Manhattan: A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers Romance (Becker Brothers Book 3)

by Kandi Steiner

  “You heard me. You made me a pinky promise, and we start today.”

  “You hate mudding.”

  “But you used to love it,” she said, pointing her finger right at my chest. “And I have a truck. Therefore, we’re going.”

  I fought back a laugh at that, but failed to hide it long. “Kylie, you have a Tacoma. It’s a two-wheel drive.”

  “Last I checked, two wheels drive it just fine.”

  I full on laughed at that. “You can’t take it mudding. You’ll get stuck.”

  “So… we get stuck,” she said on an exasperated breath, throwing her hands up in the air. “You said you were down. You pinky promised, Mikey. So, stop being such a fuddy duddy and just meet me at my house after work.”

  My eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and I cursed myself for making that damn agreement without asking to see the notebook again. I didn’t remember a single thing that was on her list, but if this was just the start, I was convinced I’d made the worst deal of my life.

  “It’ll be fun,” she said, leaning over the counter the same way the blonde tourist had.

  The same way Bailey had.

  I swallowed, picking my phone back up to search through more apartments with a pair of green eyes haunting me just like they always did.

  “Can’t wait.”

  I knew the smile on my face was a smug one as I watched a wide-eyed Kylie take in the scene around us.

  The mudding park just outside of Stratford was busy, even on a Monday night, because it was summer and the mud was fresh. Warm weather and longer days called to the country boys with big mud tires, to the men with tricked-out trucks just begging to get a little dirty.

  Kylie’s brown eyes took up half her face as she surveyed the truck — on tires twice the size of her — currently slinging mud from the puddle it’d just dived into. The mud was thick and clay-colored, spewing up from the back tires like a reverse waterfall as the crowd cheered and hollered and raised their beers to the driver. He was in a Chevy Silverado, jacked up on after-market tires that I knew he’d sunk no less than three-thousand dollars into, not including whatever it cost him to lift the truck on suspensions.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  We were surrounded by men and women of all ages who had more money in their truck than they probably did in their home. There were Broncos and F-150s, Tundras and Rams, Jeeps and Hummers — all lifted and tricked out and well equipped to take on the fresh Tennessee mud.

  And then, there was my adorable, naïve, hopeful best friend and her little Tacoma.

  Kylie swallowed as a group of girls in full camo gear walked by us, eyeing her truck with curious smiles before they made their way over to a hot pink Jeep that had a vinyl sticker across the front window reading Swamp Girl.

  “Still think this is a good idea?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Yes,” she squeaked, faking confidence. She forgot too often how well I knew her. “So, we might not be able to put on a big show,” she offered on a shrug. “We can still get some mud on the tires, you know, like Brad Paisley said.”

  I chuckled. “Maybe we should go hit one of the smaller trails,” I offered, nodding toward the woods behind her. “Something not so muddy.”

  “That’s not what you would do when you came out here when we were younger,” she pointed out, shifting her weight to one hip. “You’d go right there in that big mud pit and you and your brother wouldn’t leave until you were completely covered in muck.”

  “My brother also drives a Bronco,” I reminded her.

  “Ugh! You’re impossible,” she said on a huff, yanking the door handle on her truck. “Just get in.”

  I shook my head, already knowing what a disaster it was going to be but knowing there was no arguing with Kylie when she had her mind set on something.

  She was right, I did used to love mudding with Jordan. It was my favorite way to bond with my oldest brother, who stuck to himself for the most part. When we climbed in his Bronco and came out here to the trails, we got away from everything. Sometimes we’d talk for hours, sometimes we’d laugh and jam to music as loud as his speakers could play it, and other times, when the mud was gone and it was just old bumpy roads, we’d ride in silence with the windows down, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  I hadn’t been mudding since Bailey left, even though Jordan had invited me plenty of times, and I knew the biggest reason why. I didn’t want to talk to him about her. I didn’t want to jam out to music and laugh and pretend I was fine. And I damn sure didn’t want to be alone with my own thoughts with anyone else around to witness the suffering.

  I just wanted to be left alone.

  Too bad my best friend had missed that cue.

  I sighed, following her lead and climbing into the passenger seat of the truck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” I asked, shutting the door behind me as she fired the truck to life. “It can be a little tricky maneuvering the pit and knowing when to give it gas and when to lay off.”

  “I watched several YouTube videos and I am fully prepared.”

  She said the words so seriously, so matter-of-factly, that the laugh that shot out of me was absolutely unavoidable.

  Kylie’s eyes narrowed, and she revved the engine, tiny fists curling around the wheel as she focused her eyes on the pit in front of us. The tiny roar of her engine had a few people looking at us, but most of the crowd was gathered around the Silverado who’d just emerged on the other side of the pit.

  “Just be careful, okay? If you fall into the deepest part of the pit, give your engine some time to shed the water before you—”

  My next words were cut off by a string of expletives as I grabbed what my brother always referred to as the oh-shit handle above the passenger side window and held on tight, the truck flying forward with Kylie gripping the wheel in determination. She could barely see over the dash, and it was still a mystery to me how her tiny legs were long enough for her to reach the pedals — but reach them she did. And with her foot on the gas, we propelled forward, the lanyards from her many volunteer gigs swinging wildly from where they hung around the rearview mirror.

  There were some encouraging hoots and hollers as we rolled toward the pit, and when the front end dipped in, water and mud splashing up around us, the cheers rose, and that determined look on Kylie’s face morphed into a giant, mega-watt smile.

  “Oh my God! We’re mudding!”

  The truck slipped deeper, and a giggle escaped her lips when the back tires fell into the pit with a thunk.

  I loved that look on her face, the same one she got when she tried something new, or helped someone in the community, or when she managed to beat me at a video game. Her eyes were wide and shining, smile splitting her entire face, long, brown hair falling over her face just enough for a few strands to get stuck on her lips.

  But there was something different about that smile, somehow. Something… new that I couldn’t quite place. Warmth spread through me at the sight of it, and my own lips curled into a grin. “You’re mudding,” I echoed.

  “This is so fun!” she said, revving her engine so the tires whirred and spewed mud up behind us.

  We were still going forward, but then the pit deepened, and the front of her truck sank a good foot more into the mud, causing little wisps of smoke to emerge from under the hood.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, and her foot came off the gas pedal before I could tell her not to stop.

  “No!” I said, reaching over to grab the steering wheel and try to steer us toward the bank to get some traction. “Keep going! Gas, gas, gas!”

  “I thought you said not to put on the gas when we sink!”

  “I said if you were taking on water! We’re going to get stuck, GIVE IT GAS!”

  Kylie screamed, slamming her foot down on the gas with wide, panicked eyes, her hands framing mine on the wheel as she tried to help me steer us toward the ramped dirt that could get us out of the pit.

  But it was
too late.

  The wheels spun and spun, the engine roaring violently under the hood, smoke billowing, but the truck didn’t move more than an inch.

  Cheers rang out around us, but when she cut the gas again, the cheers turned to laughter, and I watched, mortified, as everyone around us pointed and shook their heads at our failed attempt to clear the pit.

  I frowned, shaking my head on a curse word as I released the wheel and threw my hands up. “I told you your truck wasn’t a mudding truck!”

  “It’s okay,” she said, swallowing and shaking her head before she forced a smile. “It’s okay! So, we’re stuck. No big deal, we’ll just…”

  She put on the gas again, which made the truck sink deeper before I yelled for her to stop. When she did, I let out a long, exasperated sigh, scrubbing my hands over my face before letting them fall to my lap.

  “Everyone is laughing at us.”

  Kylie looked around then, as if she’d only just noticed. “So? Let them laugh. Who cares?”

  “I care,” I said. “We look like idiots.”

  Her little mouth clamped shut at that, and she shook her head. “You know, my old best friend wouldn’t have cared. He wouldn’t have given two shits if the people in this town were laughing at him or not. He would have been nice to me. And he damn sure would have had a little fun instead of being such a grump.”

  “Well, I’m not your old best friend, anymore.”

  “Clearly,” she said, shoving her door open. “I’m sorry I even tried. Forget about the pinky promise. Clearly, this WHOAMYGOD—”

  As soon as Kylie stepped out of the truck, she slipped on the step that led down to the ground, and in a whirling of arms and legs, I watched her fall, landing in the mud below the truck with a wet smack.

  Another roar of laughter sounded as I climbed over the middle console, jumping down into the mud with her to help.

  “Shit, Kylie. Are you alright?” I reached my hand down to help her stand, but instead, when she pulled, I lost my footing, and down in the mud I went, too.

  The laughter around us doubled as mud sank into every crevice of my shorts where I never wanted mud to be.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Kylie said, covering her mouth with her muddy hands as her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. Here, I’ll just—”

  She tried to stand, but slipped and fell again, this time face planting in the mud beside me. When she leaned back onto her knees, she looked like my mom did once a month when she put on her weird face mask thing.

  And to make her even more adorable, her bottom lip quivered, face twisting as she tried not to cry.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said on a trembling voice. “I… I ruined it. I ruined my one shot.”

  She buried her face in her hands again, and for a long pause, I just watched her — shoulders hunched, mud covering every inch of her — matting her hair, speckling her arms and chest, completely covering the lower half of her body. I blew out a breath, leaned up slowly until my palms held me upright, and then, the strangest thing happened.

  I laughed.

  Truly laughed — not a snort, not a sarcastic chuckle.

  A real, genuine laugh.

  It was a little painful, that first laugh shaking the rust off my rib cage as it broke through the fortress of my depressed soul. It was as if my body had forgotten how to do it altogether, but the longer I laughed, the more the chains around my chest loosened.

  Kylie glanced up at me through her fingertips, first with a curious cock of one eyebrow, and then with a timid smile.

  The mud was still caked on her face, and the thought of my mom and her stupid face mask hit me again, and I laughed harder, covering my stomach at the strange pain. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe — all I could do was laugh.

  Kylie chuckled, and when I surrendered to the laugher and fell back into the mud, she laughed with me, though hers seemed to be mixed with a bit of crying, too.

  I reached for her, and when she slipped her muddy hand in mine, I pulled her back down into the pit, which made us both fall victim to another round of laughter. The crowd around us cheered, and already I could see the man who’d just cleared the pit in the Silverado getting his chains out to help tow us out of where we were stuck.

  “You’re not mad at me?” Kylie asked when the laughter subsided, leaning up on one elbow to look down at me.

  “No,” I breathed out, chest light, head even more so after all the exertion. “You’re a mess, and stubborn as hell, and entirely too hopeful for my grumpy ass,” I said, but then my eyes found hers, and I smiled. “But I could never be mad at you.”

  She smirked, eyes wandering over me. “To be fair, you’re a mess right now, too.”

  “And who’s fault is that?”

  I yanked her back down into the mud, rolling until I was covering her with the gunk that was slowly caking all over me. She laughed and squealed, trying to escape my hold. When I was firmly on top of her, her arms pinned under mine, we both stopped laughing, and a foreign, almost completely forgotten feeling flooded me just like the mud had flooded her engine.

  Gratitude.

  Because for the first time in months, I’d laughed.

  And it was all thanks to my best friend who never gave up on me, no matter how many times I told her she should.

  “Thank you, Ky,” I said, searching her brown eyes under me. “Thank you for not listening to me. For bringing me here.”

  Something in her eyes softened, and she smiled, her cheeks shading pink under the brown smattering of mud. “You’re welcome.”

  The longer I stared at her, the more I realized how much she’d grown up in the two years we’d spent apart. I’d seen her around school, of course, but I’d somehow missed how the roundness of her cheeks had slimmed, and the lashes that framed her eyes had lengthened, and that little girl face she’d always had had changed into something different, something that wasn’t yet a woman, but was far from the girl I’d met so many years ago.

  I was still studying what I’d missed when a shadow broke the sunlight hitting those flecks of gold in her eyes, and we both looked up to find a tall man in overalls staring down at us with a crooked grin.

  “Whatd’ya say we get you guys pulled out of this muck, huh?”

  Kylie

  “So,” Betty said, removing her swim cap before she leaned against the edge of the nursing home swimming pool. “How long have you been in love with Mikey?”

  Her question jolted me from the daze I’d been in all morning, and my eyes bulged, something between a choke and a laugh leaving my chest as I shook my head a little too violently. “What? I’m not… I don’t…”

  “Oh, cut the crap,” she said with a bored roll of her eyes. “Anyone with more than a pea-sized brain can see you’ve got heart eyes for that boy. Except for maybe him, which I’d wager is part of your whole dilemma, isn’t it?”

  I just gaped at the sassy old woman, wondering how she had figured out my biggest secret after only hanging out with me at a handful of Becker family dinners before this week at the nursing home.

  It was Thursday, just three days after the mudding incident with Mikey, and somehow it was still the only thing I could think about — even with my exciting first week volunteering at the nursing home. Ruby Grace had pulled some strings to get me the gig, even though the staff and current volunteers were plenty for the summer, and I was more thankful than she’d ever know. This was my element. I loved to be around other people, to help them in whatever way I could, to volunteer my free time for a higher purpose. With high school over now and all those previous volunteer jobs I’d had within the Interact program ripped from my grasp after graduation, I didn’t know what I’d fill my summer with as I tried to figure out what to do with my gap year.

  Other than my planned adventures with Mikey, of course.

  Not that the first bullet on my list went over very well. Mudding had been a foolish idea, one that exploded quite literally in my face. My cheeks heated at the memory
of getting my truck stuck, just like he said I would, and of falling into the mud the minute I stepped out of my truck.

  It was the most mortifying experience of my life.

  Still, Mikey had laughed for the first time in months.

  And he had thanked me for taking him out there.

  That had to count for something, right?

  And there was that moment, when he had pinned me in the mud, when his eyes were dancing over my face as if he’d never seen me before…

  Betty flicked some water on my face, waving her hands in front of my eyes. “Wake up, girl. You may not know this about me yet, but I’m a stubborn old woman, and if you think I’m dropping this subject before you tell me everything, you’re as wrong as a chicken in a tuxedo.”

  I chuckled, finally closing my mouth before I lifted myself out of the pool, sitting on the edge with my feet in the water. I’d just taught my first class of water aerobics — a class that Noah had apparently made very popular here. I could see the disappointment in all the women’s faces when they showed up for class and it was me instead of a shirtless, glistening Noah Becker.

  And even though it had only been a few days for me at the nursing home, I could already tell Betty was a handful. She was on the verge of being diagnosed with dementia, but Ruby Grace had let me in on the secret that the woman was as sharp as a tack, and only had selective memory when it was convenient for her.

  Everyone at the nursing home loved and respected her. Everyone in the Becker family absolutely adored her.

  And now that we’d spent a few days together, I could see why.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said, digging my heels deep into denial as I offered her a shrug. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m Doris Day.” She shook her head, running her hands through the wet, thin, white wisps of hair on her head. “I saw the way you blushed when I suggested that you two dance together at dinner on Sunday. And the way you watch him — all the time. If I’m being honest, honey, you’re about as obvious as a pumpkin in a hay stack, though I’m sure you’d much rather be a needle.”