Page 81 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Early? They do that?”

“I guess? He’s been…wherever he is…for thirteen months, so it’s not like they just left. I don’t really know why he was deployed, to be honest, and Mell didn’t offer up a lot of information, so I took that as a sign not to ask. But, apparently they will be home in the next couple of weeks, so she’s packing up and heading back to Texas to be there when he arrives.”

“I’m sorry you two didn’t get to spend more time together this summer.”

“Are you though?”

Cause I’m not…

I grab an edamame pod and teasingly pull it through my teeth, releasing the beans, waggling my eyebrows. Milo hisses, his nostrils flaring. My pulse flutters at his reaction, liking that I have this effect on him.

It’s the exact response that I was going for too. Because no part of me is sad that the little bit of extra time I’ve had this summer between working and studying has been spent with Milo. I also know that Mell doesn’t regret it either. A true best friend, she’s just as excited about this fling as I am.

She also knows that I have more than fling feelings.

Something I haven’t shared with anyone else. Including Brandt. Which feels like a betrayal, in its own way. I can’t put my finger on why—maybe because I always thought that if I ever got to this point in a relationship, he’d be the one I’d be turning to for advice. Instead, I’m finding excuses not to tell him.

“I am not in the least bit sorry that I have monopolized your free time.” He grabs a piece of edamame and mirrors my move. It sends a shiver down my spine, making me tingle in places I have no business tingling while we’re in public. Forget Brandt. Milo has all my attention. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish you didn’t get more time with her.”

From sexy to swoony. Seriously, I think Milo Hayes can do it all.

And I think I might love him for it. Words I’m really not going to say out loud.

“Guess I really need a hobby now.”

“You could always come help in the brew house,” he offers.

“Err, no. Because I do believe we were also going to work on finding you a hobby.”

Milo groans, sitting back in his chair. “Men don’t have hobbies.”

“Sure they do. Rock climbing. Leatherworking. Woodworking. Wedding crashing.”

“Wedding crashing? In Hickory Hills?”

“Maybe not in Hickory Hills, but drive up here to Atlanta or down to Savannah for the weekend, sneak into a hotel, crash a wedding. Could be fun.”

He eyes me skeptically, reaching forward for more of the appetizer. I lift my shoulders, pretty proud of the random idea. Not that I think it could—or should—be done regularly, but it might be fun to try once. Might have to try to convince him to give it a whirl.

“Cooking.”

“Cooking is a necessity,” he replies.

“True, but you’re also really good at it. We could find different recipes on the Internet and try them out. Maybe create our own. Cooking is chemistry, after all.”

He tilts his head in agreement, as if it’s not the world’s worst suggestion. Sweet, one for the win column. That’s a good one too, since we⁠—

We.

I swallow hard, quickly grabbing a pod and shoving it in my mouth. We. I’ve been talking in plurals—we, not just me. Not that Milo has stopped me. Still, it’s a big assumption and one I need to stop making for a number of reasons.

“Look, I know how much you love the brewery and what you do. But, you also need a break. And so maybe that doesn’t mean taking up knitting and joining Holly every week for Pints and Purls, but…I dunno…” I trail off, trying to think of something easy. Something I know he loves and misses and simply doesn’t realize it. “When was the last time you went hunting or fishing with your brothers? And I don’t mean the Fourth of July thing that you do. I mean, when was the last time you spent a Saturday out on Silver Lake fishing?”

Milo gives me a blank stare, his lips pressed together.

“Or when was the last time you and Brandt went camping? The two of you used to go and get lost in the woods for days when you were teenagers. I was really young, but I remember the time Dad had to call the cops because you were gone for over a week and no one could find you, and our mothers were convinced you had been eaten by bears.”

Milo throws his head back, laughing. “You remember that? God, we were still in high school, so you had to be what, five?”