“What floor?” I ask Isabelle once we all step into the elevator.
“Seven, please.” I push the button for her floor, and the basement for myself and Caleb.
I can feel eyes on me as we settle into the short ride, turning to find my brother with an eyebrow arched in question. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him anytime he asks if something happened between Isabelle and me when we went away last month. Fucking Beth, taking that picture. I’d like to speak with whoever put out into the universe that little sisters have a duty to be nosy little shit stirrers. Even though I’ve looked at that picture more times than I care to admit. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Why does she look so content in my arms? As if she’s safe. Why do I look so at ease having her wrapped around me? Why does it feel like my mind goes quiet over everything except the need to claim more?
I ignore my brother’s silent question and stare straight ahead instead. My eyes twitch with the restraint it takes not to look at Isabelle.
“Thank you for organising everything for the gathering next week,” I say to her.
“It’s no problem.” She smiles up at me quickly, and just that brief look is like a dopamine hit.
The doors open when we reach her floor, and I rush forward to hold them open for her. I must have startled her in my haste, definitely not thinking this through. As I lean over her, with one hand on the door, it brings my face so close to hers, her big blue eyes are level with mine, and I feel lost in a hazy daydream.
“See you later, Iz,” my brother says, like the forgotten third wheel.
“Oh, um, bye, OG,” Isabelle says as she stumbles out, walking away and looking back over her shoulder every few seconds as she retreats.
I can feel the hint of a smile on my face as I step back into the elevator with my brother.
“We’ll be speaking of this,” he deadpans.
“Nothing to speak of.”
“My fucking arse.”
“I said there’s nothing.” Because if there is, I’d really like to know as well.
“You lie, baby brother.”
Caleb might be the oldest, but I’m bigger and taller. “Why don’t you come up here and prove it?”
“Perhaps I’ll just tell Grams about the interesting little display I just witnessed.” He shrugs and steps out of the elevator when it opens at the basement, and struts over to his Lamborghini.
“Fine,” I say, following behind. “I’ll just tell her about your redhead.” Yep, the same redhead he met last month came back to my bar, and I wish I could erase the things I witnessed that night. It’s entirely confusing behaviour from Caleb. Not the fact that he’d hook up with some random person he met out, but the fact that it was with the same person twice.
“You already did that, you bastard,” he grumbles at me over the roof of his car, where we stare daggers from either side.
“There are more details I could share.” I point an accusing finger at him. “Just what did you do on my dance floor?”
The bar might have been dark and packed with people, but I saw enough to know whatever they were doing in such close quarters was definitely not for public consumption.
My brother blushes, and that tells me all I need to know. I need to steam clean the floor again.
We both hop into the car and make our way through the city. The streets slowly change from high-rise buildings to more boutique stores as we head further into the suburbs, stopping in front of a bakery instead of H&H Mining headquarters.
I step out of the car and stand on the sidewalk of Sesame Street. “Why does this street look like a rainbow threw up on it?”
Caleb throws up his hands, stomping past me to the door. “Why are you such a grump? Find something fun to do, would you? Or someone,” he says as he walks across the sidewalk to the front doors, then pauses. “But not Isabelle.” He pulls on the antique handles and steps into the bakery.
I follow him inside, casting away thoughts of Isabelle, and instead study the desserts and pastries in the cabinet while Caleb talks to the woman at the counter. There are all kinds of tarts, slices, cannolis, and doughnuts. I opt for a dirty chai latte and an orange sugar doughnut.
“Was it just those?” The woman asks from behind the counter.
“We better bring something for the others,” I say, still looking in the display case.
“Can we get a pumpkin spice cannoli?” Caleb asks.
“Make it two, and two of the espresso cream doughnuts as well. Actually, can we just get two of everything?”
