I recognized the sandalwood scent and wished I didn’t. “Of course. Mr. Perfect, right? Can’t be anything but fine.”
Mal’s hand came to rest at the small of my back, and I shuddered out a breath, not realizing how badly I’d needed a comforting touch like that until it came.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Nothing to say. I’m gonna get Ava some soda. Maybe we can covertly pour it into shot glasses for her.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “Ava was reading Alana the riot act when I left. ‘Have you ever considered that for someone who didn’t feel comfortable coming out until he left high school, the good old days weren’t necessarily good?’”
“She said that?” My jaw dropped. “Ava did? Our Ava?”
Mal’s hand rubbed in a small, soothing circle just above my waistband, too low for anyone else in the crowd to see. “Yep. Our Ava. And for what it’s worth, Alana looked devastated and apologetic about it,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Damn.”
“And when I said I was going after you, Ethan got all sniffly and told me I was a great boyfriend. And Diesel had to explain that I was with Ava, not you.”
“Ethan is…” I laughed, shaking my head.
“Smarter than people give him credit for?” Mal finished.
I looked down at him and swallowed. “You think?”
He pressed against my side, letting me feel the firm heat of his body, and my head swam. “Evidence would suggest.”
“And Diesel is—”
“A nice guy who looks like he could use some friends?” Mal suggested.
“But not—”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Shit. His lips were so close, and I… I was not too drunk to remember we were in a crowded bar, damn it.
I forced myself to step away. “Maybe we could go—” I began.
“Brooks! How’s our brand-new Head Licker doing?” Amos Nutter said, shaking both my shoulders. “Mayor Red! How proud are you to see your boy in this shirt?”
“Very proud! But then, I’m always proud of Brooks.” My dad stepped up beside Amos and winced down at his half-drunk beer stein guiltily. “Evening, son. Your, ah, mother doesn’t need to know about this, does she? She’s been a little bit… overprotective recently.”
I shook my head, feeling like I’d been plunged from a hot shower into a cold bath, and my poor drunk brain couldn’t keep up. “As long as you’re taking it easy?”
He looked relieved. “I am! I am. But a Johnson knows when he needs to wet his whistle, Brooks.”
I nodded at this sage advice. Then I remembered my manners. “Dad, you know Mal, right? He was the artist in the show today with the amazing found-art sculptures? His table was super crowded the whole day. Best showing at the whole fair.”
Mal blinked up at me.
“Sure, I know Mal! Doc Dalton wouldn’t stop talking about him,” my dad said enthusiastically. “And about your sculptures. Kept pointing out details to us, like we haven’t got eyes of our own.” He winked at Mal. “Anyway, I’m real excited you found your way to us, Malachi. Can’t wait to see more of your work.”
Mal nodded, kinda dazed, and I noticed he didn’t correct my dad about his name.
My dad sighed. “Well. If you boys’ll excuse us, I’d best be getting on home. Your mama’s working on making a sign from an old bedsheet, and I need to make sure she doesn’t go too crazy with her puffy paint and the glitter.”
“A sign?” I repeated. “For what?”
“You know, to replace the Welcome to Licking Thicket sign that got burgled.” Dad’s eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. “Or should I say serial-burgled.”
“Calm down there, Red,” Amos said. “No use getting all upset again. You know Frank’s looking into it.”
“I remember,” I told my dad. “I’m so sorry. I totally meant to find you a more permanent sign.” I ran a hand over my head, and the bar spun slightly. “I completely forgot.”
“Don’t you give it another thought,” Dad said sincerely, but how could I not, especially once the rest of the conversation penetrated my brain?
“Wait, glitter?”
Dad shrugged. “We got a coupla empty signposts and no sign, son, and we need a sign before the bachelor auction tomorrow and the parade Saturday. Amos suggested painting letters on some cows and grazing them out in the field—”
“Now that was meant to be a joke,” Amos insisted.
My dad shook his head and mouthed, “No it wasn’t.” In a louder voice he added, “The dang cows move around so much, you don’t even wanna know what they ended up spelling.” He shrugged. “Anyway, a glittery sign’ll be eye-catching, right? Gotta make the best of what you’ve got.”
I nodded slightly and returned the hug he gave me when he left.
“Hey, Brooks,” Ava said, bouncing up behind us. She grinned from ear to ear and looked more cheerful than she had all week. “So, it turns out I’m not feeling well.”