I grab the bourbon book I took from the shop and place it in my bag, preparing for the day. I’ve been reading a little each night as if I’m studying for a semester exam. I don’t know if I’m taking in all the knowledge by just reading the words, but I’m trying.
Mom has already left by the time I find my way downstairs. She had an appointment scheduled for early this morning but didn’t say what for. Journey went back to her apartment, and it’s the first time in weeks this house feels empty.
It doesn’t make me want to hang around.
With my coat and keys, I lock up the house and walk into a tundra. The sky is gray; the clouds are low, and I can smell snow in the air. I sprint to the truck, needing a blast of heat from the radiator. I turn the keys, hearing the dreadful clicking sound of a dead battery. This truck is old, and Dad had replaced every part of this hunk of metal a million times over the past twelve years because he refused to trade it in.
I try the tricks he used to get it to start, but beyond pressing the gas a few times and trying the ignition again and again, I don’t think there is much I can do to start the truck.
I’m not sure who my parents use for towing these days, but I must get this moved somehow. I send Mom a text, asking her what tow company they’ve used before, but after shaking and freezing in the truck for a few minutes, I still don’t have a response.
I search for Brett’s name on my phone and send him a quick message:
Me: I won’t be at the shop for a bit. Car trouble.
Unlike Mom, Brett replies right away.
Your Teenage Crush: I’m dropping Parker off at school now. Do you need a lift?
Me: I need to get the truck towed. It won’t start.
Your Teenage Crush: Crawley is at the shop. He’ll be okay for a few. I’ll swing by with jumper cables.
Me: It’s fine, really. I can call a tow company.
Your Teenage Crush: Or I can try to jump it, so you don’t have to call the tow company.
Me: I’m not a damsel in distress.
Your Teenage Crush: I know, but it’s okay to be a damsel with a broken truck. Be there soon.
I imagine Brett is thinking I set this up. I might think so too if I was him. Though, I can’t fake a dead truck. I hop out of the seat and rush back into the house and into the kitchen, where we have radiant floor heating. I plop down and press my hands into the floor, feeling warmth refill my frozen body.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out, finding Mom calling.
"Hi," I answer.
"I’m so sorry. I didn’t see your text. I was at the bank, switching an account over from your father’s name. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, the truck won’t start."
"Call Tom’s Towing," she says. "That’s who your father uses—used. I won’t be home for about another hour, but they should be able to help you. When I get home, we can handle the rest."
"Brett said he’d stop by to see if he could jump the truck," I say, waiting for a response, which will probably make me squeeze my eyes closed.
First, I hear the love-filled sigh. "What a sweetheart he is," she says. "Your father would be happy to know Brett is watching out for you."
"Yeah," I say, releasing the painful air from my lungs.
"This is what you need in your life, Melly—a nice man who will be there when you need help."
I lean back against the pantry door. "Mom, I’m not helpless. I’m capable of taking care of myself, as a matter-of-fact."
I hear the engine in her car come to life. "I know, sweetie, but everyone needs someone at some point."
In the past, I might argue her point, but I’ve been trying not to argue with anything Mom says. Emotions are weighing heavily on thin ice between the three of us, so I keep my thoughts to myself. I’m not the type who needs someone to hold my hand and walk me through life. I want a husband and a family, but for the reason of enjoying the second part of my life as I enjoyed the first part while growing up. I want the happiness, fun, and memories—new ones to make of my own. However, watching Mom struggle to pick up the pieces of her broken life now, makes me feel confident I need to have a handle on everything without relying on anyone else. Life can change in an instant. "Okay, well, I’ll let you know if I end up calling a tow truck.”
"Please do. I’ll turn up the volume on my phone in case you need me," she says. "Love you, sweetie. Bye, now."
"Love you too.”
With my thick wool jacket still trying to do the job of warming me up, I lay down flat on the tiled floor, feeling the heat fill my body faster. I used to lay here as a child while Mom was making breakfast. She would tell me I was in the way, and I would stretch my arms and legs out in every direction to make myself more in her way. She would laugh and tiptoe around me, and Dad would walk in to grab his on-the-go breakfast, pretend not to see me, and almost step on me before jumping up as if he was startled to find me on the ground. The joke never got old until I got too old for the joke.
If I close my eyes, I can still see the scene play out in my head, followed by Journey passing through the kitchen, stepping over me with a book in her hand, unfazed by everything around her.
The memories pull me deeper into the past, realizing I can still live through those moments behind the darkness of my closed eyelids.
A hand on my head startles me, and my eyes flash open to the ceiling light above my head. I fell asleep. "Hey, you left your door open," Brett says, staring at down at me with concern. "Are you okay?"
I pull myself up, pushing my hair out of my face. "Oh my God, I fell asleep."
Brett squints one eye. "On the kitchen floor?"
"Take a seat and you’ll see why.” I tap the tiles next to me.
He huffs a soft chuckle, looks around as if I’m playing a joke on him, and slides down against the pantry door.
"Ah, radiant heat," he says.
"It’s my favorite part about this house.”
"I could see by the smile on your sleeping face, which was the only reason I didn’t worry you had fallen and passed out cold on the kitchen floor."
"I used to lay here in the mornings, spread eagle, getting in everyone’s way. It was my thing," I tell him.
"To be a pain in the butt?" he asks, laughing.
“Well, it is what the youngest is meant to do. I had a role to fill."
"I suppose I had my moments as the youngest child, too," he says. "Just not in the middle of the kitchen floor."
"You must not have been as exciting of a child as I was," I joke.
"I can’t argue," he says with a smirk. "If you want to stay warm, I can take care of the truck. I need the keys."
"Don’t you need two people to jump a car?" I ask him, thinking back to the couple of times Ace’s car died and he would need me to hold the cables still while he tried the engine.
"I can handle it," he says. "Stay warm."
I reach into my pocket for the keys and hand them over. "Thank you.”
Before standing up, he leans over and places a kiss on my cheek. "Anything for you."
He walks out of the kitchen and I toss my head back against the pantry door, feeling the need to catch my breath. I haven’t moved a muscle, but I feel like I ran a marathon.
Since he’s outside, freezing, I figure it might be nice to whip up a couple of hot cocoas to warm him up after.
I can’t help myself when I peek out the front window, holding the two empty mugs in my hands. Brett is placing the cables under the hood of the truck as thick fog pours out of his mouth. His cheeks are red, but I swear he’s smiling out there.
And here I am, smiling—in the house that felt so empty an hour ago.
I heat some milk in the teapot and hear an engine roar to life at the same moment the teapot whistles. Thank goodness. I pour the milk into the mugs, followed by the cocoa powder, and grab two thin stirring spoons from the drawer.
"All set," Brett says as he walks back into the kitchen. "I think the battery got too cold last night. It m
ight be time for a new one, but I can help you out, so you don’t have to go pay an arm and a leg at the mechanic."
"You’re an awfully sweet guy, you know?" I hand over the mug of hot cocoa.
"Not to everyone," he says, looking down into the hot liquid. "Thank you for this."
"I’m not buying it. You seem to be the guy who is always there for everyone."
"Only for the people I like," he says, lifting his mug up to his face to hide his coy smile.
I follow his lead and take a sip of my hot cocoa too. "Well, I only make hot drinks for people I like.” I’m almost positive my cheeks are burning red.
He shakes his head with a dismissive smile. "Were you planning to spend the day at the shop?"
"I was, yes."
"Why don’t you hitch a ride with me, and we’ll run over to the auto store after we close up so we can get a new battery for the truck?"
"I don’t want to cause more stress to your day. I know you have to get Parker from school and take care of her after work. I can get the battery."
"Parker likes the auto store for some reason, and for a weirder reason, she seems to have taken a liking to you from the couple of times you have met."
"Hey," I snap, slapping the back of my hand against his chest.
"Seriously, if I tell her we’re doing something other than going right home, eating dinner, and going to bed, she’ll be very happy. I might have the only child in the world who hates routine," he says.
"She likes excitement. I can understand.”
“She certainly does, but she’s a tough one to wind up. When she gets excited though, my world lights up. She’s been through so much in her short life, and I do everything I can to make her smile. It can sometimes be a challenge though. In fact, it’s a challenge every single day."
"Well, then I can’t say no to the auto store."
Brett moves past me with his mug and rinses the contents in the sink. "God, I’m convincing."
I cross my arms over my chest, letting my empty mug dangle from my fingers. "Don’t play me, Mr. Pearson."
"I’m kidding. My daughter truly loves the auto store, and I truly would love to spend extra time with you outside of the shop. It’s the truth. No games, I promise."
I squint my eyes and playfully shove him away from the sink so I can rinse my mug out too. "Yeah, yeah." I place the two mugs in the dishwasher and turn around to face the playful look on Brett’s face. "Fine, we’ll go, and thank you for offering to help me through your mild guilt trip"
Brett takes a step toward me, making me aware that my back is against the counter. "Yesterday, I enjoyed showing you where the labels were," he says, taking another step closer.
"I’m glad I know where to find them now," I respond, trying to avoid another bout of respiratory distress.
Without space for another step, Brett leans forward and reaches his arm over my shoulder. "Do you mind if I rinse my hands off real quick? I have some grease—"
My jaw falls, feeling tricked by his slick move. I try to step to the side so he can wash his hands, but his body leans against mine, then his lips brush against my neck lightly before he lifts his head and presses the side of his nose to mine. He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and lowers his lips to mine. His body feels heavy against me, but warm and encompassing at the same time. "You taste like chocolate," he utters after pulling his lips away.
"You feel like the happiness I need," I respond, allowing my guard down with a form of honesty I don’t rarely share.
He sweeps his knuckles down the side of my cheek. "I would take all of your pain away if I could, so if I can offer you a little bit of happiness, please tell me what else I can do to help."
I press up on my toes and give him a light kiss, showing him the little things are doing the most for me.
21
The sky is splitting open with frozen particles threatening to cover our area in a white blanket. It’s the first heavy snow of the season, and when it starts here, it’s like the seal breaks, and the area will be covered in white until April. "Do you ski at all, or are you another northerner who suffers through snow without benefit?" Brett asks, glancing up at the sky as we wait for the stoplight to turn green.
"I have skied. I know how to, but I’m not a big fan of the cold. What about you?"
"Same. We used to ski when I was a kid, but after living down south for a while, I’ve come to realize I prefer warmth. However, our lives are here now, so I’m choosing family over a nicer climate," he says. His wheels grind through the loose snow as we make our way down the main street of town.
"I wish I had the same realization before I moved down to South Carolina.”
“You moved for your ex, right?"
I nod, realizing he’s focused on the road rather than my silent gesture. "Yeah, he wanted to get out of here—said the real estate was cheaper down south, the people were nicer, the weather was better, and life would be easier."
"It’s all true," he says.
"I should have been more concerned with a promise that things in our relationship would be better too," I say, trying to laugh off my statement, knowing how stupid I feel about those years, in hindsight.
"Well, you know ... how would you know unless you tried, right?" Brett tries to back up my foolish decision to move down South with Ace for the wrong reasons, but it’s something I won’t forgive myself for, now knowing I wasted precious time I could have spent closer to Dad.
"I should be honest with you about something.” I glance over, but knowing he has to keep his eyes on the road.
"Uh oh," he says with a nervous inflection.
"When Journey called me home yesterday, it was because Ace unexpectedly showed up at my house, since I didn’t answer any of his calls, and my phone had been off."
While still watching for a reaction, Brett’s jaw swivels from side to side for a quick second before he lets out a sigh. "What happened?"
"I told him to leave. In fact, Journey did too. He left."
"Good," Brett says. "Do you still have things you need to work out with him or something?"
I pull my gaze away from Brett’s profile and stare through the hypnotizing snow. "He bought the house in South Carolina. My name wasn’t even on the deed. We split the cost of some furniture, but I took my valuables, and I don’t care if I ever see anything I left behind. I need to have my car shipped up here still, but it’s the only loose end. The car and the loan is in my name."
"That’s a lot to go through in a matter of weeks," he says.
"Well, when life suddenly appears in black and white, everything becomes clearer. I knew my dad would not be okay, and I didn’t think twice about coming home to stay. It was almost like an invitation to run away and leave the crap behind. The whole ‘everything happens for a reason’ thing sucks in this situation, but the signs were more than obvious."
Brett pulls into the back lot behind the firehouse and presses on the emergency brake before shifting the gear into park. "Would you have hung onto him—Ace—if your dad hadn’t gotten sick?"
It’s a fair question, one that has run through my head a few times, but I felt trapped behind my kitchen window, staring out at the lives I watched parade down my sidewalk—the lives I wanted to be a part of. "I knew we were coming to an end. I just hadn’t pulled the trigger. I hadn’t been happy in more than two years with him. I didn’t know how to make the next move—maybe I was scared to walk away. I invested time into a relationship, knowing it wasn’t going anywhere, but also knowing I’m not getting any younger and desperately wanted the life everyone around me seemed to have."
Brett looks over at me and offers a gentle smile. "I know what you’re saying. You think you have your whole life planned out, then the path disappears, and you’re lost without direction, blindly walking ahead, hoping fate will take you by the hand at some point." Brett takes my hand and lifts my knuckles to his lips.
I lean my head back into the seat and melt with a complacent fee
ling warming my chest. "Thanks for taking my hand when I got lost."
"Well," he says with a sigh, "I know what you’re getting for Christmas this year."
I chuckle, wondering what the punchline of this joke will be. "What’s that?"
"A new GPS," he says, smiling with pride.
I free my hand from his and swat at his arm before stepping out into the snow.
Brett opens the back door of the shop and gestures for me to walk in ahead. I continue until reaching the front, where Mr. Crawley is jotting down some notes on a piece of paper.
"Is the truck is having issues again?" Mr. Crawley asks.
"It sure is," I tell him.
"I told your father that thing was a lemon the day he bought it, but he wouldn’t listen."
"Yeah, ‘There isn’t anything that can’t be fixed,’ he would always say," I tell Mr. Crawley.
"I’ve heard this many times," he replies. "Anyway, there’s a gentleman checking out the Quinn Pine up front, but if you two are all set, I need to get downstairs. One of the machines is acting up."
"Yeah, we’re good, go ahead," Brett tells Mr. Crawley, tapping his hand against his back. "Thanks for covering the shop."
"I’ll go see what the customer wants," I say as he squints toward the front of the store at the guy. He’s behind a display, so it’s hard to see much.
"Okay, shout if you need anything.”
Thanks to the bottles displayed in the shape of a Christmas tree, I didn’t know what I was walking up to until I came face to face with Ace, again. My gaze floats to the ceiling as I pull in a deep breath. "Dammit, why are you here?"
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 17
