“Exactly. You say that as if it were meant to be an insult. Again, I assure you, I don’t have poor taste. I have excellent taste, and believe me, I got quite a mouthful last night.”
Suddenly, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, his cheeks get that cute as shit pink tinge to them again. I grin. “What, no witty rebuttal?”
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that. I’m your boss…”
“A boss who had his dick down my throat last night,” I say, loud enough to catch the attention of the men sitting behind Brooks. They look like a couple, the way they’ve been feeding each other their lunch, sharing looks and trading kisses with one another. I won’t lie and say that I’ve been stewing in jealousy, over their openness, as I watch them.
The guy on the left spins and gives me a wink. When he turns back to his partner, I hear him murmur, “Sounds likesomeoneis employee of the month back there.”
Brooks buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I thought you were mute the first day you came to drop Colton off. Now, you’re here, likening what we did yesterday to a sampler flight at a brewery, and people are listening to us,” he mutters into his palms. “This is it. I’m mortified. I can no longer dine at this establishment.”
I chuckle, tossing a fry at him. “You wanted me to be more comfortable in my sexuality. How am I doing, coach?”
“Stellar,” he deadpans, giving me another sardonic look.
“Are there any breweries around here we could check out? That might be a good date idea, wouldn’t it? We could just hop on the bike and go…”
“We aren’t dating,” he reminds me, but this time I’m not letting it get to me.
The man sitting across from the table from me deserves to be wooed. I’m going to woo until I’m the best woo-er to ever woo. I can fucking woo.
“We’ll see about that,” I promise him with a wink.
“Brooky, sweetie! You made it!” I hear, right before Brooks is ripped away from my side by a slighter, auburn-haired lady who is most definitely his mom, Olivia. “Oh, you should see how well the showcase is doing today. You certainly do have a bunch of budding artists in your camp this year. Their loved ones are overjoyed, looking at the masterpieces.”
His cheeks flush rosy again, right before she plants a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Hi, Mom,” he drawls, like an embarrassed middle-schooler. “Yes, I told you I was coming out today. Of course I’m here.”
“Oh, of course, I know that sweetheart. It’s just sometimes, I know you get squirreled away by all your responsibilities. I understand that.”
“When was the last time I didn’t make time for you or Ma?” he asks.
“Good point,” she says, stroking a hand through his hair and looking at him lovingly. “You always make time for us.” Then she takes a glance at me, “Oh, well now, who are you?!” she coos. “Brooks nevertold me he was bringing a gentleman caller! I’m Olivia, by the way,” she adds.
“I’m Evan,” I respond, holding out my hand, expecting a handshake. She sidesteps that and greets me with a hug, instead.
Well, well… quite the family of huggers we have here. It’s a concept so foreign to me that I think I’d pick up friggin’ Swahili better than knowing what to do with a hug. I melt in her arms, though. It feels just as good as it does unfamiliar.
“Evan’s not my date, Mom,” Brooks cuts in, as she releases me.
“Oh, well then who—”
“Don’t let him lie to you. I am his date,” I cut her off. “You certainly must know him; you raised him, after all. He is always so modest. We’ll work on that.”
A beaming smile crosses her face. “Excuse my language, but”—she leans in and whispers—“it’s about fucking time someone did.”
“Oh my gosh, Mom! Evan is my employee, not mydate,” Brooks protests sternly.
The protest comes off rather comical looking though. Like, if he had balled up his fists, stomped his foot, and huffed, it really would have been adorable. Childlike, really. Olivia must be thinking the same thing, because I see her shoulders hitching and her lips purse, as if she’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“My wife already gave me the good news, sweetie,” she says, pinching one of his red cheeks. “There’s no lying to either of your mothers.”
After a little more conversation with Olivia, and maybe more than just a few funny stories featuring a young Brooks—which he didnotseem to find all that funny—we went for a stroll around downtown Alder Notch. The place consists mostly of novelty shops where Maine-themed souvenirs are sold, antique stores, an independent bookstore, a home goods outlet, a hardware store, a general storesimilar to the one Colt and I live above, and a locally owned outdoor gear supply store—since Alder Notch is close to an Appalachian Trail crossing.
The air here isn’t briny. It’s crisp, like mountain air. Real mountain air, not that stuff you get in a spray can.
It’s a quaint little town, similar to Ternbay in census and amenities, but that’s where the similarities seem to end. Ternbay doesn’t seem so quaint when you’ve been looking at it from the inside out your entire life. No, Ternbay is definitely a shithole when you do a deep-dive into it.
Once you get away from coastal downtown, my hometown is one of those places where your broken-down cars take up as much space on your lawn as the political signs do, even when election time has long passed. Unlike here, where even the places out of downtown proper look like rustic camps with decently manicured yards, ready for barbecues and gatherings. Brooks views his camp as dated and dilapidated, but I see its charm, and I’m working on uncovering it.
