Page 24 of Good Directions

7

ANTON

My sister’s text message burns in my brain, serving as a reminder for two things. Neither of which I want to think about right now.

Willa

Wedding is in just over 6 weeks boys! 6! Are those tuxes on order?!

Nope, it sure isn’t.

I don’t even need to be anywhere near my brothers to hear the collective groan let out by all of us that this message was received, because I’m pretty sure none of us have checked this off our to-do list. Well, maybe Gus has. If any one of us has, it’s him.

No, I take that back. There is a chance that Hux took care of his when he was getting the one he wore for Dolly’s failed wedding. The one that we’ve all agreed not to talk about. At least publicly. Even though we all know that it was the best thing that could have happened, because it meant that she and Hux finally admitted the feelings that we all knew they had for each other.

Okay, two of the six of us potentially have tuxes on order. The other four absolutely don’t.

Adding that to the to-do list…

More importantly…or at least tectonic…in all this is the unspoken reminder that I still don’t have a date to this wedding. That is six weeks away.

Shit.

I need an escape. This house is too quiet. Or maybe it’s that my thoughts are too loud. Either way, I need to do something to distract me from my lack of prospects. Better yet, there’s always the hope of finding one while there.

No, it’s definitely the first, because I also need a drink.

Except, I can’t go to Pour Decisions, the taproom my brother Milo runs as part of his brewery, Southern Brothers Brewing, because that’s where all of my brothers will be. And all they’re going to do is remind me of the bet I made, teasing me about how I still don’t have said date.

To be fair, I probably deserve it.

It was my big fat mouth that got me into this mess. As the instigator of the family, I’ve been known to push their buttons. And I pushed Hux’s to an almost breaking point a little over a month ago. To the point that our younger brother Jace came to his defense, betting me anything I couldn’t find a date to Willa’s wedding.

Then the rest of them tacked on.

And I stupidly agreed.

Which means I need to figure this out. Soon.

I head to The Giddy Up, the local honky-tonk out at the Knox County line. Greeted by loud music as I walk into the stereotypical rural bar, with its natural wood finishes, country music, beer paraphernalia on the walls, and of course, the requisite deer head, I scan the lower level, seeing what’s going on.

A whole lot of nothing.

Which makes sense. It’s July 3rd after all. And who goes out the night before the Fourth of July? No one. At least not in this town. It’s too big of a holiday and everyone’s prepping for all the big things going on tomorrow. Everyone’s going to be up early for the pancake breakfast. And then be out all day in the sun at the town picnic. Not to mention up late at the fireworks.

It’s a long fucking day.

That said, there are a few people out. Mostly some of the girls and other locals that I’ve known my whole life. Which means they don’t count. Because that was one of the rules of the bet—that my date couldn’t be someone that we’ve known all our life.

Sure. My brother only mentioned Alice Evans and Emily Barrowcliff, two of Dolly’s best friends, very specifically, but I’m pretty sure that if I asked Molly, the town accountant, Katie, the nurse for the local GP, or even Jill, the office manager for the elementary school, that one of my brothers would say that they don’t count either.

I order a beer—a Southern Brothers Party Mode—leaning against the bar and letting the thrum of the bass knead its way into me. The song is an old one, taking me back to college when it was all over the radio, and I lose myself in it for a moment. While it’s not enough to fully distract me, it beats the hell out of sitting at home on the couch.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

A long purr follows the drawn-out vowels on here, leaving no doubt in my mind who is behind me. Even over music designed to be loud enough you can’t hear your own thoughts.

Kitty Cattaway.