Don't Date Your Brother's Best Friend

“I’m a Diet Coke girl,” I said lightly.

“You used to be a mojito girl, or was that just at Ryan’s wedding?” he said. I felt myself flush, wishing I could remember what happened that night or at least quit being embarrassed by it.

“That night’s kind of a blur for me. I remember the open bar…” I said with a shrug.

“I think everyone there remembers you at the open bar,” he teased. He cracked the can open and took a drink, offered it to me. I took a sip, swallowed the bitter coldness, and handed it back to him.

“Why do you think he married her?” I asked. “It was obvious it wasn’t gonna work out. They were both…”

“Selfish? I guess maybe he loved her or else loved the idea of a pretty wife and a house and some kids. It’s something you grow up expecting to have. He was ready to have that,” Luke said, shoveling the burgers onto the grill.

He sat down on the concrete back steps. I sat down beside him, my head leaning on his arm a little. I inhaled that pleasant charcoal smell and shut my eyes.

“This is really nice,” I said.

“Hearing what I think about Ryan’s marriage?” he joked.

“No. Just sitting out here, good food on the grill, somebody to talk to,” I shrugged. It sounded stupid when I said it aloud. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it made me sound pathetic, like I was so starved for attention or something. I cleared my throat. “Not that I don’t like the lumberyard. I do. Always have. And I see plenty of people there…” I was just making it worse.

“I see plenty of people at the station and the restaurant. But none of them is you. It’s nice having you back home. Back here,” he faltered as much as I did, which made me feel a little better.

“Is Harlan still the chief down at the station? His wife Rema was Mama’s cousin,” I said conversationally to change the subject.

“Yeah, he is. He’s a good guy. He mentioned that yesterday when we were talking about you being back in town.”

“Oh, so I’m the talk of the firehouse?” I teased. He frowned.

“You know, anyplace there’s gossip. What with you out at the lumberyard, people were bound to notice you were back.”

“I figured it was a couple weeks since I was the topic over dinner tables. Why didn’t Sarah Jo finish school? What’s her daddy thinking letting her take over out at the yard? That kind of thing. So what was the verdict? Did the firemen think I could handle the lumber yard, or do they think I flunked out of plant school?”

Luke cleared his throat, “The guys thought you were—looking good.”

“Oh? Well, I’ll take that compliment. It’s not often a girl in flannel and work boots gets told she’s looking good,” I laughed.

Luke poked at the sliced peppers with a fork with a frown on his face.

“What’s the problem? Don’t you think I’m looking good for a woman who works in a lumberyard?”

“You do. You look good for any woman anywhere. They all think so. I didn’t—Hell, Sarah Jo, I didn’t like them talking about you that way,” he said, running a hand through his sandy hair sheepishly, basically embarrassed to admit he’d probably stuck up for me with the crew.

“You know it doesn’t matter, right? How people talk about me? I know who I am. Anything else is just crap people make up for their own entertainment. It doesn’t bother me,” I said, putting a hand in his shoulder. I wished I hadn’t. His shoulder was solid and strong. Like grip-this-and-go-for-a-ride strong, and it made me think all kinds of naughty thoughts.

“It matters to me,” he said.

“Because I’m Ryan’s little sister,” I said tightly.

“No, dammit. Because—”

I felt a little breathless when our eyes met. I wanted him to say that I mattered to him more than just as Ryan’s sister. But then Ryan chose six o’clock to show up for a six o’clock dinner.

“Hey there, little sister,” he said boisterously. I wondered if he’d been drinking already. His tone was jolly, his face flushed. Ryan was never jolly when he was sober. He wasn’t a drunk like our father always had been, but since I’d come back to town, I’d noticed he seemed to be drinking pretty regularly. “How about you bring me one of those cold ones?” he said, nodding to Luke’s beer can.

Reflexively, I turned back to the house.

“I hope she hasn’t been bugging you. Sarah Jo always was a little tag along,” Ryan said. He said it affectionately, like I was still his pesky little sister who was always digging in the dirt or following him up to the treehouse.

I brought him his beer and hung around for a minute while Ryan steered the conversation to his favorite topic—himself and a big project he was working on at the bank. I nodded along for a minute before deciding I should just go set the table. I was making a salad when my dad came into the kitchen.