Page 89 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

I throw my head back laughing, setting the dish down so I can serve us. I can’t lie; it probably was a sight. Hayes Industries’ longtime catering manager asked me multiple times if I was trying to prank her—very specifically if she was on that punked show—when I showed up and asked her for her help making my favorite food. Even once I explained that no, it wasn’t a joke, she was still more than a little skeptical. At least until I let her in on my motive of wanting to impress a girl, and then swore her to secrecy since said girl is the daughter of the man who oversees payroll. The end result is still not as good as when she makes it, but it’s good enough to get us through tonight.

“It was a sight, that’s for sure.”

“So, cooking the new hobby?”

I shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see. I will admit, it was fun.”

“See!”

I chuckle, letting her comment remain. She’s right, and we both know it. No need to beat the dead horse. We continue to eat, chatting as we make our way through the chicken and the cornbread Miss Harriett was kind enough to throw in. It’s the perfect summer evening, the sun finally setting and the stars coming out as we finish the last of the Blue Jeans brew. By the end of it, I don’t know what is more full, my belly or my heart. Probably the latter.

Leaving only one thing left.

The soft melody of a slow song floats from the truck. An oldie but goodie, the kind of song that you can’t help but want to dance to, while holding your girl close. Exactly what I plan to do.

Pushing to my feet, I hold out my hand and yank Brenna up and into my arms.

“Dance with me, baby.”

25

BRENNA

I’m off the ground and in Milo’s arms before I can I blink, the smooth voice of an old country crooner I can’t name creating a force field around us so electric that my skin tingles. I’m as light as the air I just flew through, unable to hold back the giddiness that has taken over.

There is something about being in Milo’s arms that makes me feel like I am the center of the universe. Not his universe. The whole universe. Like I alone have the power to move mountains and redirect water sources. Make miracles happen. It’s a feeling I wish I could bottle. Not only for moments when I need a boost, but also so I can reciprocate.

I want to make him feel the same way.

My heart beats faster with each slow, steady, swaying step we take in time with the beat. It’s unhurried, our bodies pressed together as close as possible, from our hips to our cheeks, and I can’t help but wonder if Milo can feel my heart pounding against my chest. Against his chest. And if he knows that it’s for him.

The hand on the small of my back flexes, pulling me impossibly closer, and my breath hitches, as if that small movement could stop time. Could hold us here, allowing me to inhale Milo’s manly scent, gripping his biceps, letting the rest of the world fade away. Could stop tomorrow from showing up, when we have to worry about jobs, and futures, and all sorts of things that matter.

Because in this moment, the only thing that matters is the way he is making me feel. And how badly I want him to return those feelings.

Feelings I’m too afraid to say out loud.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Milo whispers, both his breath and his beard tickling my cheek, “I’d think you were made to fit in my arms.”

Butterflies take over my insides as I swoon, heat crawling up my skin. I bury my head in his shoulder, trying to hide the silly grin that I couldn’t wipe off my face if I tried. Not sure why I’m trying to hide it—he knows he got to me. I can tell by the way he tightens his grip and the smile I feel against my cheek. Still, my inability to control effervescence bubbling up in me makes me want to curl into him more and more by the second.

I do my best to find my composure. To come up with some kind of response that is witty, or sexy, or just as romantic. But I come up empty-handed. Because my composure is nowhere to be found. All that’s in its place is a twitterpated young woman who is dizzy with desire. And love.

Milo doesn’t seem to be bothered by my silence though. If anything, my lack of verbal response, paired with my physical one, seems to be what he was after. And he ups the ante.

Humming along with the tune, he nips at my earlobe, sending a zing through me. My body is already on high alert—ready and waiting to answer the call for whatever this man wants. With my heart leading the charge, making it that much more dangerous.

This hasn’t been a fling for a while, despite what I’ve been telling myself. Maybe it never was. Can one really go down the road of sleeping with the first man you loved—even if it was fake little kid love—and it only be a fling? And now, with him kissing his way along my jaw, humming along with an old love song, holding me like he owns me, it’s all over. Because whether or not he knows it, he knows.

Milo Hayes owns my heart.

And no matter what happens, he’s worth it.

Even if it ends in heartbreak.

Heartbreak isn’t how tonight is ending though. That’s a promise.

One that’s pressing against me through Milo’s jeans with each sway of our hips. Lifting my head, I slide my arms around his neck, meeting his gaze. The sun has all but fully set, but there’s enough light from the beams of his truck for me to see his face, the familiar angles making my heart squeeze. Those baby blues are bright enough, though, that even if there wasn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d still be able to find them. And they’d still light me up inside like a candle in a cave.