Page 27 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Studying. Studying.” I pause, pretending to ponder. “More studying.”

“Good girl,” she tuts. The vision of a velociraptor swooping in and eating her face sparks a giggle, one that I thankfully manage to suppress. Although, that might stop her from running her mouth… “With both you and MaryEllen back, I wondered if there would be a disturbance⁠—”

“Because Mell and I ever caused a disturbance?”

She must have a very different memory of my teenage years than I do. Or is confusing me with someone else. Like Bryce.

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Burch scowls at me for cutting her off. “I suppose not. You two were some of the better behaved children.”

The high praise continues… It’s gonna be a long summer…

Libby, the store clerk, rescues me, grabbing Mrs. Burch’s attention regarding some product she’d asked about last week. Before I know it, the two of them, plus Mr. Hovland, are armpit deep in a gossip session, leaving me be. I do my best to tune them out—as much as one can when they actually place bets on when we’ll see our first Wilder baby now that Dustin and Kenzie are married.

Before I know it, though, it’s closing time. Being a local store, our hours are limited, meaning I can work from open to close and still be home at a normal hour. Plus Sundays off. Add that to the pro column when considering my future.

The warm summer sun is still going strong on my walk home. Passing each of the local shops in the center of town, I can’t help but smile, enjoying the quaint feel of it all. Because sometimes it is nice to be somewhere everyone knows your name.

Then again, sometimes it’s nice to have a little anonymity too. Because I’m less than a block away from the drugstore and I already had to dodge Tracey Jerald outside The Curio Cabinet, the little local eclectic gift shop she took over from her mama, and have already seen three other people I went to high school with. Two of which had babies. Who knows who else I’ll run into by the time I get down to Sew It Seams, our quilt shop.

And here I am, unable to get a second date.

Ugggh…

I need a distraction. Pulling out my phone, I click on Mell’s name, knowing my bestie will do the trick. I haven’t told her about my conversation with Milo from last night, and am still a little torn on if I should. I know she’ll be supportive—it's not like she doesn’t know about my…situation. Hell, it’s part of the reason she suggested our hot-girl summer. Still, not really sure she needs to know that I halfway confided in older brother 2.0 on the subject. Especially after everything that happened last week.

Still, I’ve never kept anything from her and don’t plan to start. But it’s not really keeping it from her if I simply opt not to overshare, right?

Because something about that confession feels like it should stay between Milo and me.

Maybe that’s because I’m still mortified it even came up. And that I then word vomited it at him. But also because he was so accepting of it. Confused, sure. In that older, protective male figure way who thinks you’re the bee’s knees and that everyone should love you simply because they love you kind of way. But there really was no judgment from him. He was the safe space I needed in that moment. Which makes my heart swoon.

No, not swoon. We’re not swooning over Milo Hayes. We are not six years old anymore.

Mell’s voicemail picks up, and for a second I consider leaving a message. Then I decide against it. She’ll see the missed call and call me back when she can. No need to force her to listen to a voicemail that is going to last all of the three seconds it takes to say, “It’s me, call me back.” Besides, I’m almost home.

Loud music greets me as I click the door to the apartment closed behind me, stopping dead in my tracks. It takes a minute for my brain to catch up with my eyes and process what I’m seeing. Because damn…it’s the stuff of daydreams. And fantasies.

Moving his hips in time with the beat of an old hip-hop song, Milo moves through the kitchen like the music is flowing from his body rather than the small portable speaker on the counter. His khaki shorts show off his surprisingly athletic looking legs, giving way to his bare feet. But his legs aren’t what really steals my attention. No, that’s the charcoal-gray sleeveless undershirt he’s wearing, the full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm on display. The neck of his shirt scoops down just enough to show off a peek of the top of the tribal design on his pec that the sleeve connects to.

While all of that is sexy as hell, none of that is what is making my mouth water. Nope. It’s something else entirely.

Milo Hayes is cooking.

I step inside, as quietly as I can. I highly doubt I can make it all the way across the apartment without being seen, but a girl can try.

“Hey!” Milo calls.

Five steps. Not bad.

He taps his phone, stopping the music, and I turn to look at him, pretending like my heart isn’t racing like it’s competing at the Indy 500. Milo smiles softly at me and I relax, reminding myself who this is. Who we are.

Roommates. Almost siblings. Who cares if he accidentally saw me naked and masturbating and now knows my deepest secret?

“Hi. Whatcha making?”

“Just mac ’n cheese.”

Just mac ’n cheese? Is this man crazy?