“She’s unreal.”
He leaned against the counter. “She is.”
His answer lacked emotion. So did his expression.
Actually, he was like that a lot. He seemed like the most mellow brother. Teller would stomp around the distillery on occasion. He didn’t take his irritation out on people, but we could tell when he was in a jovial mood or when he was pissy. The same with Tate, but he was quicker to smile. Because he was married with kids?
At first glance—and second and third—Tenor came off as the calmest. But no. That wasn’t correct. He just hid what he was feeling. The little bit we saw was the tip of the iceberg.
The smell of coffee and savory pork chops filled the air. My mouth watered.
A shirtless man around my age sauntered into the kitchen. He was scratching his chiseled chest. His dark hair was longish, like Tenor’s, and rumpled like he’d been lying down. “Damn. Something smells good.”
Irritation flickered across Tenor’s eyes. “Get a shirt on. We have company.”
Surprise flitted across the guy’s face and he frowned. “This late?” His gaze landed on me. “Oh shit. Sorry. Didn’t know you had someone over.” He ducked into a room off to the side and I heard a metal lid clang. A dryer.
“Sorry about that,” Tenor said and swapped plates in the microwave. “That’s Lane.”
“I should’ve assumed since he has more than boxers on.” The corner of Tenor’s mouth lifted and I wanted to pump my fist in the air. I’d made him almost smile. “No worries. It’s his home.”
Tenor’s face softened. “Yeah, it is.”
While I never minded seeing a chest as defined as Lane’s, there was only one man’s torso I was interested in gawking at. But Tenor wore his shirts too big for me to do more than imagine the muscle underneath.
Lane came out in a Mountain Perks T-shirt that might’ve been Mae’s from the way it was glued to his chest.
Tenor’s mouth flattened. “Seriously? That’s the best you could do?”
Lane pressed his fingers to his chest and adopted an astonished expression. “Perhaps it’s my ankles on display that torment you.”
I smothered a snicker.
Tenor shook his head. “I’ll give you extra chores tomorrow just for that.”
“Bring it on, old man. Mm. The pork chops. Mae made, like, fifteen of them. She has a sixth sense for when you’re going to swing by for food.” His long legs ate up the distance between me and him. He stuck a hand out. “Sorry. My manners are rusty because I usually hang out with my brother or this guy all day. I’m Lane.”
“Ruby.” I shook his hand. I’d seen Lane and his brother Cruz around but had never been introduced to them.
His shake was perfunctory, but Tenor straightened, his eyes narrowing like he was worried Lane would pick me up and haul me to his bedroom.
Lane snapped his fingers. “Social media girl,” he said warmly, with a hint of admiration. So unlike Cara when she’d said it. “I follow the accounts. I’ve been studying them. You do a good job.”
“Thank you.” I might’ve beamed a little. It was one thing to get compliments from my employers, but Lane wasn’t directly involved in Copper Summit, though hewasfamiliar with the industry. From what Tenor had said, he’d been training with Myles at his whiskey distillery outside of Denver.
“Rough night at the bar?” Lane asked, leaning against the counter next to Tenor.
Tenor’s face was impassive. “Don’t you have an early morning?”
One of Lane’s dark brows arched. He looked from Tenor to me, then back. “Oh. Yeah.” He let out a theatrical yawn and stretched. His shirt rode up above his waistband. “It’s past my bedtime. Got those chores in the morning. The goats don’t like it when I’m late with their food.”
I bit back a grin, but heat flooded my face. I wasn’t ready for everyone to think there was something between me and Tenor. What if they didn’t think I was good enough for him? Would they have issues with my age? At least I couldn’t help that. I’d triedto change for Brock but it had never been enough. Cara probably didn’t go to bed by nine on Fridays just so she could read.
By the time Lane was gone, the food was done heating up. Tenor brought both plates to the table.
He poured some coffee, then retrieved a bottle from another cabinet and splashed some bourbon into each one.
“What line is that?” I asked when he set them on the table.
