Page 1 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

1

BRENNA

“You cut your hair.”

My older brother’s declaration sounds almost accusatory rather than surprised, filling the large open space of his loft-style apartment. I whip around, my eyes immediately landing on the offending subject.

Standing just inside the front door is Milo Hayes, Brandt’s best friend since before I was born, rubbing the back of his neck, like he’s ashamed of the new look. He shouldn’t be. He looks good.

Then again, Milo Hayes always looks good.

“Yeah,” he replies, shaking his head. “Not on purpose. Mae's got a new gal at Dye Hard, and well…”

He doesn’t need to finish his thought. All three of us know exactly what he’s thinking. This isn’t the first time that Mae has tried to bring in someone to help her out at the local salon here in Hickory Hills. It also won’t be the last, since none of them seem to stay very long.

“She at least shake her tits at you as a make good?” Brandt jokes. Well, half jokes, since we all know that’s exactly what Mae did.

“It doesn’t look bad,” I offer, ignoring my brother’s comment, and already missing the trademark curl that always fell in front of his forehead, his messy dark locks much less unruly at this shorter length. “In fact, it almost makes you look…younger.”

“Younger? Are you calling me old?” he retorts, walking into the apartment.

“I mean, you’re thirty-eight. You are old,” I tease.

I’m well prepared for the looks both Milo and my brother throw at me. I don’t even bother to hide my laughter either. What kind of little sister would I be if I didn’t toss out that kind of torment?

Not that I believe either of them are old. But I can’t not walk through that wide-open door.

“We’re not old,” Brandt corrects me. “You’re just a child.”

I scoff playfully, shifting from my position on the couch, carefully balancing my study materials in my lap. “I’m twenty-six now. I’ve not only graduated from college, but pharmacy school. And when I pass the boards in a couple of months, I’ll legally be able to dole out meds to old fogies like you.”

“Keep talking like that and Milo has full permission to throw you out on your ass this summer. Ship you right back to Mom and Dad’s so you can study amid the chaos.”

Brandt pushes past me, ruffling my hair as if I’m still six, climbing the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time. I scoff in response, not only to the hollow threat, but to the hair ruffle. Because I know there is no way he’d kick me out. Hell, my moving in here for the summer while he’s gone was his idea.

There might be twelve years between us, but Brandt and I have always had a unique bond. Much more so than he’s ever had with our middle sister, Bryce. Not to say that the Rawlins family isn’t close—we are. But Brandt and I are absolutely two halves of the same bun.

“You wouldn’t dare…” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

“Fuck around and find out, kid!” he calls down from his bedroom.

How the hell did he even hear me? Sound doesn’t carry that well in here. Especially up to the bedrooms.

The large, loft-style apartment is on the second floor of the old warehouse building that now houses the Southern Brothers Brewing storeroom and Pour Decisions, their taproom that they’ve opened to the public. With two large bedrooms on opposites sides of the apartment—Milo's lofted above the kitchen and Brandt’s over the bathroom—vaulted ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the field and brewery, the place is airy, modern, and comfortable. It’s also a bachelor pad through and through.

Still, it’s better than moving back home.

“Brenna!” Brandt shouts.

Or, maybe it’s not…

“What?” I holler back, half annoyed, half unsure what on earth he could need now.

“Where’s my rain jacket?”

“How would I know?”

Milo saunters into the living room, shaking his head, snickering. He glances at his watch, then over at me, one eyebrow quirked upward, silently asking the obvious question. I shrug in return, holding up my hands in surrender. I’m just the little sister—I don’t have answers.