Page 103 of Tennessee Trouble

“Pretty sure your sister would have no problem taking on that role.”

I throw my head back, laughing. He’s not wrong.

“I need someone who isn’t Mikayla to do it. She has no problem being mean.”

“She wants the best for you. It’s clear that all that snark and venom is simply her way of protecting the family and showing she cares.”

I reel backward. When did he become a Mikayla fan? I know what is underneath her outer, calloused layer. But I’m her sister. I’ve been around for all of it, and I know how she ended up this way. Brandt only knows the version of her that wants to fight the world.

Brandt chuckles, squeezing my knee. “It’s an oldest sibling thing.”

“Must be.”

We’re silent for a moment, letting the rustle of the trees fill the space. My heart continues to race, not letting up even though we’ve found a peace. At least, I think we have. Maybe we haven’t—not completely. I haven’t actually said the words you’re forgiven.

Or those other three words I really want to say.

“Thank you for the Fire Lights sponsorship,” I say, and my voice cracks, betraying me. “It means a lot.”

“I told you I’d get you in there.”

“I know. I just…I didn’t realize that Southern Brothers legally held the sole sponsorship of the tour and the bar. I thought when you said you talked to Dustin about it, that you meant like…you were calling in a favor, not actually transferring rights. Mikayla was beside herself when she got the paperwork.”

“It was the least I could do after my fuckup. Both of them.”

“I won’t hold them against you.”

Brandt perks up, twisting to face me. His hand slides off my leg, a coolness rushing over that spot.

“You mean it? Both of them?”

“Yeah, I do. Both of them.” I nod. “Actually, I never really held the first one against you. The second…”

“Pinky promise to never talk about it?” He holds out his hand, little finger extended and ready to shake.

“I won’t promise never. I feel that I should be able to reserve the right to tease you about it.” I link my pinky with his. “But I won’t do it maliciously. Promise.”

We squeeze our fingers together, sealing the deal.

“I can live with that.”

Good…

Pushing up to my feet, I walk back over to the cider press, giving it another once-over. It really is beautiful.

“You like that?”

I glare at him. “You know I do. She’s very pretty.”

“I built her. For you.”

He what?!

“Come again?”

Brandt stands up, padding over toward me like he has all the time in the world and he didn’t just drop a massive information bomb.

“I made it for you,” he repeats. “You said you wanted to play around with cider, and that requires a press. You can buy pre-made ones, but…you and I both know those things are never as good as something handmade. So, I looked up a design on the Internet and built it.”