“You’ve always been really sweet, but I don’t think I’d ever let you near one of my cars.” He chuckles. “I’m sure there’s something you can help me with.” He snaps his finger as if something comes to mind. “I know, you can show me how to make your coffee cake.”
“My coffee cake?”
“Yeah. I, uh . . . want to send some to someone, but it would make more of an impact if I made it.”
Who is this someone?
“That’s uh, a family recipe. How do I know you’re not going to give it to your family to sell at The Lobster Landing?” Oh God, Ruth. Why the hell did you say that?
He stops at a stop sign and turns to look at me. “Do you really think I’d do that?”
There’s hurt in his eyes, and I immediately feel bad for accusing him of something I know he’d never do. Knightlys aren’t like that. They support the people around them, they don’t steal from them.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m just . . . ugh, I’m not good at this.”
“Good at what?” Brig asks, making a right toward Rogan and Harper’s house. I’ve been there a few times for girls’ nights.
“Good at accepting help.”
More like good at accepting help from the guy I can’t stop thinking about. The guy who’s starred in my dreams for the last several years. The guy I just wish would look at me as more than the girl who serves him coffee.
Brig is silent for a moment before he says, “Is it because you’ve been on your own for a while?”
The basic facts of a person’s life in this town are never off the table. It’s no secret everyone knows my parents died, just like it’s no secret the Knightly boys went to New Orleans and came back with a “curse.” Word travels quickly and instead of talking about the weather for small talk, we discuss the latest gossip.
Sharon and her botched nose job.
Peg and her cat addiction.
Jim and his penchant for getting struck by lightning on the beach.
It’s fair game when you live in Port Snow, so Brig knowing about my parents is no surprise, especially since we grew up together.
Not wanting to dive too deep into this conversation, I say, “Probably. I’m just used to doing things on my own and taking care of myself so if I seem ungrateful, it’s not because I am. It’s because accepting help is hard.”
“I can understand that,” Brig says, turning down Rogan and Harper’s long driveway. “But it’s okay to give in, to let others help you. That’s the beauty of Port Snow; we’re one big dysfunctional family.”
“Dysfunctional is a great way of putting it.”
Brig pulls up to Rogan’s shed where he keeps his vast array of construction supplies and moves a few things around. I help him shift some lumber to the side and then he eases out a decently sized machine that looks like a snowblower.
He loads it up on the truck, straps it down, and then we’re back in the cab and driving toward Main Street. It feels like a whirlwind mission, but when he’s supposed to turn right toward the garage, he turns left.
“Where are you going?” I ask, feeling confused. “Did you forget something?”
He shakes his head. “No, I could really use some ice cream and since we’re already driving, figured you wouldn’t mind if we stopped at the Freeze Stand for a quick second.”
“Oh sure, yeah. Whatever you want.”
“You’re going to have to get some ice cream too. I don’t like to eat alone, Ruthie.”
“I like ice cream,” I say lamely, only to see him smile in my peripheral vision.
“It would be horrifying if you didn’t. What’s your favorite thing to get at the Freeze Stand?”
“You’ll judge me.”
“Probably, since I can be an ice cream snob, but tell me anyway.”
I love how easygoing he is. Holding a conversation seems simple for him. Always the social butterfly. The guy everyone wants to be around because he puts a smile on your face.
He puts a smile on my face.
And even though I feel like my lungs seize whenever he’s around, I still feel warmth spread through me when he starts talking. His humor is infectious and his overall teasing personality makes me feel like I belong . . . belong somewhere.
Feeling stiff, I tell myself to loosen up, to have fun, to live in this moment. From the look of it, Brig might inject himself in my everyday life when I’m at Piccadilly Parlor, so I need to seize these opportunities to be close to him.
“Okay, but I warned you . . .”
“Can’t be that bad—”
“Blackberry soft serve on a cone dipped in a peanut butter shell.”
He pulls into the parking lot of the Freeze Stand, puts the truck in park, and then turns toward me, arm draping over the bench seat, eyes blinking. “What?”
“Blackberry—”
“No, I heard you. I’m just wondering why? Why would you choose that?”
“It tastes like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Blinks.
“What?” I ask, feeing nervous under his stare. But I also can’t hold back my smile at his confused expression. “Don’t you like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
“I mean . . . who doesn’t?”
“But if we’re confessing here, I do prefer peanut butter and Fluff on rye bread, if we’re getting specific.”
Blinks some more. “On rye bread?”
Chuckling now, I nod. “Yes, have you tried it?”
“No, I have taste buds.”
“Apparently not refined ones,” I say with a lift of my chin.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, did you just burn me, Ruthie?”
God, I love that he calls me that. I love it so much.
“Possibly.”
He pulls the keys from the ignition and says, “Well, this very well might be the start of a great friendship.” He opens his door and says, “Come on, I have to try this preposterous ice cream concoction that you love.”
“My brothers are never going to believe me. Never.”
Brig shoves the bottom part of his cone into his mouth and wipes his hands on a napkin, then leans back in the grass and sighs.
Mouth full, he says, “Fuck, that was good.”
Not far behind him on devouring my ice cream, I take another bite, chew, and swallow. “Told you it was good.”
“That was better than good. That was something special. How did you come up with it?”
“My dad,” I say softly. “It was his favorite. He made me get it one day, and I haven’t changed my order since.”
“Your dad was a very smart man,” Brig says, lying down on the grass now, hands behind his head. “I remember your parents working in Snow Roast, seeing them bustling around. My mom always said they were incredibly hard workers and admired them for turning the coffee shop into something special.”
I finish my cone and sit there silently, trying not to get emotional over Brig’s kind words. “They were very proud of what they created.”
“They would be proud of you too, Ruthie. Especially with this new endeavor. I think it’s going to be a great addition to town.”