Bro Code(4)

Typical Nick.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and apparently it also turns the cool, older guy I dreamed about having my first kiss with into the best-looking man I've ever seen. Ever. I only caught a glimpse when he came in with Nick earlier, but it was enough to make my heart almost stop before I quickly darted into the other room.

That jaw, that smile, and he was so tall...

Barrett had always been taller than me, though. At fourteen, 'sexy' had barely entered into my vocabulary, but when all my friends were cooing over Hollywood heartthrobs and boy bands, I was looking at Barrett. He was the good guy, the guy you could trust, and he kept my brother out of trouble more than once. I'd catch glimpses here and there, but Barrett always seemed to be just out of reach—at least until I turned seventeen.

My birthday party that year had transformed into a nightmare after I'd gotten into a huge fight with my best friend and I wanted to be anywhere but in the house. The only place to go was the backyard, where I'd been crying my eyes out until a hand touched my shoulder. Barrett was the last person I expected to see when I turned around, concern written all over his face.

“Hey, Ava. You okay?”

I don't remember what I said back. Whatever my answer, it wasn't enough to convince him, and a second later, I was wrapped in the tightest hug of my life. He let me cry my eyes out against his chest until I had nothing left, and when I cursed out my friend for being such a pain, Barrett's laugh was a warm, deep rumble in his chest. When I was finally able to put myself back together, he walked me back inside where I made up with my friend.

We never talked about it again. I don't know if he thought my brother would give him shit for being sweet to me or what, but it lingered in my mind for months. Years now, I guess.

“Ava, honey, let's get this batch going.” My mom's voice draws me back into the present, and so does the aluminum cookie cutter she's waving in my face.

When I lean over to check the recipe card, she shoos me away from it, pushing the cutter right into my hands. “You don't need to count how many you make per tray. Just shove them all on there.”

Sue me for wanting them to bake evenly through. “Okay, Mom.”

I press the little tree and star outlines into the dough over and over, cutting out dozens of cookies. Each one goes onto the tray, and my mom scrapes the excess together before rolling it flat again, which is just enough for two more cookies. Once they're arranged in a bunch of clean rows, I'm urged out of the kitchen.

“I'll call you back in when it's time to frost them,” Mom says.

There's not much else to do but wait for the scent of fresh cookies to fill the house, so I slip down the stairs and into the den. My dad is exactly where I left him a few hours ago, watching the news on the couch, but now that the sun's set, the entire room is dark. He doesn't seem to have noticed, but I flip on a lamp anyway before sitting down next to him.

“What's the state of the world like, Dad?” I ask.

He mutters something under his breath, eyes still locked on the screen. “Same as always. Your mother run you out of the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” I don't mind, though, and he knows it. “You shouldn't stay down here in the dark, you know. It'll kill your eyes.”

“Not like I need them for much anymore.”

The bitterness in my dad's voice is new, raw. After decades of building a business with his own two hands, a heart attack last fall suddenly put him out of commission. Every doctor said it was congenital, that only a life of hard work and eating well had kept severe heart problems from starting earlier, but that was almost worse in a way. If there had been something he could change, my dad would have immediately put his nose to the grindstone and fixed it. Instead, he had to retire.

Now I'm taking over where he left off. It would have been Nick's job but he loves living in the city, and being a store manager who gets to drink with the guys every night too much to stop and learn how to run a factory. When Dad asked, my brother said he'd just close the business and sell it off, locking the doors on the same place whose profits put him through college. Thinking about that conversation always puts a boulder in my stomach.

I refuse to shut down the factory. My dad has hundreds of employees, from janitors to engineers, and they all rely on the company staying open. Every business around it would buckle without those people keeping a steady paycheck. I've driven past enough towns that were left to turn to dust and blow off the map because someone didn't care enough to keep the heart of it alive.

“You know what the boys are up to?” Dad asks, squinting at the screen in front of him.

I reach over to the table next to the couch, grabbing the case for his glasses. He sighs, but takes them anyway. “Not really. Barrett walked in and then Nick dragged him off.”

“Some things never change.” Now that he can see, my dad looks at me instead of the television. “I'm glad you came home to start looking things over, Ava, but I wish you weren't by yourself. I’m so proud of you, but you deserve someone to share a life with.”

Oh God, this again. “Dad...”

“You're twenty-five.” He frowns, wrinkles pulling against old laugh lines. “You know, your mom and I were-”

“Twenty when you started dating. I know.” It's the same story he brings up every time he sees me lately, and somehow, I feel just as guilty every time. He means well, of course, and I've never wanted to disappoint him. “I'm working on it, okay? But I've got to get everything with the factory stable first.”