Page 63 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Look who’s talking.”

Milo shrugs. “I’ve never received any complaints.”

“Brenna,” Anton says, looking to me.

I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to contribute to this conversation. I’ve never actually seen the err…cucumber…in question. There’s little doubt in my mind that I’d be impressed. I felt it pressed against me when we were in Silver Lake on the Fourth of July. I’ve also brushed against it a time or two while we’ve cuddled on the couch. And from what I can tell, the large and local on Milo’s shirt is probably pretty accurate.

Not that I would ever advertise that to his brother. Or anyone.

“No comment,” I reply, trying to play it as coy as possible.

“That’s my girl.” Milo presses another kiss to my temple, and I swear, the air temperature rises another ten degrees.

“Go away.” Anton shoos us off. “You’re scaring away the customers.”

“Gladly, we’ve got things to do,” Milo responds, grabbing another peach from a bucket, then tossing it in the air and catching it as he takes my hand and leads me away.

I look up at him, surprised, since I was unaware there was a to-do list. Again, no complaints. Spending time with Milo is my new favorite thing. Easily the best thing I’ve done all summer. Whether we’ve gone out to grab a bite, or stayed in to watch TV, or even him keeping me company while I study, being with him is fun. Easy. And frankly, how I want to occupy every extra minute.

That all said, today’s original plan was town movie night this evening. At least until last night when Milo threw out the idea of breakfast at Dolly’s this morning before he had to open up Pour Decisions. When he suggested a stroll through the farmers’ market as we were finishing up, I didn’t think anything of it, other than being thankful for the chance to spend more time with him. Although now that I realize what shirt he’s wearing, I can’t help but wonder if this was his plan all along. Also, it makes me curious as to what else he has up his sleeve.

“Like?” Anton calls after us.

“Like not doing your job for you!”

I giggle, nudging Milo with my shoulder as we walk. He shrugs, giving me a smirk that says I’m not wrong. And he’s not.

“Question,” I say, pulling away just enough to slide my hand back into his. Where it belongs.

“Answer.”

“Why doesn’t Southern Brothers have a booth? I mean, I know you’re sold in stores, but you could do something here too. Maybe by the bottle? Or different sizes? Seems like such a missed opportunity.”

Milo squeezes my hands, interlacing our fingers again. “Okay, Bronwyn…”

“Sore subject?”

He shakes his head. “No. Truth be told, we planned to have one this summer. Bronwyn worked up this whole plan and everything, but then with Brandt going to Colorado, we didn’t really have the manpower to add that in.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” A pang of guilt slices through me. No, not guilt. It’s not like it’s my fault they cut this out of their plan. But still, I could have helped. I promised to contribute to Southern Brothers as part of living rent free in the loft, and I haven’t been doing much to hold up my end of the bargain. “I could have handled it for you!”

Milo’s devilish smirk tugs at the corner of his lip, his blue eyes sparkling, as he steps into me. His hands land on my hips, gripping tight, making my breath catch in my chest. For a split second, the whole world falls away, and it’s just us in the middle of the crowded market.

“I love that that’s where your mind went. But it wouldn’t have been fair to ask that of you. You have other priorities. Like making sure you pass your boards. Your brain is a lot more important than my brewery.”

Your brain is a lot more important than my brewery…

Well, fuck. I didn’t think I’d ever been turned on by someone complimenting my brain, but here we are. I step in closer to him, the urge to kiss him racing through me. I have no idea what we are—the lines of our friendship have been firmly smudged these last few weeks. What I do know is that I like where it’s headed. Or at least where I think it’s headed.

Like right now. With his lips headed toward mine.

“A beautiful flower, for a beautiful lady.”

Or not…

I smile, taking the bright pink bloom, doing my best to hide both being startled and my minor embarrassment at the more than generous statement from the owner of the town nursery. Looking to my left, I notice that we stopped right in front of their booth at the edge of the market. Twice the size of most of the others, the Keller Nursery tent is overflowing with stunning bouquets, small potted plants, and a few trees.

“Thanks, Mr. Keller.”