I haven’t heard Melody talk a mile a minute for ages, actually not since we were kids. She was the queen of speaking in circles when she was nervous or excited about something. I remember being able to listen to her talk for an hour straight, barely taking a breath between paragraphs. She made me feel inspired, and enamored by every single word that left her pretty lips. Opinionated about almost everything, some of her logic was pure craziness, but I loved listening to it anyway. Since she’s been home, though, there has been more silence than anything else. She isn’t the Melody I remember.
“Do you think it’s too soon to be picking up the pieces, Melody?” I don’t want to be offensive or intrusive, but I want her to know I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until she is ready to take on more. I’m sure it will be a while before I return to the warehouse with Pops, and he knows this, but at the same time, this is Melody’s family business, and I want to be as supportive as I can be without making it look like I’m trying to overshadow her.
“Will there ever be a good time?” She asks.
“I don’t know. You just seem so stressed out.”
“Sorry,” she spouts off like an automatic response and moves toward the back wall where we keep the labels.
Again, she slides the next set of bins out, one at a time, still in search of the shipping labels, but I notice her shoulders rise a few inches up toward her ears. A crack … that’s what I used to call the moment when I felt like I was doing okay and then suddenly, something would hit me. It felt like a crack, as the torment split my mind and body in different directions, leading up to a crescendo of pain. When I got to that point, I was afraid I’d fall to pieces if I moved the wrong way or thought the wrong thought.
With a bit of hesitance, I take a few steps forward and gently place my hands on her shoulders. “If this is okay, I’ll stay by your side and help you through it.”
Beneath my grip, I feel the muscle tension release in her shoulders. “What are you going to get out of it? It’s not your family business. You’ve stepped away from yours to help me with mine. It’s not fair to you or your dad.” It pains me to think she’s concerned about wasting my time, so I explain that I’m happy to be here to help out any way I can because that’s what friends do for each other. As I take my hands off her shoulders and reach for her wrist, my arms brush lightly against hers. Her skin is like silk; soft and warm and I just want to feel her hand in mine. She turns around to face me, but her eyes don’t meet mine right away, giving me time to stare at her beauty; admire her dark lashes, and the shadows resting above her cheekbones. “You’re asking an awful lot of unnecessary questions for your first day running a bourbon shop.” My words do the trick in forcing her to look up at me with her mesmerizing green eyes. “I want to be here, okay? Your father left you the distillery, and it’s yours to do whatever you want with, but until you ask me to leave, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” she says through a whisper.
“You won’t learn this stuff overnight, so be easy on yourself. Notes are good, but you’ll figure it all out with time,” I offer, knowing I might have picked things up a little quicker because of my experience working at the warehouse with Pops, but she’s smart, she’ll get it all down quickly.
“I hope I’m making the right decision. I don’t want to be the reason this distillery fails either. I don’t know what’s right or wrong,” she says.
There is no way for me to respond to her statements with sound advice because I’m not inside her head and I don’t know what level of emotion she’s enduring. She’s putting her career on hold and it’s hard to tell what her motivation is. Is she trying to heal a wound or start a new life endeavor in memory of her dad? I can’t imagine switching gears in every facet of life as abruptly as she has this past month. Although, I guess I have a history of doing the same thing.
“If you follow your heart, it will be the right decision. That’s what I think.”
It doesn’t take much for tears to fall, or the heavy breaths that follow. I don’t know how she has been handling her grief, but it’s obvious that she hasn’t gotten to the other side of it.
“Every time I think my heart is hurting a little less, the pain comes back with a vengeance,” she cries softly.
I pull her into my chest, much like I did at the church during the funeral service, and I stroke the back of her head. Melody’s arms loop around my back, and she clenches her fist while holding onto me. There is no physical space between our bodies, and no emotional space between my thoughts of consoling her and devoting myself completely to a relationship that was cut short when we were younger.,Maybe all she needs is a hug—a friend, someone’s shoulder to lean on, and I will be that, but I want so much more.
Minutes pass as I search for the right words to say. “You know. The last time we were standing here, in this exact spot,” I begin, pulling back a few inches to study her gleaming eyes. I run the side of my finger beneath her lashes to dry the remaining tears, then sweep my thumb across her cheek.
“I know,” she replies, resting her face against my chest. “I wish I could turn back time.”
I would not turn back the time, not if someone paid me to. I’m here, and it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. I can feel it in my bones. I had to go through the last ten years to find my way back to this moment … this place, and I won’t leave again without a fight.
Melody lifts her gaze to meet mine, and the connection is electrifying. My heart pounds because there is only one thing I want to do—it’s what I need to do. I don’t want to cross a line, or move too fast with her heart so fragile, but maybe this is what she needs right now too. She would have already turned away if she wasn’t thinking the same thoughts that I am.
Slowly, I lean down and brush the side of my nose against hers, pausing before letting our lips touch in case she makes a last-minute decision to pull away. Her arms tighten around my back, letting me know it’s all right, and I do what I have wanted to do for so long; kissing her as if every day of the last ten years have been torturous and painful without her. She is all I need to feel happy again. As her lips melt into mine, the taste of mint from her tongue, and the scent of peach in her hair are intoxicating. I’ve never been a big believer in fate but this kiss is not just any kiss. It’s so much more. It’s the answer to every question I have ever had—why I haven’t been able to find happiness, why I always feel this hole in my heart, and why we both ended up here at this exact place at this exact time. She is the answer to everything.
With the thoughts in my head moving quicker than they should, I explore her lips with curiosity, tasting her top lip, then her bottom lip, and everything in between until I need air.
I inch away, wishing we could stay like this forever. Just as it did years ago, I feel like my entire life has changed in an instant. “That kiss has been bottled up inside of me and aging for quite a while,” I whisper.
Melody’s lips curl up, accenting her adorable dimples—it’s the genuine smile I remember, not the fake one she’s been forcing across her face to fool everyone into thinking she’s okay. This one’s the real deal and it makes my heart happy to know that I just put it there. “If a kiss can bring a smile to your face, I have no problem filling that role in your life until you learn how to smile on your own again.” I comb my fingers through her hair, running my knuckles down the side of her warm cheek.
She presses her teeth into her bottom lip as if trying to hide the smile I have waited so long to see. “I might be okay with this,” she says.
With all of the difficulties both of us have endured, it’s amazing, because for the first time in a very long time things feel better than they ever have. I don’t know where we go from here, but I hope she wants to go there with me. I would do just about anything for her to take the next step and move forward in a new direction, one where we are together and can allow our wounds to heal.
“I don’t know if the timing is still as bad as it was weeks ago, or even years
ago, for that matter, but when and if you are ready, I would like to spend more time with you. I want you to catch me up on everything I’ve missed, every part of who you are now, what has changed, what hasn’t. I want to know if you still giggle when you’re embarrassed, and if you can still make up elaborate, fictional stories like the ones you used to entertain me with. I remember the words would spill from your mouth as if you were reading them out of a book, but it was your mind—always filled with beautiful thoughts. It was like you were daydreaming out loud, allowing me to be a part of those moments. Do you still like to write? Do you still like to read? What about Pop Rocks, are they still your favorite candy? I want to know, Mel. I want to know everything”
Melody presses her lips together as they quiver while still holding onto a smile, but her eyes fill with tears of joy and wonder. “Brett, you remember all of that?”
“I remember all of the different parts that make you, you. I wanted to be like you, be around you, just so I could be unconditionally happy and able to laugh at my own jokes. You’re one of a kind. It’s what makes you special. It’s what makes you the person I want to spend all my time with.”
“It’s all I wanted then, and it’s all I want now. I would have asked for more back then if you could have given it, but I knew our paths were destined to go in different directions and I didn’t want to stand in your way,” she says.
“I felt the same. That’s why I wrote those letters. I knew they were a long-shot, but I felt like it was the only way to keep our connection alive.” I know she never responded to my letters and over the years, I thought of every possible reason why she didn’t, but it doesn’t matter any more.
Melody shakes her head with a look of confusion.“Wait, Brett. Stop. What letters are you talking about? I never got a letter from you.”
21
Nine-Ten Years Ago
I wonder how many people regret enlisting in the military on the first day of bootcamp? Not that I didn’t do my research ahead of time, but these first couple of weeks are a far cry from what I was expecting. I train, run more miles than I can count, do everything I can to get into shape and I still feel like the scrawniest son of a bitch here. The first thing to go was my hair—my secret pride and joy. Now, I look like everyone else, except for the scrawny part. There isn’t a minute during the day when we aren’t in a routine, pushing ourselves to unthinkable limits. My mind has given up a million times, but for some reason my body is still going. It’s been six weeks, and we’re allowed some free time to write home today. I’m writing two letters, one to Mom and Pops, and the other to Melody. The one to my parents is simple; I’m healthy, fine, and will survive the next seven weeks. Can’t wait to see you.
For Melody, it’s different because it’s not the first letter I’ve written to her, but it will be the first one I send. I’ve composed five total, but the other four are under my mattress because the time between when I kissed her, and now, has been too long. It has been three months to be exact. She probably forgot all about that night or tried to after I didn’t call her. I was training daily and knew I didn’t have much time left before I had to leave. It would have been harder if I had tried to stay in contact, but I can only imagine what she’s been thinking.
I’m going to send this letter so at least she’ll know I didn’t walk away like an asshole and forget about her.
* * *
Hi Melody,
I know it’s been a while and you probably weren’t expecting to hear from me, but I’m here at boot camp, and wanted to apologize for this letter taking so long to get to you. Things have been hectic, leaving me little time for anything other than training. But, while I have had zero time to think, I spend a lot of nights staring at the metal rods of the bunk above mine. I was figuring you must think I’m a jerk for the way things went down that night at the party. I never called or tried to get in contact with you even though I was the one who initiated the kiss. I want you to know that I think about you a lot, and if I didn’t tell you that night, I have been crushing on you since I was fourteen, but I never wanted to push you. You seemed uneasy around me, and I didn’t want to be the cause of your discomfort. Hearing how you felt that night, though, it took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to say what you did. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to speak to me that night, or ever again.
I didn’t have much time to think, having to prepare for boot camp and the end of my senior year, so the timing was awful. I knew both of us would get hurt if I reached out. I would have fallen even harder for you. It would have made my move so challenging. It turns out, once a guy signs papers to enlist in the military, it’s final.
I have about seven weeks left before I graduate and I’m trying my best not to croak, but it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m not sure being a Marine is for me.
Anyway, I want you to know that I think about you all the time, that night and all the good times we had together growing up. I wish things had worked out differently, but hey, it’s only four years for each of us, mine in the Marines and yours in college, and then who knows … maybe we’ll find each other again, right?
Or, we could be pen pals, as lame as that sounds. You could come to my graduation if you want and then we could spend a little time together before I move onto base this summer. The return address on the envelope is the best way to reach me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to contact me, but if you want to, I’d love to hear back from you. I hope you’re doing well, and as crazy as it sounds, since it’s been so long; I miss you. I miss my friend. I miss the girl I grew up with who had me laughing my butt off at the silliest things. Maybe we’ll get that back someday. I’m not giving up hope.
Take care, Mel.
Sending you a big hug!
—Brett
* * *
And then Brett Pearson grows a pair, sticks a stamp on the damn thing and drops it in the outgoing mail bin, or that’s what I tell myself.
“Dad,” Parker says from the back seat as we sit in the parent looping drop-off line.
“Parker,” I respond, sounding more dad-like than I recall sounding before today.
“I think you're in love,” Parker continues, kicking her feet to the side of her booster seat.
“Um, is there a logical reason for this?” I ask, wondering what she could be picking up on.
“You were in such a good mood last night, and the last time you were in a good mood like that was when we saw Melody at her house for dinner that night. Remember?”
“Parker—”
“Dad,” she mocks me.
“Melody is going through a lot right now.”
“Yes, that’s true, but also, Melody is like a princess stuck up in a tower, waiting for her prince to rescue her. I hope her prince shows up soon and rescues her,” she giggles.What the hell has she been watching? Disney gone wild? “Parker, that’s enough. I don’t know where you’re coming up with this stuff, but you’re talking about things you know nothing about.”
“Dad, I watch Disney every day. I think I know what I’m talking about.”
I agree to disagree with my almost eight-year-old child. It’s the only way out of arguments. That’s what the articles all say. Those articles are freaking stupid. No wonder Brody made fun of me for reading them. What do they know?
“Okay then, my Disney princess. Your chariot has arrived, and your teacher is waiting. I will see you after school, pumpkin.”
“Princess,” she says, correcting me.
“Princess, Parker. I love you.”
“Love you, Dad. Have a magical day!”
Parker is becoming Abby more and more each day. It’s incredible to see Abby’s upbeat, happy, personality run through Parker’sDNA.
As Parker’s drop-off attendant is helping her out of the truck, my phone buzzes with a message from Melody.
* * *
The Girl of my Dreams: I won’t be at the shop for a bit. Car trouble.
* * *
I thumb in
a message quickly before I have to pull away. “Bye, Park!” I shout again for good measure.
* * *
Me: I’m dropping Parker off at school now. Do you need a lift?
* * *
The Girl of my Dreams: I need to get the truck towed. It won’t start.
* * *
I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s been driving Harold’s truck since she got home, and that man refused to trade that hunk of metal in because of the sentimental value it held. Granted, the truck has held up well since he maintained it, but it will continue to need that kind of maintenance if she wants to keep using it.
I find it ironic that Parker was comparing Melody to a Disney princess stuck in a tower waiting for her prince to rescue her when I get a text message like this. I should help. I would be following Parker’s advice, which is crazy since she is only seven years old. What is wrong with me?
* * *
Me: Crawley is at the shop. He’ll be okay for a few. I’ll swing by with Jumper Cables.
* * *
A honk of a car horn pulls my thoughts back to the road in front of me. She’s honking because I haven’t pulled away from the curb yet, so I drive away from the looping line and pull off to the parking lot to finish the conversation.
* * *
The Girl of my Dreams: It’s okay, really. I can call a tow company.
* * *
Me: Or I can try to jump it, so you don’t have to call the tow company.
* * *
The Girl of my Dreams: I’m not a damsel in distress.
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 63
