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“Gonna go tattle?” Cory tossed back, placing his vase on the sideboard with all the care of an indulgent father cradling a newborn.
“No. You’re on your own with Vick.” Dillon set the bakery bag on Cory’s desk. “Danish,” he said by way of explanation. “Eat something for a change.”
“Aww. Bringing me sweets. I know you’re not trying to get into my pants, so what’s the occasion?”
Dillon leaned forward and placed his hands on the blotter, leveling his gaze on Cory’s. Time to start laying it on the line. “Give Alexa some time.”
Chapter Eight
One of Cory’s dark brows winged up. “For what?”
“For her to get her affairs in order at the store. I know you wanted to slide in Melinda,” he grinned when Cory’s jaw went tight, “but if you give me a chance to make this work with Alexa, I’ll get the place down the street ready for the yogurt shop. It’ll be even better than Alexa’s store when I’m done.”
“Oh, really. Since when are you the wheeler and dealer in this family?”
“Since it’s damn well time I step up and do my part.”
“So you’re helping Alexa just for the good of the company. And possibly your dick.”
“Believe what you want,” Dillon said easily, recognizing bitterness when he heard it. He also saw it written in the lines around Cory’s eyes and the shadows under his eyes. Damn, he was about to extinguish his candle completely, from the looks of it. “Are you sleeping at all these days?”
“Somebody’s got to handle things around here now that Mom and Dad are pulling back.” Cory dropped in his chair and rolled up to his computer.
“Yeah, well, I’m here. I’ll be here a lot more from now on,” he added when Cory shot him a dubious glance. “Just give me some room with Lex.”
“Don’t you mean ‘a room’?”
The juvenile joke would’ve made him roll his eyes, if he hadn’t known it was Cory’s attempt at putting another crack in the frost that had existed between them for years. As was digging out the cherry Danish Dillon had put on his desk, though he gave it a sniff when cherry smeared his fingers.
Dillon chuckled. His older brother definitely had his fussbudget ways, but damn if he didn’t love the lug.
“You’ve got time,” Cory said, not looking up from his pastry.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No thanks needed. It’s your company too, and I don’t even like fro-yo.” At Dillon’s grin, he waved his hand toward the door. “Don’t you have leaks to plug up? You’re screwing with the feng shui in here.” Then he winced. “Good Christ, she’s rubbing off on me. Next I’ll be talking about the aura of my leather settee.”
Laughing, Dillon walked out of his office and down the hall, his mind already on lunch. Eating, however, wasn’t what had him so excited, despite the gnawing ache in his gut. He’d scarfed down a couple muffins before laying the rest of the laminate flooring, but he’d still been hungry afterward. And not just for food.
After a quick stop at the deli to grab a couple sandwiches, and another coffee for Alexa—Irish cream this time—he headed up the street to Divine. The music hit him first when he opened the door. They’d switched to something with mournful strings and sweeping violins. In contrast with the scene of hilarity taking place near the prep table, the effect was jarring.
“Trying out bondage, ladies?” he asked as he set his bags and the coffees down on the counter. Then he unhooked his tool belt—he never remembered to take the damn thing off—and set that down as well.
Alexa pulled a pin out of her mouth and poked it into the bright pink ribbon sash she’d tied around Nellie’s bulging midsection. “Ha ha. No, I told Nellie I’d make her a sash if we got through a bunch of the boutonnieres we need to get done. It’s a rush job another florist botched so they have to be perfect. She totally rocked it.”
“Way to go, Noelle.”
Nellie beamed at him, probably for using her given name. “Thanks. Still can’t believe a school’s actually springing for a dance before school starts up again, but apparently their back-to-school mixer is a big hit
every year.”
“It’s for Haven Prep, the middle school,” Alexa added. “You know, the richie rich kids.”
Yeah, he knew. He’d attended that school. “Aren’t boutonnieres something guys get on their own?”
“They hired a florist to do corsages and boutonnieres for the kids to pick up as they entered the dance. Apparently they didn’t want to take chances on what people would buy. They got the corsages from the other florist, the one who didn’t get their colors right.” Alexa shrugged. “Whatever floats their boat and pays green works for me.”
Dillon studied the neat piles of flowers stacked across the prep table. “Wow, you’ve been busy.”
