Page 11 of Late Harvest

“Ya think? Dude. I thought you were this suave Hollywood leading man. That? It was more like SpongeBob.”

“Cease, husband of my sister, or I’ll banish you from the family.”

More snickers from Brinder. “It’ll be you against your sister. And my mother- and father-in-law. After all, I make your sister abundantly happy. And,” he added on an evil grin, “I turned your parents into grandparents. So I think they’re far less likely to side with you.”

“Touché, mon frere. Touché.” Bash worked on his salad for a moment in silence while Brinder greeted some of the staff. Knew them all by name. Bash would have signed more autographs, but Brinder asked table visitors to wait until after their meal.

Eventually Brinder returned his attention to their lunch and Bash seized the moment. “Tell me about Dr. Arabella Remington. Seriously.”

“Why?”

“Well, maybe she’ll be your future sister-in-law,” Bash teased.

Now Brinder really laughed. “Best of luck with that. She would chew you up and spit you out before you got her anywhere near an aisle.”

“I’d love to be in her mouth.” Bash shivered and wiggled his shoulders, grinning at the massive groan of disgust from his sister’s husband.

“Now I’m going to sing about Smurfs and rainbows, mate, just to bleach my brain of that image.” Brinder took a long swallow of water, shaking his head.

“Just a little bit,” Bash wheedled. “Tell me something about my Scrub Angel, just to wet my whistle.”

Brinder’s eyebrows flew up. “Scrub Angel? Are you trolleyed?”

“It’s my little interior nickname for your gorgeous chief of orthopedics. Smart, talented, and beautiful. Triple threat. I’ll be dreaming of her every night.”

Brinder lowered his voice, leaning in so as not to be overhead. “Don’t you dare turn my orthopedics chief into fodder for your wank bank.”

“I would never,” Bash lied, already imagining pulling that scrub top over her head and kissing his way down her ivory neck to those tantalizing breasts that even boring scrubs couldn’t hide. “Besides, aren’t you being a teensy bit hypocritical, Dr. Desiiigh,” Bash ribbed, bringing up the nickname that had followed Brinder from hospital to hospital.

“Your sister never should’ve told you that,” Brinder grumbled. “Besides, I’m married now and crazy in love with your sister. That nickname is old news.”

“You wish,” Bash snickered. “I overheard one of your food and nutrition staff referring to you that way while she was rolling your burrito. I think she literally wanted to roll your burrito.”

Brinder froze, his burrito halfway to his mouth, a look of confused revulsion on a face Bash could admit, objectively, was handsome—even if Bash never, ever wanted to think about that face connected to any part of his sister’s anatomy. “I’ve officially lost my appetite.” Brinder glowered at his burrito and tossed it onto his plate.

Bash threw his head back in a belly laugh that had more than a few heads turning their way with curious stares.

This was fun. Growing up, he’d always wanted a brother to tease. But after Honor, who was a bonus baby, had been born with a congenital heart defect, his mom and dad had decided not to have any more children. Now, thanks to his sister, he finally had a brother. And Brinder was definitely one of the good guys.

“Come on, Brin. Eat your burrito and throw me a couple little facts.”

“Nothing good is going to come out of this,” Brinder muttered, then pointed the newly picked up burrito at Bash to emphasize his next words. “And I’m not telling you anything personal. Not that I know much. She doesn’t really share about her life.” Brinder pinned him with an ineffectual glare. “This better not come back to bite me in the arse.”

His brother-in-law heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head, before continuing. “Arabella Remington. Goes by Remy. She’s been our ortho chief for a little more than a year. I brought her in about a year after I was hired. She was one of my attendings during my ortho rotation at Georgetown. She likes Formula 1 racing. I like it, too. One Sunday, the Monaco Grand Prix was on in the lounge. We were between cases and watched some of it. We bonded. She’s the one who nudged me toward radiology. She could see how fascinated I was by all the imaging studies we had to order for our patients in the OR to ensure proper implant placement.”

“Makes note to self to brush up on Formula 1,” Bash chimed in, pretending to write himself a note on his hand. “Married?”

“No. No spouse. She doesn’t really socialize with the Evangelist team. She put in an appearance at our big fundraiser last year, but my perception was it was only to tick the box. She came, she bid, she left. She’s board-certified in orthopedics, with subspecialty training in orthopedic trauma.”

Bash let out a low, impressed whistle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued by a woman. Never was a strong contender. “Where does she live? Siblings? Most importantly, is she into actors?”

Brinder threw his head back and laughed. “I mean…how could she not be? She must need a break from all that ‘surgerying.’”

“Hardee-har-har, Brinder. You are a regular laugh riot.” Bash speared a piece of cucumber and popped it in his mouth, pretending he wasn’t fucking sick of healthy eating. “See if I invite you to our wedding.”

Chapter Six

Stop apologizing for being a powerful woman.