Don't Date Your Brother's Best Friend

“He asked if I minded if he asked you out. I told him it was fine. It bothered me, but the truth is, we’re sneaking around. It has to be this way for now, so there’s no reason you can’t see other people. I mean, to the whole town it should look like you’re single and open to dating. Jake’s a good fireman. He’s got a big mouth, but he’s no more obnoxious than most guys, I guess.”

“That’s a fabulous recommendation. He should have you write his Tinder profile for sure,” she joked.

“I’m serious. We’re not exclusive. You’re free to go out with him.”

“Um, we’re not?” she said, cocking one eyebrow like she was more pissed off than surprised at my statement.

“I can’t take you out publicly or tell everyone you’re my girlfriend,” I felt like shuffling my feet, like I was a sophomore who didn’t know how to string words together. Even the word girlfriend felt stupid and inadequate. I expected her to laugh when I said it, but she didn’t.

“You know who else had to sneak around?” she said, “Romeo and Juliet. They were exclusive. They even got married. Just because they didn’t tell anyone didn’t make it less real.”

“You know who died in the last act? Romeo and Juliet. They’re not my role models here,” I said.

“I don’t want to see anyone else. And it’s bullshit that you even suggested it. I don’t know if you were trying to hurt me or if you were trying to act noble and crap, so I’d be the one to say I want to be exclusive. Either way, I’m not playing that game,” she said, exasperated.

“It’s not that I want you to see other people. I don’t. I didn’t know how to handle it when Jake brought it up. The only reasonable thing to do was to give him permission.”

“Um, rewind here. Why are you giving people permission to do anything? I’m feeling some strong asking-daddy-for-permission-to-court-me bonnets and buggies bullshit here.”

“I’m a friend of the family. I was protective of you when they were discussing you a few weeks ago. He thought it was the honorable thing to—”

“Not talk trash about me in the first place? Or ask my brother’s friend if he could hook up with me? Honorable isn’t really a word in that conversation. If this is the way grown men act, I liked it better when I didn’t know about it,” she huffed.

“You’ve got a point. I shouldn’t have given him the go-ahead. I should’ve said that was up to you, that no one needed my permission. Like I said, I didn’t know how to handle it. I handled it badly,” I said.

“Not as bad as you handled this. Jeez, Luke. Showing up with coffee was great. Telling me to go out with another guy is where you went off the rails here,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I missed you. Do me a favor and don’t set me up with your friends. I’m a big girl. I know how to tell people no if they ask me out. You don’t have to worry about me wanting to see someone else. I just want to see more of you,” she said, tugging on my jacket.

I kissed her then. I’d held out as long as I could. Even when she was irritated with me, I’d still wanted to kiss her. She slid her arms up around my neck, and I pulled her closer. Yeah, this, I thought. It seemed like I hadn’t been warm enough, or really comfortable since she left the other night. This was setting things back to all right, kissing her like there was no one else in the world. She gave a little sigh that made me smile against her lips. We sank into it, just a soft, slow kiss that shut out everything. We could’ve spent the day like that, but some idiot came into the lumberyard. We broke apart when we heard the bells on the door chime as someone entered.

“Shh… go out the back,” she said, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.

I slipped out the back door as she headed out front to the counter to help whatever early bird had interrupted us.

17

Sarah Jo

One of the part-timers at the lumberyard was supposed to take care of opening. Just once. Still, I called him twice to make sure he was up and going because he normally didn’t report before ten. It would have to be fine for one morning. I was taking Dad for his follow-up appointment with the specialist. I had my log of his medications, the list of physical therapy and rehab appointments he’d gone to—and the ones he’d skipped. I had questions for the doctor, but my dad only had one question. Could he go back to the lumberyard part-time?