“I don’t hide away.”
“Really? Then what’s happening between you and Harmony because something is.”
Damn my little brother and his astute powers of observation.
“It’s none of your business. Just like you and Trace are none of mine. It doesn’t matter anyway, she’s leaving. We’d never work out. End of story.”
“Fine,” he pouts. “Just eat your weird glazed fruit bread I had to help make, and we’ll sit here in silence. Like normal.”
I take a slow drawn-out bite of stollen while glaring at Travis. He tries to stay irritated with me, but it never lasts long. It’s part of why he’s the only brother I’ve ever wanted. Because, inside, he really is the best man I know. It scares me to think he can’t say the same about me.
“So, what did you get me for Christmas?” His 100-watt smile lights up his face.
“You’re as bad as Harmony. She spent all day before Christmas Eve harassing me about her presents.”
“How did you manage to buy her a present? Trace and I brought her several, but we could still get to the shops.”
“Who says I bought them?”
“Did you draw her something?” He’s way too excited about this. “She’s going to be so stoked. She’s getting a M. Rayburn original.” I roll my eyes at him. It seems I’m doing that a lot today.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say.
“It is a big deal,” he answers. “Dude, the gallery said people are starting to ask for them. They keep raising the prices.”
I shrug. I know my royalty checks keep getting larger, but I hadn’t questioned why. I should be cutting Travis in. He was the one who made the arrangements with the gallery.
I never intended to sell any of my sketches. I never thought they were good enough. I guess that’s something Harmony and I have in common. We both have Travis to thank for our rising fame.
“Do you know that Trace and I have already met?” Harmony announces, bursting back into the room. Trace follows on her heels carrying a fancy looking coffee pot. “It’s true.” She plops down on the couch against me. Travis’s stupid eyebrows hit the roof again.
“I didn’t realize he is the chef at Jon Caprese’s Steakhouse in Austin. I ate there not long ago. So good,” she says, looking at Trace who’s now beaming at her from the lounge chair. “You came out and asked if I liked the steak.”
“And you said it was one of the best you’d ever had,” Trace says. “You even said we were one of your go-tos on that morning show interview.”
“I wasn’t lying. Beau,” she says, grabbing my hand, “you have to try the filet mignon. To. Die. For.”
“I have,” I answer. “It is.”
“I can’t believe I’m eating Christmas dinner designed by Chef Trace.” He blushes over her gushing. I wasn’t lying, the man can fucking cook. “So, tell me everything about you two. How did you meet?” It’s Travis who blushes this time.
“I had a class on tort law. We had to pick an industry that sees a lot of cases, so I chose the restaurant industry. I have a friend who knows the manager at Jon’s. The day I had scheduled to interview him, he came down with a nasty run of flu. Trace offered to step in. A quick meeting turned into hours, which turned into dinner, and the rest is history as they say.”
“I walked out of the kitchen, took one look at this guy, and was smitten,” Trace says, reaching for my brother’s hand. They grin at each other for a minute.
“Awww,” Harmony coos. “Such a great meet cute.”
“What’s a meet cute?” I ask. It’s like she talks in code half the time.
“It’s a cute story of how someone meets. Ours would be snowed in, forced proximity,” she answers. I swear to God, if Travis doesn’t learn to control his damn eyebrows, I’m going to shave them off. “Well, forced isn’t the right word.”
“I’d call it a little brother’s best friend, close proximity,” Trace says.
“Yeah, that sounds better,” she agrees.
“Hold on, I think this is more just one friend taking care of another,” I argue. My definition sucks. Not winning any awards for my storyline.
“Ooh, friends-to-lovers,” Trace points out.
