Page 78 of The Plus One Pact

He chuckles as if he's an ally. As if we're kids playing capture the flag, strategizing on how to beat the other team.

Some tension in my chest dissolves. My shoulders relax. My jaw too.

I want his approval. I hate how much I still want his approval.

My older brother. The smart one. The responsible one.

And Romeo, the playboy fuckup.

"She drinks tea?" He looks to the ceramic pot.

I nod.

"No wonder she didn't want to stay for breakfast. You can't make tea to save your life," he says.

"It's the same as coffee," I say.

He shakes his head no, it's not. "Let me."

He wants to help me? That's hard to believe. But I give him the room to prove himself. I step aside.

He tests the tea in the pot and shakes his head. "You can't serve it the way they do at coffee shops." He pulls the bag from the small pot and pours the liquid down the drain. "You need to brew it for her, the way you would with coffee. Loose leaf."

"Where did you learn that?" I ask.

"Cynthia tried to give up coffee." He turns the electric kettle to two-hundred degrees and finds a small tin of English Breakfast in the pantry. A more expensive brand of loose leaf. "She missed the robustness, so she was always brewing it too long. It was astringent. Disgusting. We tested it every way we could. Until we found the right mix. More leaves, same time, warm milk. Is that how she takes it?"

"Milk and honey," I say.

He motions to the carafe of cream. "Warm it. Like you would for a cafe au lait."

"Who drinks cafe au lait?" I ask.

"People with taste."

I don't have an espresso machine here, so I warm the milk in the microwave. I pour honey into one of those tiny, single-serving jars. I add a teaspoon. "I suppose I need to learn this. For Amor y Coffee."

He makes that same hmmm noise.

"It would mean a lot to Mom," I say.

"Mom doesn't care," he says. "And Dad's dead."

That's not true. Well, yes, it is true Dad is dead, but does the guy have to be so heartless about it? "It was one of his dying wishes."

"He was indulging you," Daniel says.

That isn't true. He wanted to see it. He thought it was beautiful. I want to do this with him. Why doesn’t he? "If you're not interested—"

"I'm busy, Rome. That's all."

"What time did you get up today?" I ask.

"Six. Why?" he asks.

Of course. He's still an early riser. "”Did you look at the proposal?”

"Not in depth.”