“You’ve slept with her. She wants to date you. But you’re not that into her.”
He picks up a menu. “Do you know what I’m about to order, or do your mind-reading capabilities only extend so far?”
I grin. “I think you’re going to go for the schnitzel.”
He’s definitely not going to order the schnitzel.
He looks right at me, his eyes narrowed. He’s trying to figure out whether I’m messing with him. Of course I’m messing with him.
“You’re going to get the salmon,” I concede. “I think I’ll do the same.”
He shakes his head. “Have we known each other our entire lives?”
“It feels like it,” I reply.
He eyes me over the top of his menu, a smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, and he slides his leg between mine.
He’s not the Jack that Pippa knows. Not really. Not deep down inside. He’s the Jack who’s with me now in this bubble—me, the girl from Star Falls, Colorado.
The problem is, bubbles burst, and I’m not sure we can exist outside it.
TWENTY-SIX
Iris
New York was a twenty-four-hour whirlwind that passed so fast it might have been a dream. Now it’s back to the real world. Ormyreal world, at least. And that means early starts in a barn behind my computer.
Even though I manage all the financial and administrative parts of Wilde’s Farm, it’s my dad’s farm. It’s always going to be my dad’s farm.
Until it’s Bray’s.
Even if the ownership deed says Bray and I own it fifty-fifty, I’m never going to see it as mine. That’s just how it is. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it to succeed. I know my dad dismissed Jack’s idea about freezing and branding fruit, but I can’t just abandon the idea. It’s bold and it’s a risk, and the idea is a good one. But my dad has shut down the idea and Bray doesn’t seem interested. But I still have hope that they’ll understand it could be the best thing we ever did.
It’s lunchtime, and the midday sun is unusually hot. I shade my eyes, trying to spot Bray among the workers having their lunch at the picnic tables under the trees.
“Who you looking for?” Bray asks, as he comes up behind me, making me jump. “Your boyfriend’s not working today.”
“Ha,” I say. “Come with me, baby brother.”
“Baby?” he asks.
“Well, you are younger than me, aren’t you?”
“By thirteen months.”
“Right, so come with me.”
We head back into my office and we both take our familiar seats. I’ve cleared out some of the packing boxes, and Bray can actually move the chair so he’s facing me without developing a crick in his neck.
“Did you get lunch?” I ask. “I don’t want to talk to you if you’re hungry. You know what a monster you are on an empty stomach.”
Bray sighs. “I ate already. What’s eating you? You never want to talk to me.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s true. Mostly. How’s your bruised leg?”
“Bruised? I didn’t fucking bruise it. It’s a broken fibula.”
“That’s a made-up bone.” I’m an almost thirty-year-old woman. Why does it bring me so much pleasure to mess with my brother?
