“It’s trans fats and refined carbs. And I do brunch.”
Seb scowled. “Not in any way that makes it fun for the rest of us. You want the fruit platter, but can they skip the yogurt? And can you have the kale salad, but could they serve it to you in smoothie form?”
Oliver made a face. “That’s revolting.” And he’d kill for a plate of greasy eggs and bacon right now, not to mention about six cups of coffee, but he was trying so hard to set an example for any potential customers who might stop by. Walk the walk and all that.
But Seb’s shoulders squared in the way they had done his whole life whenever he was spoiling for a fight. He pulled one of the bottles from the fridge nearby and read from it in an exaggerated Southern accent. “One hundred percent cold-pressed celery stems, with organic lemon juice and parsley oil.” He grinned and let the accent drop as he said, “Thatis what’s revolting.”
“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s a cleanse, not brunch.”
“And to make it worse, you’re calling itCleanse-liness is Next to Godliness. First off, the pun is terrible. Second, how do you even fit that on a label?” Seb grabbed his leather jacket from a hook by the door. “We’ll be back in a bit.”
“You’re really leaving? I thought you were going to help me with these!” He gestured at the remaining boxes. He didn’t point out that the product had originally been calledCleanse Getawaybut that, like everything in the store, Oliver had changed the name to avoid thinking about Cooper’s face every time he took a bottle from the fridge.
Turned out, he thought about him anyway.
“I’ll be back. A man’s gotta eat.” Seb shrugged into his jacket.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Martin asked as he held the door open for Seb.
Oliver bristled under Martin’s kind expression, but he forced himself to breathe slowly and not let his frustrations show. Martin had a tendency to retreat at the first hint of conflict—and conflict was basically stuck in the “on” position when it came to Oliver, Seb, and the rest of their family. Oliver actually liked his brother’s new partner quite a bit—better than he liked Seb most days—but being the third wheel to their epic sweetness, trailing after them through Seacroft’s sleepy, picturesque streets, was not a comfortable role.
If you’d asked him a year ago where he saw his life going, Oliver would not have pictured this at all.
“Oh.” Seb turned from where he stood in the doorway. “One more thing.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Yes, Columbo?”
“Martin’s brother and Jess want to set you up on a date. You’re cool with that, right?”
A date?
“You didn’t ask him yet?” Martin’s eyes were wide under his shaggy hair.
“I’m asking him now.” Seb shrugged. He grabbed an apple from a bowl by the door and bit into it.
Oliver scowled. Those were his display apples. “You need an answer immediately?”
Seb wiped apple juice from his chin. “Not if it’s the sort of thing you have to think over.”
“I’m pretty busy.” He glanced at the unassembled chairs. Not to mention the workshop he’d scheduled for next week. He had to find a way to reach new coaching clients. And it hadn’t even been a year since—“I have a lot going on here with the shop. I don’t know about adding anything else to it.”
“That’s what I figured.” Seb turned to go.
“But Brian says he’s a good guy,” Martin put in. “And what’s the harm in a date?”
“We never dated.” Seb slung an arm over Martin’s shoulder and kissed his temple. “We went straight from awkward friends to living together.”
“Well, yes, but that’s because your apartment burned down and my brother got back together with his wife, and now there’s the gallery, so we just...”
Oliver smiled as Martin listed the chaos that had thrown him and Seb together. Not the most auspicious of starts, but more than six months later, they were going strong.
And Oliver was still waking up alone on sleepy Sunday mornings in a house he’d been supposed to share, and relying on his brother’s help putting his folding chairs together.
“Details.” Seb waved off Martin’s list. “Besides, who’s going to love my brother when he starts pushing his foul celery water on them?”
No, this was not at all how he thought this year was going to go. It had all been planned. Organized down to the dollar and the minute, and instead, here he was.
Alone.
