Page 43 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“I missed something,” Milo says to me.

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you and my sister ganging up on me.” He steps into me, closing the gap. Those somersaults my insides were doing have turned into backflips, and I swear, if he gets any closer, it’s going to be an all-out floor routine. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. Always. Promise.”

“Promise?”

The one side of his mouth quirks upward again at the same time as his hand lands on my hip. And I’m done for. I can barely think, the heat from his grip searing into me, no doubt leaving a mark. One that I will gladly bear for the rest of my life.

“Promise.”

It’s a miracle that the word makes it out of me in one piece. The fact that it earns me a smile—a real, honest-to-God full smile—is just the cherry on top of the oh my God Milo is holding on to me sundae.

Until he leans in.

It’s slow and subtle, but purposeful. Everything around us fades into a soft buzz, until the only thing I can hear is the blood pumping through my veins, faster and faster, as if my pulse speeding up will make him move faster. It doesn’t, but it doesn't stop him either.

His lips are all but to mine, my entire body screaming kiss me. Such a thing probably isn’t a good idea—on a number of levels. The least of which is that we are in a very, very public space. But I don’t care. I want nothing more than his lips on mine.

Then, they’re there. It’s a featherlight touch, but there’s no mistaking it. A sweet, gentle graze that⁠—

“Milo!”

Fucking Anton…

Milo steps back, an agitated sigh rushing from him. His hand stays put on my hip though, keeping us connected. Disappointment flows through me, even though my body relaxes. I didn’t even realize I had gone tense waiting for…whatever that was. An almost kiss? A kinda kiss? Who knows.

Mixed with my disappointment is a weird sense of relief that Milo seems to be feeling it too. Granted, I’m basing that off that noise he just made, and on the way his brow is knit together as he stares down Anton.

“We're heading out. You sure you’re not coming?” Anton asks. “Oh, hey Brenna.”

I smile politely, not wanting to interrupt. Instead, I look around, noticing that most of the group has moved on, including all the Hayeses and Nobles, the next group ready to start their own tug-o-war battle. I shift, looking to move out of the way even more, but Milo’s grip stops me. His fingers are now hooked through the loops on my shorts, making an escape a little more complicated. Not that I want to escape. In fact, I rather like the understated claiming.

No, no. Milo is not claiming you…

“I’m sure,” Milo says. His voice is firm and decided. But I still can’t help the feeling that something isn’t right.

“Whatever, dude.”

Anton gives us a mock salute before turning to go. I watch him, the unease in me growing. If he had plans, he needs to keep them. I don’t want to be the reason that he’s missing out on something. My lack of a second date does not take priority over anything. Especially if that something is family related.

“Milo, if you have some place else to be…” I trail off, my tummy aching over the threat of our day ending early. Even if it is the right thing to do.

“Only place I have to be is here. With you.”

I swoon. A perfect answer if there ever was one. Part of me wants to argue, to make sure that he really feels that way. But another part of me knows better. Milo isn’t one to tell you something because he thinks you want to hear it. One more thing I’ve always liked about him.

“As long as you're sure. Wouldn’t want to keep you from something important.” I lift my shoulder playfully, trying to give it a little sass. But Milo’s blue eyes hold on to me, full of something more serious.

“Bren,” he says, slowly, carefully, like it’s the most sacred word in the world. He tucks a stray hair behind my ear, leans in, and kisses my forehead. It’s sweet, loving, and despite the chasteness of it, is remarkably sexy. “There is nothing more important than spending today with you.”

And my knees are officially jelly. They should probably be commended for still managing to hold me up. I suck in a breath, trying to find an appropriate response. But I’m not sure there is one.

“Now,” he continues, “I do believe we have a water balloon fight to get to.”

“Toss. It’s a water balloon toss,” I correct him.