AUSTIN
“Oh my,”Iris breathed, stepping inside. “Austin, this is simply beautiful.”
We stood within one of the newly completed rooms in Room Block One. The resort had two of these cinderblock units, each containing two floors. The room was clean and modern, but we’d been careful to keep the Old Florida charm intact. The walls were a soft, sandy white, the furniture a mix of solid teak with live-edge details and crisp, soft-blue linen upholstery. Glass doors at the far end of the room opened onto a private balcony with a breathtaking, unobstructed view of the ocean.
Yesterday, agreeing to show her the resort had seemed simple. Natural. Hell, I’d even thrown in a trip onLine Dancerwithout a second thought. But now the reality felt more like a treaty I’d signed without reading the fine print. Walking Iris through the resort was putting my entire life under a microscope. This place was my history, my family,my failures, and showing it all to her was the first, terrifying clause.
The idea was almost as daunting as the next stop on our tour. I just hoped my brothers would keep their damn mouths shut for five minutes. It was a fool's hope, and I knew it. When I’d mentioned casually in a group text that I might be bringing her by, I could practically see them rubbing their hands together in anticipation.
Despite my disquiet, a flicker of pride ran through me at her reaction to the resort. “It turned out pretty well.”
“Pretty well? It’s incredible!” She walked over to the balcony door and peered out. “The colors, the view… it feels so peaceful. Like you could just leave the whole world behind out here.”
I pointed across the resort grounds toward the building currently shrouded in scaffolding and construction netting. “That’s Room Block Two over there. Looks like hell now, but it’ll have the same result. We learned a few things from this block that Chase is applying over there.”
“I can see why having him for a partner is such a boon.” Stepping away from the door, she ran a finger over the back of the sofa, a wistful expression on her face.
“His ideas are smart, even if he does need to be reined in from time to time.”
We walked back outside, the late-afternoon sun warming our faces. I led her past the renovated pool area and pointed to the subtly textured gray surface. “Chase designed the deck finish. Palm fronds are embossed right into the concrete.”
She bent down, tracing one of the elegant, ghostly leaf patterns with her finger. “Beautiful. It’s those little details that make a place special.”
She got it. Her immediate appreciation for thecraftsmanship, the thought that had gone into it, impressed me. We passed the new pool bar, a tiki-style hut with a gleaming mahogany top, where a few guests were enjoying a cocktail. Chase was there, talking to the resort assistant manager, and he gave us a quick wave.
“Driftwood Grill is over there.” I gestured toward the main resort restaurant. “We’re renovating it in stages so it can stay open. It’s a logistical nightmare, according to Harper.”
“But you’re making it work,” she said, her tone full of admiration. “I hope I can bring a similar feel to Heron House when it’s all said and done.”
I nodded toward the pier and the two boats bobbing gently in their slips, their hulls reflecting the glittering water. “That’s where we’re headed eventually. But first, a drink.” I pointed toward the cheerful structure of Tidal Hops. “My brother Braden’s place.”
“A tour and a beer?” she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Be still my heart, Captain. You’re spoiling me.”
I just grunted, but I couldn’t stop the smile that raised the corner of my mouth. I wanted her to see this place the way I saw it—as more than just a business. But that feeling was unsettling, and I pushed it down to focus on the familiar path to the pub. I had enough to worry about with my brothers lying in wait.
Tidal Hops buzzed with the easy, late-afternoon energy of people who had spent their day in the sun and were now ready for a cold beer. The air smelled of hops, salt, and Braden’s grilled fish tacos, and its turquoise walls and hung surfboards always made the place lively. But walking in with Iris beside me was like stepping onto a stage, the spotlight uncomfortably bright.
Braden was behind the bar, laughing at something a customer said. Eli and Ben sat at the far corner of the L-shaped bar. Eli was telling some story, his hands gesturing wildly, while Ben listened with his usual patience, a half-empty beer in front of him.
Three brothers. Three pairs of perceptive Coleridge eyes. Three different forms of interrogation.
Here we go.
Braden spotted us first and a slow grin spread across his face. It was the same look he got when he knew he had a winning hand in poker.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of Ben and Eli. “Look what the tide dragged in.”
Our brothers turned on their stools. Eli’s face broke into a wide, charming grin nearly identical to Braden’s, though his dark-blue eyes held a sharper, more assessing light. He nodded, which caused a lock of sandy hair to fall over his forehead, and he swept it back casually. Ben just gave me his usual slow, perceptive nod. When his gaze slid to Iris, a flash of recognition swept over his face.
As we reached the bar, I gestured to the lineup. “Iris, this is the rest of the circus. My brothers—Braden, Eli, and you’ve met Ben.”
“It’s good to see you again, Ben,” Iris said with a warm, easy smile.
“You too, Iris.”
“So, this is the ambitious neighbor,” Eli said, leaning forward. He looked slightly bewildered as he extended a hand. “The one who has my brother acting even stranger than usual. I’m Eli. It’s a pleasure to meet the woman who has successfully weaponized baked goods.”
Iris laughed as she shook his hand. “It’s lovely to meetyou too. And the pastries are purely for diplomatic purposes, I assure you.”
