Page 55 of Tennessee Trouble

“I love that. I can’t imagine my dad trying to sing to my mom. She’d just look at him like he’s lost his mind.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” he laughs. “But she smiles.” Turning to face me again, his brows turns downward, eyes narrowing in on the bat still in my hand. “It’s a little early for the batting cages…”

“Oh…” I huff out a wry laugh, embarrassment kicking in. I hold it up, then walk over to the couch and toss it on the cushions. “That was just in case you were Ricky the Raccoon and I needed to chase you off.”

“I prefer you getting me off than chasing me off,” he quips, winking.

Heat flushes my cheeks, traveling down my neck, past the deep V of my tee. I don’t know why; it’s not like I’m embarrassed. More like…flustered. There’s something about Brandt flirting with me that makes me all fluttery inside, leaving me feeling like a toddler who can’t sit still. Wiggly and giggly as my mother would put it.

Wiggly and giggly does not a response make, however. Leaving me standing here, pink as a carnation, with zero comeback. Like, nothing. My brain is complete mush.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Brandt says, picking up the slack from my lack of reply. He slides the pancakes onto two plates he must have pulled from the cupboard, cutting the heat to the stove. “I had planned on bringing this to you in bed, buuuuut…”

He looks me up and down, drinking me in, the weight of his eyes feeling good as it grazes my body. Actually, everything about him is good right now. Better than good. He looks way too sexy standing in my kitchen like that, and definitely too charming for first thing in the morning. Whereas I probably look like the swamp thing.

“We could sit out on the patio,” I suggest. “Sit and watch the creek.”

“Works for me. Although, I should probably put on pants if that’s what we’re gonna do. Don’t want the neighbors talking.”

“Ha!” I scoff. The whole point of building this place where I did was so that I didn’t have neighbors. So that I could have my privacy. But we don’t need to get into that now. Because yes, pants are a good idea. “Yeah, wouldn’t want the wildlife to start any rumors.”

Brandt laughs, circling the kitchen island and stealing a kiss as he passes me. Again, it’s easy, natural. Like this is our every morning.

I don’t think I would mind this being our every morning…

Stop. I can’t think like that. This is not a forever kind of deal. It’s a…just for right now kind of deal. There is no future where Brandt and I can be together. And that’s fine. I’m enjoying this for what it is.

Thinking of enjoying, I spin around, wanting to enjoy watching him walk away and up the stairs before I carry the plates outside. Sure enough, the view is perfect.

Only…is that…

“Are those…” I continue to stare at his calves, making sure I have my chemistry correct. And I’ll be damned. “Do you have tattoos of the carbon skeletons of alpha and beta acids?”

Brandt stops on the first step, his heels hanging off the ledge, moving his feet up and down to flex his calves. “Sure do. Can’t make beer without them.”

He winks over his shoulder at me, then starts back up the stairs.

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” I call after him. “Especially after seeing mine?”

Brandt also has an alcoholic carbon skeleton tat. Well, tats. Plural. Holy shit. And here I thought I was the only one on this planet to be nerdy and weird enough to ink something like that on my body. Nope, apparently there are two of us.

“Figured you’d discover them eventually.”

Winking again, he disappears into the loft, leaving me even more gooey than before. We have matching tattoos. Well, not matchy matchy, but the same concept. That has to mean something. Right?

No…it can’t mean something. Other than you’re both chemistry nerds…

I need a distraction. One that is going to stop me from nerding out over matching tattoos. Food—that’s it. That’ll do the trick.

I busy myself with grabbing the syrup, utensils, and some napkins along with the plates full of pancakes. Making my way out to the patio, I refocus myself, not letting my mind go down that rabbit hole. I’m going to enjoy this morning for what it is. Fun.

A few minutes later, Brandt joins me out on the porch, dressed in his jeans and tee, but still barefoot. He looks relaxed and happy, his positive energy rolling off him in waves.

I hand him one of the plates, and he plops down into the matching Adirondack chair next to mine, ready to dig into his own breakfast. These things looks delicious—all light and fluffy, ready to be drowned in syrup.

“What are you…” I stop with the syrup jug in the air, distracted by Brandt. Err, well, by what he’s doing to his pancakes.

“What?” he asks, looking up at me.