. First to Logan, then to Ben.
Beckett
Brooke is looking for a job. Got anything she could do part-time?
Ben’s response is instantaneous.
Ben
Helping her put down some roots? I can always use another mechanic.
I look over at Brooke, who’s eyeing my phone suspiciously. “You aren’t by chance a certified mechanic, are you?”
“Nope. I didn’t know what to do when the gas tank fell out.”
I smile to myself, because she really didn’t, and I liked getting to rescue her. “Ben is looking for another mechanic, but that doesn’t seem like a good fit.”
“Probably not. Unless people want cars they can’t drive. Actually, are there any rage rooms around here? Maybe I could open one up.”
“Rage room?” I ask, my mind shuffling through images of things like a deck of cards but not landing on anything that makes sense.
“You know, a place people go and break stuff in order to calm down. They’re all the rage .” She elbows my side and wiggles her eyebrows.
I do not laugh. Instead, I fix her with a stern gaze. “Did you just make a dad joke?”
“Low-hanging fruit,” she responds. “Too tempting not to try it out. I can tell that was not your style, though, so I’ll refrain in the future.”
I don’t know what to say to this woman who is so naturally herself around me.
A bit of an enigma, but one I’m enjoying puzzling out.
I study her face, and that scar on her left eye catches my gaze.
My hand reaches out, and I trace the line with my forefinger as she sits perfectly still at my contact.
“What happened?” I ask in a voice far more gravelly than normal.
Her blue eyes widen, and her lips part slightly, and I think she might lean in to kiss me—but then my phone buzzes and breaks the moment.
She sits back abruptly, and I look down at the phone on my lap to hide my disappointment.
Logan
We need someone to do reservation check-ins for the rafting groups twice a week.
I take a moment to collect myself and paste on a smile even though I really wish we weren’t interrupted.
“Good news,” I say with forced cheer. “Logan says they need someone to help with the reservations for rafting groups twice a week.”
“Oh, wow. That’s perfect!”
“I’ll give him your number and you can talk to him about it.”
“Ok. Is there an application?”
“Logan’s family owns the rafting company, so probably not, but you can ask him.” The words are as dry as sand in my mouth. I hate the idea of giving her information to Logan, but I also know he’s my friend, and even if he’s a serial dater, he’s a good person.
But still, jealousy doesn’t taste good.
I click through my contacts and share Brooke Bastion’s contact information with Logan. I know this is the normal and right thing to do in this situation, but Logan is also an extrovert, and Brooke might like him more than me. The two of them together would make an unstoppable force.
The jealous part of me ignites. It’s hard not to wonder if Logan will be more attractive to Brooke when Logan never lacks dates. Women flock to the man.
Brooke’s phone vibrates, and she pulls it from her pocket. “Oh that’s perfect!” she says, turning her bright smile on me. “Thank you so much! I start tomorrow. Logan said if you vouched for me, I’m good.”
I force a smile back at her obvious enthusiasm even though that means she won’t be sitting on June’s porch swing and waving to me when I leave for work tomorrow.
“Hmm.” She jumps up off the swing and scrolls on her phone for a minute, then begins talking to herself. “I have sturdy shoes, and I have a water bottle, but I don’t have a headlamp.”
“I do,” I blurt.
She blinks at me.
“I have a headlamp. You could use it.”
“Oh, that would be great. Logan said the back room gets dark when grabbing supplies and things.”
I nod, but a huge yawn escapes me.
“I should go tell Meemaw about my job, and you should probably…” She tilts her head, indicating my house.
I push myself off the porch swing, the one hundred yards between mine and June’s house feeling like it might as well be a marathon at this point.
“Hey, Beck.”
I turn and look at her.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I say.
I start to descend the steps when Brooke’s arms wrap around my waist in an awkward hug from behind. She lets go quickly before I can turn around and hug her back the way my body craves.
I give a neighborly wave as I trudge the distance between our houses. The first thing I do when I make it inside my front door is text Logan.
Beckett
You don’t need to hit on Brooke.
Logan’s response comes back less than a minute later. It’s a GIF of Lady and the Tramp eating the impossibly long spaghetti noodle that leads to their dog version of a kiss.
I want to tell Logan to keep his distance, but I also know that he’ll never let me hear the end of it if I stake a claim. Not that he’ll actually do anything when he knows I’m interested in her—he’s too good a friend for that.
Whoever said knowledge is power was right. I know I don’t need to respond. But that same knowledge doesn’t stop me from typing out a terse message.
Beckett
She’s not one of the tourists. She’s going to be your employee. And she’s my neighbor.
Logan
Aye aye, captain.
Logan responds, followed by a winky face emoji.
Sometimes my friends are insufferable, but I also know that he knows not to hit on her, and something about that makes me feel just the tiniest bit better as I collapse on my bed.
I fall asleep thinking about that tiny pink line of scar tissue on Brooke’s face and how it looks like a paintbrush.