Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,56

can guess there is more to the story of her ex-boyfriend, but if she was mine, I’d wait anywhere, everywhere, and for as long as it would take for her to come back.

I might have distracted her for a brief moment tonight, but thoughts of her, watching the way she walks, and the way the loose curls of her hair sway with each step almost makes me forget about the darkness long enough to find the faint glow from the light above her front steps. “Are you okay?” she asks as we step back onto the street?

“I am, thanks,” I say.

She places her hand on my back and presses her head into my shoulder. “I’m glad.”

We’re silent for the remaining minute it takes for us to reach her driveway, but I can think of at least a thousand things to say. I’ll save it for another night, though.

“Good luck with everything tomorrow. Text me if you need anything, even if it’s just company.” I hand the leash back to her and offer a simple smile. Seeing as we’re no more than a foot apart, I take the uninvited moment to lean forward and kiss her warm cheek. I don’t know if it’s too much or not enough, but I’m overwhelmed by the familiar scent of peaches. The shampoo. That damn shampoo. How can she still smell so beautiful after a day in hell? “Good night, Melody.”

She fights against a smile and spins around, nearly tripping over the leash attached to Benji. With a hint of a giggle I used to hear all the time, she sweeps her hair behind her back and jogs up the front steps to the door. I wait until she’s safely inside and head for my truck, wondering how I’m going to get my head out of the clouds long enough to find my way off this street.

17

Would I have wanted a distraction when Abby died. I know the circumstances are different because Abby’s death came as a shock, but maybe I shouldn’t be assuming Melody needs or wants a distraction at the moment. I want to say I understand what she’s going through, but losing a parent is entirely different than losing a friend, and I don’t want to overstep.

My phone buzzes as I reach the first stoplight. It’s probably Mom looking to see when I’ll be by to grab Parker. I check the message as I come to a stop, finding a message from Melody.

* * *

The Girl of my Dreams: Thank you. I needed that in more ways than I can explain.

* * *

The light returns to green, and I place the phone down, feeling a bout of relief. I think it’s safe to assume I didn’t cross a line or push too hard. At least that’s what her message sounds like. What a relief.

My string of thoughts lessen as I continue the half-hour drive to Mom and Pops. I need to clear my head of Melody’s sadness so I can perk up for Parker. The last thing she needs is to go through any more feelings of loss, even if it’s just by hearing or watching it happen to someone else. If I could keep her in a bubble of happiness, I would. At some point, I’ll have to allow more of life’s realities into her world, but I feel it’s my responsibility to keep as much despair from her as possible so she can experience how wonderful life can be.

I walk into the house, inhaling the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and nail polish remover--the norm when I leave Mom and Parker alone for more than an hour. The woman who never had daughters takes every chance possible to have girl time with her granddaughters. Even Pops has joined in on the fun from time to time, but we’re not supposed to talk about the times I’ve found him with mascara or lipstick smudged across his cheeks from one of the girls using him as a model.

Pops is in the living room watching TV, ready to fall asleep when I interrupt his crime show coma. “Brett,” he says, checking his watch. “Oh, it’s only eight. God, it feels like ten.”

“It’s that time of year again,” I tell him. We just hit daylight savings, and no one has adjusted yet, including myself, who evidently doesn’t need the extra hour of sleep.

“Take a load off. Your mom is painting Parker’s nails, and it’s the crucial-no-interrupting-part. Whatever that means.”

“That process is the