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That never happens.
But given that Colin Hathaway is just visiting my brother today, I doubt it will happen again. Even though a part of me really wants a rematch.
Chapter
Two
Colin
“I don’t think I ever met that sister,” I say casually, as though my brain hasn’t spent the last five minutes at war with itself.Howcan she be his sister?
For one thing, the woman who challenged my indecision about a coffee order and managed to be funny through her exasperation doesn’t bear any resemblance to him. He’s a big guy, muscled from spending an hour easy at the gym each day after he runs. Never a hair out of place. Granite expression that puts fear into the minds of lesser mortals. Or even an unfortunate delivery person.
PJ, for all her irritated sass, exudes light. I couldn’t help noticing the blue steel in her eyes as she fought against her indecision about the French chess opening. How her rosebud mouth turned down into a scowl when she realized she couldn’t win. How her blond hair fell in waves, and she didn’t even seem to notice the wild tangle framing her face like it was art.
I’ve known Archer for years, and his whole vibe is different—not playful, that’s for sure. Not quick-witted.
Not that Archer isn’t smart. He is. But he’s more bookish, and his intelligence is hard-won. It’s a different kind of smart from his sister, evidenced by her sass and the quick calculations each time I made a move she didn’t expect. I liked watching the wheels turn, her eyes darting across the board, hands steady until she decided on the best move. Been a while since I played against someone with real skill.
“PJ? Yeah, we’re ten years apart, so she was never around back in the day.”
The day he’s referring to is college, when we were both at Stanford, freshman-year roommates who believed we were God’s gift to the modern world.
Being at a place where everyone had so much untapped potential made me restless. Which, in turn, made me creative.
I’d started two businesses and invented three apps by the time I graduated, mainly because it seemed like everyone else was doing it, and I always wanted to be better. Second place was never an option for me. My parents, both academics and researchers, drilled that idea into me as a kid. I was an only child without an older sibling to chase around, so I tried to compete with my parents. An elementary school kid trying to design a science fair experiment worthy of two adults with PhDs.
Destined to Fail, party of one.
I suppose my “Type A+ or Bust” personality put me on an Autobahn highway to my current predicament. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Ten years, that’s a lot.” I put my crack math skills to work and calculate that ten years puts PJ at twenty-six years old to my thirty-six. When Arch and I were in college, PJ would have been all of eight years old. Not exactly old enough to visit us on campus and beg us to take her to a party, like her sister Beatrix did during her senior year of high school.
He rubs a hand over his face and nods. “Yeah. It’s like a different generation. She’s all about having fun, living in the moment, and being a wiseass, generally. Keep your distance, and you’ll have a pleasant two weeks.” His eyes go hard. “Seriously.”
In other words, she’s off-limits. Doesn’t take an advanced degree to know when a guy’s cock blocking his best friend and his sister. Even if hanging out with a pretty, fun wiseass was the reason I’m holing up at Archer’s family winery. Which it isn’t.
“Anyway, I really appreciate you doing this for me,” I tell my closest friend.
He waves a hand like it’s nothing and goes to the counter for coffee, leaving me to stare at the chessboard once more. I replay the last few moves in my head, noting where PJ made the mistake that cost her.
Obviously, I don’t know her, but she doesn’t strike me as someone who makes mistakes. Maybe that’s what makes her a good “fixer,” whatever that is.
Archer returns with a steaming cup of something and drops into the chair where his sister sat a few moments ago. The view of him is nowhere near as good, and it annoys me. Everything annoys me lately.
“You go out for a run or something?” I ask, gesturing to his long-sleeved, moisture-wicking tee and recalling all the mornings in college when he woke up, ran six miles, and showered before I’d even gotten out of bed. Pretty much most mornings.
“Yeah. Stayed on the property, did a few laps.”
“You’ll have to show me around.” I should be more enthusiastic about spending two weeks holed up at a vineyard. From what I saw on the drive in this morning, there are acres of vines, trees, and open space. Just what I need.
Then again, leaving my house at the crack of dawn and speeding along the highway didn’t exactly make for a relaxing chance to take in the scenery.
“Done,” Archer says. “Let’s do it.” He pops up from the table as abruptly as he sat down and signals me out the door of the café.
“Thanks,” I call out to the barista on my way out the door. She nods while polishing a large espresso machine that already looks spit-shined. I wonder if Archer keeps the employees around here on a tight leash. Maybe the moment we’re out the door, she’ll throw down the rag and pull out her phone.
Pretty sure that’s what my employees do when I’m not around.
