Page 32 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Milo, thank you so much. This is…this is a dream,” Brenna gushes as we sit.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” And I am. Thrilled, actually. The whole point of this was to make Brenna happy. To show her what being appreciated by someone can feel like.

“So, so much. I have so many theories. There are still a couple of people I need to talk to, and others I need to circle back to, because I have questions.”

I chuckle. “You seem to be spending a lot of time with Al the Bookie. Flirting.”

My tone is accusatory, even though I don’t mean for it to be. I meant for it be light and teasing. Ooops.

“Jealous?”

“What if I am?”

Yeah, what if I am?

Brenna shakes her head, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m still all yours. At least in real life. In the game, however, I was instructed to flirt with him.”

Oh, well then. Knowing that makes me feel better. A lot better.

“Can I ask you something?”

Her question catches me off guard. Mostly because I don’t know why she would ever think she couldn’t ask me something.

“Always.”

“Do you always go this big for a first date?”

“Not even close. It’s usually just dinner. I don't put this much effort into a date unless she’s—” I cut myself off. We don’t need to go there. Especially since I don’t know the last time I put this much effort in. Or if I ever have.

“Unless she’s…”

You…

“Special.”

Brenna’s eyes go soft, her whole body relaxing in her seat. “You think I’m special?”

Our server shows up, setting down two very full plates of chicken and veggies. They smell amazing, but I can’t dig in quite yet. I need to walk through the door I just opened.

Reaching across the table, I take Brenna’s hand, squeezing it. “Bren, of course I do. And before you dismiss it, I don’t just mean little sister special. I mean actually special. You are worth being treated like this, whether it’s by me or any other guy out there.”

As if I stole the voice right out of her, much like Ursula did Ariel in the Little Mermaid, Brenna simply mouths “thank you.” Mimicking her, I mouth back “welcome,” then nod to her dinner. She’s silent for another moment, surveying her plate, but quickly launches into all her theories about the whodunit. I nod along, pretending to follow her spiderweb of a thought process. I didn’t pay nearly as much attention as she did. I was too busy watching her shine.

Before I know it, dinner is over, and we’re back for Act Two, with more questions and monologues from the characters. This time, me included. I have to admit, this is fun. Certainly not something I’d sign up to do weekly, but I can see why these types of events are popular.

With the party winding down, Edgar instructs us to make our final guesses. Brenna leans against a high-top cocktail table, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she thinks. For a second, I think about cracking a joke about it or telling her how cute she looks while she thinks, but then I think better of it. I don’t dare break her concentration.

“There are just so many options,” she admits, looking up at me. “We can rule out Senior. He wasn't happy with Junior for wanting to finance Henry Palmetto’s play, but he admits that it was Junior’s money to do with what he wished. I also don’t think that Mushy, Fingers, and Bumbilino have it in them. Mostly because they only do things if Senior tells them. And I mean, it could be Palmetto, and he does have that cut on his hand, but I feel like he’s too obvious a choice.”

My insides clench, unable to handle the cuteness. She’s so into it, it’s hard to think of anything else.

“Follow the money. Isn’t that what they always say? Well, love or money.”

“Love or money…Milo!” Brenna exclaims.

“What?”

“That’s it! I know the answer.” I raise my eyebrows, not sure how what I just said gave it away. At least, I hope it didn’t give it away. “I could kiss you!”