Ugh. I hate myself.

Why did I do that? Stupid. Is there cotton in my mouth? My tongue snakes its way around my palette and over my teeth. It doesn’t help, because my tongue is like sandpaper.

“Hey, you. I thought maybe you’d sleep all day.” Brynn’s voice filters through my head like a ray of sunlight in my dust-filled brain. “I have something for you to drink, and medicine. I’m assuming you need it.”

I open one eye. My jeans and T-shirt are folded and laying on top of Brynn’s dresser. On top of the stack is my coiled brown leather belt.

Brynn sits on the edge of the bed, sideways in my vision. “Last night was a bad idea,” I grumble.

“I don’t know about that. Here, sit up,” she says, trying to lift my shoulders. I sit up and take the medicine she’s holding out. “You had a great time licking me.”

“Best sentence ever,” I mumble, then swallow the pills with a mouthful of water. I drain the rest of the glass and hand it back to her. “How many pills did I just swallow?”

“Four. Two Tylenol, two activated charcoal. The charcoal works wonders. I promise.”

The authoritative tone of her voice reminds me what she used to do for a living, how much experience she probably has with hangovers, and of who is really at fault for the bricks clashing in my head.

“You made this happen.” I point to my head and fall back down on the pillow.

“Nope. I won’t be taking credit for that. You did it to yourself. I merely gave you the information. You used it.”

She climbs onto the bed and sits beside me, her legs crossed. I read her shirt and laugh, immediately regretting the laughter. It makes my head pound.

“Your shirt is ridiculous.”

She looks down at herself. “I know. It’s not suitable for public viewing. I only wear it to sleep in.”

The shirt reads, ‘Live. Laugh. Love.’ The three words are crossed out, and below that it reads, ‘Don’t be a twat.’

“When is your birthday? Maybe I can get you a shirt that doesn’t have a cuss word on it.”

“I don’t have a birthday.”

“Everyone has a birthday.”

“Not me.”

“When is Elizabeth Montgomery’s birthday?”

“July 2^nd .”

“That’s in two weeks. You were going to spend the day around me and not tell me it was your birthday?”

“I guess so.”

I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, changing the subject in the most unsubtle way.

I reach for Brynn, my arms encircling her waist. She scoots forward when I tug.

“I need help feeling better. Do you know what will work?”

“More medicine?”

I shake my head.

“Breakfast?”

“No.”

“Another nap?”

I’m done with words. I pull Brynn down on top of me and bite the same spot I nibbled on last night. She exhales and relaxes into me.

“Feeling better?”

Brynn’s sitting on a chair in her backyard, her feet curled beneath her. She looks peaceful and happy.

I’m in the doorway with a towel wrapped around my waist. I feel a hundred times better than I did when I first woke up. A shower and a nap were what I needed. And Brynn. She’s the best medicine.

“I’m starving. Any chance you have some sour beef hidden somewhere?”

Brynn smiles at me. “No chance. I don’t have much for groceries either. I guess I could’ve walked to the store while you were sleeping.”

Oh. Right. My truck. We left it at the bowling alley.

Brynn’s phone sits on the table beside a glass of water. “Can you order an Uber for me? I need to get my truck back and get us some food.”

She picks up the phone, presses a few buttons, and sets it back down. “It’ll be here in fifteen.” She looks back out at the tree line, her fingers running over her neck and lightly pinching the skin at the base of her throat.

“What’s wrong?” I come out of the house, holding the towel in place with one hand, and sit down opposite her.

“Just thinking about Walt.” Her head tips to one side and she looks at me. “He lives alone. What if something happened to him?”

“He has a phone.”

“I know.” Her voice is thick with worry. “Yesterday when I went over there he had a gash on his forehead. He told me it was from tightening screws on his rickety TV stand. The screwdriver slipped and cut him. He has so much junk over there. What if something really bad happens?”

I like Brynn’s concern. Beneath the sarcasm and playfulness is a massive heart. It’s giving me an idea.

“My ride will arrive soon and I’m naked beneath this towel.” I stand and lean over, kissing the top of her head. “Let me get my truck and pick up some food, then we can talk more about how to help Walt. Deal?”

She nods, looking less worried than she did a moment ago.

I change back into last night’s clothes and step out front, just in time to see my ride pulling up.

The driver says three words the entire drive. Fine by me. I’m not interested in small talk at the moment. Once I’m in my truck, I make a snap decision and stop at a home store. I have one specific thing in mind.

When I’m finished loading it, I hop back in my truck and go to the grocery store. Supermarket Sweep contests have nothing on me. I race through the place and pay, tossing the groceries into the backseat. Brynn is going to love what I have in my truck bed.

I’m so excited that I try to stride right into her house and get shut down by a locked front door. My forward momentum nearly takes my nose right into the door.

“Brynn,” I call out, knocking.

She turns the lock a moment later. “Hi,” she says, opening it all the way. She looks down at my empty hands and frowns. “Did you forget about your hunger?”

“Come on out here. I want to show you something.” Turning, I lead the way to my truck. When Brynn is beside me at the tailgate, I lower it and show her the boxes.

She leans over, her hips pressing into the world’s luckiest tailgate, and peers at the picture.

“A TV stand?” Confused eyes meet mine.

“For Walt,” I clarify.

“Oh,” she says softly, her hand resting on her chest. “This is just so…so…kind. He’ll never accept it, but the gesture is lovely.”

I frown. “Why won’t he accept it?”

She shrugs. “I know him, and I know he won’t accept generosity like this. Unless…” Her lips twist while she thinks. “Unless we put it together here and tell him you took it from someone’s front lawn. Say that it was meant for bulk trash.”

“You think he will accept something that was on its way to the landfill?”

“You haven’t seen his backyard. Before I helped him clean it up, it could’ve been mistaken for a landfill.”

“Alright. We’ll set it up here and carry it over there.” I reach for the first box and drag it toward me. Brynn’s arms shoot out to stop me.

“You can’t. He’s super nosy and watches this street like a hawk. He’s going to see us carrying these boxes.”

“Seriously? What are we supposed to do?”

Brynn glances down the street and back to her place. “Back into my driveway at a bit of an angle. Not a super obvious one though. We’ll carry the boxes into the backyard through the side gate.”

“Not a bad idea.”

Brynn beams. “I’ll meet you in a second. I need to find the key that unlocks the gate.” Brynn hurries inside.

I take the keys from my pocket and start for the front of the truck.

Working together, Brynn and I get the boxes to her backyard. The basic tools we need and box cutter are in my small toolbox. I carry that back with me and we get to work. We are practiced at working together, and assembling is no different. Brynn has the pieces sorted into what I will need at every step. While I work, she puts away groceries and makes a late lunch.

“Here ya go,” she announces, stepping outside with two plates in her hands. “A Brynn sandwich.”

I set down what I’m working on and meet her at her outdoor table. “What makes this sandwich worthy of a name like that?”

“Just try it.”

I take a bite and crunch. “Chips.” I grin around my bite. Brynn leans over and pecks my lips with a mouth as full as mine. She pulls away, munching happily.

My heart wants to dance and also fucking shatter. How did I get so lucky and unlucky at the very same time?

“Hi,” Brynn chirps when Walt opens the door.

He looks beyond her, glaring at me. What is it Brynn likes about this guy? He looks like a lion that has his balls caught in a vise.

“Sir.” I reach around Brynn and extend a hand. My mother would smack me with a ruler if she learned I was anything less than courteous, especially to an old man. Even if it is Walt.

Walt’s gaze flickers down to my outstretched hand and back up to my face. I take back my hand and clear my throat.

“Knock it off, Walt.” Brynn steps inside and motions for me to come too. I follow cautiously. I’m stepping into the angry lion’s den. The TV stand is lucky it’s hidden around the other side of the garage, out of Walt’s sight.

Brynn turns abruptly, so the three of us form a triangle. She looks at Walt and points to me. “Walt, this is Connor. You may no longer refer to him as the boy.” She turns to me. “Connor, this is Walt.”

“Hello, sir.” I try again with an outstretched hand. This time he takes it and grunts a hello.

I’ll take it. Beggars, choosers, yada yada yada.

“We brought you something,” Brynn sing-songs.

Walt’s bushy eyebrows draw together. “I saw you two carrying something.”

Brynn noisily blows out a breath. “It’s impossible to surprise you. Do you know how annoying that is?” She pivots and marches outside. “Come on,” she yells to both of us.

We follow and find Brynn trying to lift the damn thing on her own.

“Stop, stop,” I tell her, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“Then help me,” she grunts, still holding up her end.

I rush to the other side and lift. Walt trails behind as we carry the piece of furniture inside.

Brynn sets it down next to a threadbare brown woven recliner. She points at Walt. “You’re cooking tonight.”

“Grilled cheese?”

Brynn crosses her arms and looks at him. “Add bacon and tomato?”

What’s with this girl and adding to a sandwich’s status quo?

I don’t see Walt as an eye-rolling guy, but if he was one, he’d be doing it right now. “Well, yes. Of course.”

Wait, am I missing something? Have the Cuban’s and Monte Cristo’s blinded me to all manner of sandwich possibilities?

Walt sinks into his recliner. It creaks as he settles. “What the hell is that?” he asks, looking at the stand.

“That”—Brynn states, jabbing a nail in the direction of the piece—“is your new TV stand.”

“Now you listen here, missy—”

“Now you listen here, missy,” Brynn repeats, using an old person voice. If this exchange wasn’t so bizarre, I’d be laughing right now. It’s like Brynn is an annoyed and concerned daughter, and Walt is her obstinate geriatric father.

Walt glares at Brynn, and she lifts an eyebrow. Walt breaks first. There’s a tiny grin on his face, and it looks all wrong. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen him look like that. Whenever I see him around town, he looks like he’s ready to smack people with a cane. Granted, he doesn’t use one, but still.

“Don’t worry, it came from a garbage heap,” I say, cringing. That was awkward as hell.

Brynn’s lips twist because she’s trying not to laugh. “What Connor means is that we rescued it from imminent death. Someone was going to subject it to a slow, painful demise in a landfill. Connor passed it today and, remembering what I said about your TV stand, stopped and tossed it into his truck bed.” She hardens her gaze, as if willing him to comply. “Nice, right?”

Walt looks at me for two seconds and then back at Brynn. “He’s just trying to get in your pants.”

“Too late. I’ve done all manner of dirty things with him,” Brynn says cheerfully, while I’m busy almost choking on my tongue.

“Brynn,” I manage to say, chastising her word choice.

She comes closer and pats my back. “Don’t worry. Walt won’t respect you unless you give it back to him. How do you think I slingshotted my way past his defenses?”

She’s looking up at me, grinning, and if it weren’t for Walt, I’d lay my lips down on hers right now. This girl’s infectious personality sends me spinning in the best way. She’s funny and bold, sassy and big-hearted. How am I ever going to let her go?

“If you say it’s used and free, then I’ll take it.” Walt’s voice brings my heart back down to earth. It’s probably best, considering it was hammering and threatening to jump right from my chest.

“Check, check.” Brynn grins at me. “Put those muscles to use, Connor.” She walks to the outdated TV and pats the top, then frowns, looking at her open palm, and drags it across the side of her jean shorts.

Walt watches us switch out his TV stands, barking out orders, while Brynn threatens to put him in a home. When we’re done, Brynn steps back to admire our work.

“Hey, Bryan?”

I can’t help my snicker. Brynn sends me a dirty look and glances back to Walt. “What?”

“What is a”—Walt squints at her midsection—“twat?”

Brynn’s eyes grow big as they lower to her shirt. In her excitement about the surprise, she must’ve forgotten what she was wearing. “I’ll tell you another time,” she sputters.

I hang my head and shake it. I have no words.

Walt says he’s going to make grilled cheese and starts for the kitchen, but Brynn hurries ahead of him. “I’ll do it,” she says.

“Knew the whole time she’d do that if I pretended I was going to do it,” he says, shuffling over to his chair.

I settle into the couch across from him, and Walt turns on the Diamondbacks game. The sound and smell of sizzling bacon wafts into the room.

“Brynn’s a special girl,” he says, after one at bat of silence. His eyes are trained on the TV, but he keeps talking. “I don’t know what happened in Phoenix, but it hurt her very badly. Wounded birds need time to heal before they can fly. I’m worried you’re going to clip her wing.”

For a man who carefully navigates his front steps and has more dust than hair, he’s alarmingly astute. He’s also wrong.

“I’m not planning on clipping her wing.” My eyes stay on the TV too. The volume gets louder as the pitcher strikes someone out at first base. “If she wants to fly, she can. I won’t hold her back.”

Now Walt looks at me. “Do you know what she’s running from?”

I nod.

“Is it as bad as she seems to think?”

I consider the letters she has hidden away in a drawer. Hate drips from every word. This man believes Brynn ruined his life. “Yeah.”

“Might be best to let her go then.”

I nod, looking back at the screen. He’s only saying things I’ve already told myself.

“World’s best sandwiches,” Brynn shouts from the kitchen. “Slap yo’ mama delicious.” She comes into the room holding three plates. She passes one to Walt and sits beside me with the other two. I’m not hungry, but something tells me I shouldn’t decline.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, passing a plate to me.

“Nothing,” I say, lying through my damn teeth.

“You look sad,” she says, biting into her sandwich and pulling it away. A string of cheese stays attached to her teeth, dropping limply as she bites through it.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I wind an arm around her shoulders and pull her in close. “Everything is fine.”