Page 9 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

We were left standing in the silence… just me, Cody, and those ridiculous sunflowers drooping in my quill vase.

Cody arched one eyebrow. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but did Aunt Bea just set us up on a date?”

Hastily I picked up a pile of Keats and Tennyson and rushed to the poetry shelf, as if stacking the books was now the most urgent thing on the planet. “I think you’re putting words in her mouth, she simply invited us for a drink. Of course, I won’t be going. I’m far too busy.”

“Doing what?” he smirked. “Recategorizing Byron’s poems in order of his mistresses? Counting how many times Poe rhymed a word with ‘nevermore?’ Underlining every time Joyce pretends a sentence is finished when it clearly isn’t?”

I gave a dramatic huff. “You know something, I never thought I’d find someone’s literary knowledge quite so annoying. But you, dear sir, seem determined to prove me wrong.”

He raised both eyebrows. “Sir? Bea’s right, you do need loosening up. I can’t wait to have a drink with you tonight.”

With that he winked, then headed out the door.

And there I stood, furious with Bea, furious with Cody, and—most irritating of all—furious with myself for already knowing I’d be at that bar at seven sharp.

I locked up the store at six on the dot, turned the Open sign to Closed, then went upstairs, pressed a fresh shirt, chose a new bow tie, left the Nook, and made my way briskly along the forest path toward Aunt Bea’s Barnyard Bar , all the while telling myself I was not, in any universe, on a date.

I was begrudgingly attending the rendezvous out of little more than politeness. I would stay no longer than forty-five minutes, drink exactly one soda water with lime, and return home with my composure intact.

The path threaded between trees that filtered the last of the summer light into long strips. Leaves were the color of old paperbacks with the approach of autumn. As I walked, I rehearsed what I’d say to Cody when he arrived…

“ Good evening.” Nice and neutral.

“How are you finding town?” Harmless.

“I’m not staying long.” Absolutely crucial to mention.

I didn’t even realize I was mumbling to myself until I rounded a bend and almost walked into Harry and Dean, my mutterings instantly turning into a scream.

I jumped

They jumped, Dean clutching Harry and Harry taking on a dramatic action pose to protect his young boyfriend.

“I’m not a bear! It’s just me! Brooks!”

Harry relaxed and Dean sighed with relief.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of us,” Harry said. “You came out of nowhere. Are you out jogging or something?”

“In a bow tie?” Dean added.

“No, I’m not jogging.”

“Then what’s the hurry?” Harry asked.

“I’m not in a hurry. Why? Was I moving quickly?” I suddenly realized I was somewhat breathless. “Perhaps I was moving at a lively pace, yes, but I assure you, I’m in no hurry to meet someone.”

“You’re meeting someone?” Harry smiled.

“That’s not what I said.”

“At Aunt Bea’s?” Dean asked. Given the fact that we were standing at the point where the two paths joined and became the only path that led to Bea’s, it was pretty obvious exactly where I was going.

“Okay, yes. I’m meeting someone at Aunt Bea’s.”

“Is it a date?” Dean’s grin was pure mischief.

I stiffened. So many assumptions. So much prying. I was about to abandon ship altogether, turn around and head straight back home, when Harry patted me on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell us if it’s a date or not,” he said, clearly sensing my heightened anxiety. “But maybe we can walk with you. You could keep us company. Unless of course you’re still in a hurry.”

I took a breath. “I suppose… if you’d like the company… that would be fine.”

Truth be told I would have liked a little longer to rehearse my safe and in no way suggestive topics of conversation. Nonetheless, Harry and Dean might prove a nice distraction before my antipodean encounter.

Harry matched my stride for a few steps, then—without making a point of it—slowed. I slowed too. The forest made its soft evening sounds. The crickets settled into a soft drone. My pulse calmed itself.

“Breathing trick,” Harry said lightly, as if he were offering a free bookmark.

“In for four, hold for four, out for six. Works a charm when the hardware delivery turns up with the wrong bolts and Old Walt starts to blame our newfangled computer system for screwing up the order. Fun fact: our newfangled computer is twelve years old, and the order forms work just fine. That’s when I say to Walt—in for four, hold for four, out for six. ”

I didn’t enjoy being given random tips on making it through life—I thought I was doing just fine—but perhaps it wouldn’t go astray tonight. I did as he instructed. The air smelled like pine needles. By the third breath my shoulders had lowered a fraction.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded. Instead of thanking him, I felt the need to explain. “I was not rushing. I suppose I was just a little distracted. I had no intention of hurrying.”

“Of course not,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around me like a thick blanket before pulling away. Everyone in town knew how much I hated casual contact. I guess protective Harry just couldn’t help himself. “You were just making good time,” he said.

We walked. Gravel whispered underfoot. Dean let the silence sit for a few moments, then offered a thread I could either pick up or ignore.

“So, tell us, what’s your latest recommendation? Books, I mean. I need something to read on Harry’s porch.”

Ah. Blessed relief. A question I could answer without squirming. I straightened my bow tie.

“Well, that depends what you’re after. Do you like historical novels?

I could recommend The Illusionist’s Daughter , which manages to balance sleight-of-hand with the Siege of Paris in a manner I found both magical and unexpectedly moving.

Or perhaps a crime novel? Murder on Millstone Bridge is satisfyingly twisty and set just far enough away from here that you won’t be begging Harry to add more deadlocks to your door.

Or—if you’re in the mood for something more contemplative— The House at the Edge of the Lake .

That one requires patience, but the prose is like water smoothing stones. Sublime.”

Dean whistled. “Wow. You had those loaded and ready to go.”

“Books aren’t bullets,” I said, bristling.

“They don’t destroy things. Quite the opposite, they create in us a thousand lives we’d never dare to live.

They lend us courage we don’t possess, kindness we sometimes forget, and companions we didn’t know we needed.

If that’s not art of the highest order, I don’t know what is. ”

Harry smiled. “That’s our Brooks. He may be blunt at times, but he’s got a knack for making you see things in a whole new light.”

Up ahead, the twinkling festoon lights draping the outside of Aunt Bea’s Barnyard Bar flickered through the trees, while the happy sounds of people laughing and chatting drifted on the breeze, along with Bea’s favorite records playing on the jukebox.

The three of us walked in together before I paused nervously just inside the doorway, scanning the faces in the room.

“You okay?” Harry asked. “Need us to hang with you for support?”

I spotted Cody sitting at the bar, a beer in his hand. I gathered my courage, again promising myself not to stay long, knowing that if things went pear-shaped it was only a matter of time before I was curled up safely in bed again, a book in my hands and another universe to lose myself in.

“No, I think I’m okay. But thank you.”

Harry patted me on the shoulder. “We’ll be sitting just over there in that booth if you need us.”

With that, Harry wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder, and they took up their spot for the night.

I inhaled deeply, then made my way over to the Australian at the bar.

On the jukebox, the Four Tops were belting out “Reach Out, I’ll Be There” as though singing me a personal pep talk.

Cody looked up as I approached, his smile easy, the kind that made me wish I’d practiced not just my lines but my facial expressions.

“There he is,” he said warmly, raising his bottle in greeting. “Right on time. I was starting to think you’d stood me up.”

“I told you I wasn’t even going to come.”

He sucked on his beer bottle. “Yeah, didn’t believe that for a second.”

“Need I remind you, this isn’t something one could be stood up from. That sentence came out weird, but you know what I mean. This isn’t a—well, it’s not a date . It’s a drink.”

“Sure,” Cody said, eyes twinkling. “A very punctual, very bow-tied drink.”

I tugged at my collar. “I always value punctuality. And presentation.”

He leaned back on his stool, completely relaxed. “And I value spontaneity and comfort. Guess we’re covering both ends of the spectrum tonight.”

I perched myself stiffly on the stool beside him, folding my hands defensively. “If you’re suggesting that opposites attract, I don’t believe that for a second. That’s a trope reserved for romance novels. It couldn’t possibly work out in real life.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Cody said, taking another long sip and finishing off his beer.

Before I could decide whether that was flirtation or simply Australian bluntness, Aunt Bea glided toward us in a storm of sequins and rhinestones, her purple wig enough to rival the chandelier overhead.

“Well, well, well. The bookstore prince has finally left his tower to meet his sun-bronzed Prince Charming. I knew the two of you would fall into my trap… I mean, take up my invitation. Now, let’s get to the good part—what are we drinking?

And don’t you dare say soda water with lime, Brooks. This is a bar, not a spa.”

“I happen to like soda water,” I said, bristling.

“You happen to be a lost cause,” Bea shot back. She flicked her gaze to Cody. “What about you, handsome? Another beer?”

“You betcha,” Cody said with a grin, clearly loving every ounce of Bea’s flamboyance.