Page 92 of Brewbies
The fertilizer maven snorted. “He’d better buy you dinner and a new set of shocks after what he did to you earlier.”
Ethan cleared his throat loudly, smothering some very choice words.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed—most people here have seen your schmeeckle at some point or other.”
“What? No they haven’t.”
Myrtle lifted her elbow. “Raise your hand if you’ve seen the sheriff’s no-no parts.”
Every hand but one went up.
Darby didn’tnotnotice that Cady’s arms werevery carefullyadhered to her sides.
“When the hell, Myrtle?” Ethan demanded. She hadn’t been there when Kiki pantsed him.
“I changed your diaper exactly thirty-three years ago.” She lifted her hand to say aside to Darby, “Don’t let this one tell you he has bad aim—little fucker pissed right up my nose.”
“I’m leaving,” Ethan announced. If his skin got any hotter, it would peel right off.
“Oh, come on…” Vee cut in. “It isn’t like Caryn is going to break out naked baby pictures of little Ethan—someone has to humiliate you on dates.”
“Well, mission fucking accomplished, you two,” he groused before spinning on his heel and taking off in a random direction.
Girlish giggles followed him, and Ethan caught himself wondering if he might find this funny when he finished dying of mortification.
A small, cool hand slid into his, and suddenly the night wasn’t so bright and loud. Darby filled every corner of his thoughts, all of his senses, and his entire concept of time, crowding out the chaos of everything that didn’t matter.
“It’s starting to make sense why you fled all the way to Canada for a shag,” she said, tugging him toward the shadows of the meadow beyond, at the end of which the brook burbled lazily.
“They’re harmless.” He waved a hand back toward the people who’d known him the longest. “Just seemed like…the right thing to do, not to pull a woman from a bar that I might pull over the next day.” He smiled down at her, maneuvering their hands until her fingers were laced through his.
Click.
Just like puzzle pieces. Or perfectly fitted cedar joints.
No one could think of a reason they should ever be separated again.
Wait. What?
“You always try to do the right thing, don’t you? To do what is expected of you?” Her voice had lowered two octaves in the hush beyond the meadow, as the night seemed to muffle the carnival behind them.
Ethan picked a flower that’d closed blossoms to the night, and started to unfurl the petals. “I always try to do thegoodthing.”
She made a derisive sound. “I envy people who see the world as binary sometimes. Must be nice, being so certain of what’s right and wrong.”
Ethan maneuvered them around two large roots raised in the middle of the path, careful that she didn’t trip in the dark. “I used to think the right thing was simple.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You.”
Ethan caught her around the middle when she stumbled, liking that he threw her off her axis for a minute.
Felt a little like the universe balancing itself.
Lacing her arm back through his, she allowed him to help her down the bank to the stream, trusting that he knew just about every rock, divot, and root on their path. “How did you become sheriff?” she asked suddenly.
“Talk about a boring story,” he said, kicking a limb out of the way.
