"I don’t mean so, condescendingly," he corrects me.
I take another sip in place of a pause in the conversation. "I guess this isn’t the worst tasting stuff in the world.”
"I know bourbon is an acquired taste, but when you think about what went into producing this one glass, it’s kind of amazing. Your dad began preparing this very bottle ten years ago. It’s crazy to think about."
I reach across Brett and take the bottle within my hands and cling to it, wishing this bottle would offer me comfort. "Ten years ago, our lives were perfect."
"Mine wasn’t," he says.
I switch my gaze from the bottle to Brett’s eyes. "Why not?"
"There was this kiss," he says, his words slow and clear. "It made me want to change my future, but I had already signed papers—signed my life away."
My heart thumps and races, not knowing what kiss he is referencing. "A kiss? What kind of kiss could make you want to change your future plans?" I don’t know how I got the words out, but I don’t think I sounded as nervous as I feel.
"Just one kiss," he says, his gaze lazily falls to my lips, and my body tenses.
"She must have been some girl," I mutter, trying to breathe after the statement.
Brett’s lips curl into a small smile. "You sure are," he says.
"Me?" I question. "You must be confusing me for someone else."
He reaches his hand to my chin then tenderly sweeps the pad of his thumb against my bottom lip. "I wouldn’t forget my first kiss," he says.
A wave of tingles fills my face, then plummet through my body.
"Your first kiss?" I ask. "There’s no way. You were—well, I might have called you Mr. Perfect for a period of time. I was sure you had a gaggle of girlfriends following you around."
He chokes through a quiet laugh. "I went to an all-boys high school, played way too much baseball, and helped my dad out at the warehouse when I wasn’t doing homework or at practice. There wasn’t a lot of time for socializing."
"You were my first kiss too.” My words form from weak breaths.
"I had no idea," he says with a charming tilted smile tugging at the left side of his mouth.
"Liar."
Brett inhales with an expression of anguish and lowers his head between his shoulders. "I wish you were home for a different reason," he says. "I know your head is in a million places right now."
I close my eyes because, for the first time this week, my head was in none of those places. "You are a nice distraction.”
I shouldn’t be looking for a distraction. I should figure out how I’m going to grieve. He’s still aliveyet, I feel like a part of him is already gone. "My mom must be wondering where Benji and I are. I don’t want her to worry." The painful picture of my current life regenerates all too quickly, and I tell myself I should not be thinking about kissing him again when I’m this much turmoil.
"Oh, good call. I don’t want her to worry about anything more than she has to." Brett chugs the rest of his bourbon, and I do the stupid thing I did all those years ago and follow his act.
"Oh—I thought you would not be gulping bourbon again any time soon?" His face contorts with a look of concern.
"I’ll be fine," I tell him after forcing the burning liquor down my throat.
Brett collects the paper bag and slips the glasses and bottle back inside before releasing Benji’s leash from the beam.
We’re silent most of the walk back to my house, but as we pass the neighbor’s garage, I feel the need to thank him. "It was sweet of you to check on me and—the bourbon. It’s a special bottle, so I hope it doesn’t go bad too fast."
"We’ll have time for more," he says, handing me Benji’s leash. "Good luck with everything tomorrow. Text me if you need anything, even if it’s just company."
I hold my focus on the green leash for a long moment, but my gaze flashes upward when Brett’s lips touch my cheek. "Good night, Melody."
Within the darkness from the low-lit street, Brett watches as I make my way inside. He doesn’t move an inch until I wave from the front door. He waves back, smiles, and my heart melts.
