“You’re going about this all wrong,” Brooks suggested.
I leaned forward when I felt a tug on the line. “I don’t think so. It’s just that apparently leading the horse to water does not, in fact, result in a hydrated equine. And, as I have a particular affinity for and talent with animal husbandry—”
“You’re a dairy farmer,” Brooks added in a tone that might as well have said “shit shoveler” which was, I guess, technically true.
“Like I said,” I continued, “I should be able to noodle this situation to a mutually beneficial result. I know how to manage stubborn beasts. It’s a matter of taking charge and showing them who’s the boss.”
“Now we’re back to the eighties sitcoms again,” Brooks muttered under his breath.
I finally reeled in my line to discover I’d hooked a small decrepit twig instead of the trout I’d been hoping for. “Motherfucker,” I said with a sigh, tossing the twig into the woods behind us. “Nothing’s fucking biting today.”
“Well, now I know you’re frustrated. You usually don’t bandy about the f-word with quite such abandon. What’s really bothering you about this situation with Tucker? Why do you care so much?”
He lifted that ridiculously judgy Brooks eyebrow at me. The one that said he already knew the answer but was asking “for the sake of argument.” I hated that shit.
“He’s my best friend. I want him to be happy. Duh.”
“And you don’t trust him to find his own happiness, why?”
I baited my line and cast again before sitting back. “He’s shit at it. There, I said it. The man doesn’t know how to find himself a love… love… lover to save his life.” The word felt icky on my tongue, like I’d accidentally licked a dirty cattle brush. The idea of Tucker with another man always made me feel low-key nauseated. At first, I’d thought maybe I was homophobic, but then I’d rationalized it away. Naw, I just wanted my guy to have the best. He deserved it more than anyone I knew.
“And you do?” Brooks asked. “Based on the number of successful lovers you’ve managed to pin down?”
I took a sip of coffee and sniffed. “I’ve had lovers. And… I mean… I have Jenn.” There was the dirty cattle brush feeling again. Maybe I just had a bad batch of coffee.
“Pfft. Jenn is a hunter. She’s out for big game, and you’re a buck with a big-ass rack.”
I thought of my squishy pecs compared to Jen’s perfectly adequate rack. “But—”
He cut me off. “Listen, you need an expert in all things matchmaker. I think it’s time you asked Mom for help.”
My next sip of coffee sputtered all over the splintered wood slats of the dock. “Are you insane? Do you not remember her trying to set you up with Ava? Female Ava? Or trying to set Pervy Wilcox up with Olivia ‘Battle-ax’ Reynolds despite their contentious history from the cannonball competition at the pool last summer? Or the time Mama tried setting Phil Kingsley up with Mrs. Bridger even when Mr. Bridger was standing right there?”
Brooks nodded. “I get your point.”
I sighed and tossed my empty coffee mug back on the shore next to my coat. Once the sun had risen, the air had warmed up enough for me to be plenty comfortable in my flannel shirt and jeans. I loved early spring mornings like these. If only Tucker were there to enjoy it too.
“So, what am I missing? How can I get him to give these guys a real chance? I’m setting him up with Leon Morton next week, but gah. At this rate, poor Leon’s gonna get his head chewed off before Tucker even sits down at the restaurant table.”
Brooks contemplated the water in front of him as if truly giving my problem due consideration. “What do they have in common? Tucker and Leon, I mean?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Not for the first time, I wondered why brains didn’t come with a return policy. Sometimes mine seemed plenty enough defective to qualify for one.
“Right,” Brooks said with a long-suffering sigh. “My point exactly.”
“They’re both hella smart!” Finally, the brain spat out a fourth-quarter Hail Mary.
“True. If you can call letting Dunn Johnson set you up smart.”
“Wait!” I snapped my fingers. “They both like those little chocolate mint things they give you with your bill at the Olive Garden. I took Gracie one time for her birthday lunch and saw Leon steal one from the next table over when his coworker wasn’t looking.”
“A match made in suburban heaven,” Brooks muttered. “Like kismet, if kismet was a store in a strip mall across the street from Mattress Firm.”
“Fine,” I admitted. “Maybe I don’t know much about Leon, but I know a lot about Tuck. And Tucker Wright deserves to feast from a smorgasbord of manly delights. Maybe Leon is just one of them… amused booths. A little taster before the main course.”