Mum purses her lips. She’s never been a huge fan of Aggie or her all-animal-print wardrobe.
“Lovely,” she says, with all the enthusiasm of someone discussing compost. She drifts over to the pantry and rattles her old flower-covered biscuit tin. “Any takers?”
Ada’s carb-warning echoes in my head, so I take two, then instantly worry they’ll test the limits of my control-top underwear.
Tristan doesn’t share my concerns. He grabs a fistful, then nods at the front porch. “Let’s go outside. Need to talk.”
My Coconut Krispie turns to dust in my mouth. What if he wants to warn me about Ada’s new football groupie reputation, or scold me about my Afterglow photos? Oh God, what if he knows I’ve been flirting with Will Sharpe?
Pure panic floods me for a second, and then my hackles rise.
If Tristan wants to play the conservative knuckle-dragger, he can, but I don’t have to listen. I’m thirty-two, and I can date whoever the hell I want. So can Ada.As if Tristan didn’t spend his early twenties sticking it into anything with a pulse before Caroline roped him in.
I stand, forcing down the rest of my biscuit. “Sure.”
Outside, I sit on the porch swing while Tristan leans against the railing, dunking another Coconut Krispie into his coffee. In the morning sun, his haircut looks even more tragic. I think he was aiming for ‘laid back rockstar,’ but he landed right on ‘divorced Creed superfan.’
I bury my smile in my mug. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you about the bar.”
Well, that doesn’t narrow it down. “What about the bar?”
“Your lease is going up.”
My windpipe closes. “What do you mean, ‘My lease is going up?’ How do you know anything about my lease?”
He gives me a ‘Serious Lawyer’ look, and ice slides through my veins.
“Tristan? How the fuck do you know anything about my lease?”
He turns to gaze over the street like it’s his own personal empire. “Look, you know how Mitch left you the bar?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Well, the terms of his will left you the lease to the business and the premises?—”
“I don’t need you to build me a case, just tell me what’s happening!”
He glares at me, and I know I should still be trying to be nice, but my heart is tripping over itself in a wonky, rapid rhythm.
“Mitch left you the bar,” Tristan says. “But he left the building to me.”
Time stops. Everything screeches to a halt. Pictures play in a slideshow, gaining speed and traction as my brother’s words sear into my brain.
He left…
Tristan coming back from a meeting with Mitch’s lawyer and telling me I’d inherited the bar.
…the building…
All those nights eating two-minute noodles.
… to me.
Trading in my swish SUV for the used Toyota to afford the new fit-out after the faceless corporation that acted as my landlord refused to install the new heating system.
“You’re my landlord?You’rePinnacle Property Investments?”
