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“Natalie,” Julian said through teeth that could not be unclenched to save the world. “That’s enough.”
“Says who?” Hallie asked, pivoting to face him.
“Says me.” Idiot.
For once, the dogs were silent.
His sister had the expression of an Olympian holding up a bouquet of roses.
“I didn’t realize you spoke for me.” Hallie laughed, her eyes bright.
“My sister is making trouble out of sheer boredom, Hallie. I’m just trying to prevent you from getting wrapped up in it.”
Natalie reared back a little, looking genuinely hurt. “Is that what I’m doing?”
Hallie laid a hand on Natalie’s arm, squeezing. The look of reproach she gave him was like a line drive to the gut. “Friends don’t let friends go to tastings alone. Someone has to talk you out of buying in discounted bulk. Count me in. But . . .” She avoided his stare. “No plus one. Just me.”
He battled the urge to drop to his knees and worship her.
“Are you sure?” Natalie cut her a sideways glance. “You’re not just saying yes because my brother is being a tool?”
This time she looked him square in the eye. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a good forty percent of the reason.”
Natalie nodded, impressed. “I respect your honesty.”
What the fuck was going on? He’d lost his grip on this situation entirely. In the blink of an eye, his sister had become friends with Hallie. Friends who went drinking together in the company of Navy SEALs. Somehow he was the bad guy. But the real problem, the reality he did not want to admit to himself, was that he liked Natalie and Hallie forming a bond. It reminded him of the moment Hallie turned her face to the orange sky and he could hear the dogs barking in the yard, and it hit him like a wave of preemptive melancholia. He’d think of this someday. He’d think of all of it. A lot.
With a rough clearing of his throat, Julian walked on dirty socks back into the house, which really took the dignity out of it all, and stripped the soggy things off before setting foot on the hardwood floor. He threw them into the hamper, on top of his running clothes, and paced back to the kitchen, pouring himself a third of a glass of whiskey, cursing, and adding another inch. He slugged it back, then stood there staring down into his empty glass until the rumble of Hallie’s truck engine brought his head up, just in time for his sister to storm into the kitchen.
“Are you a whole-ass moron, Julian?”
No one had ever asked him a question like that. Perhaps it had been implied by his father, but in a far more aggressive format. “Excuse me?”
Natalie threw up her hands. “Why did you let me let you write back to that secret admirer?”
A mallet swung and connected with his temple. “Hallie told you she knew?”
“In passing. Yes.”
He came as close as he ever would to smashing a glass on the ground. “How does something like that get mentioned in passing? Couldn’t you talk about the weather instead of swapping life stories after a five-minute acquaintance? Jesus!” he shouted. “I told you I didn’t want to do it.”
“You didn’t tell me why!” She raked her fingers through her dark hair. “Oh my God, the way you spoke about her last night and now the chemistry and the angst.” She threw herself backward into the pantry door, rattling it loudly. “I’m going to die.”
It was not good for whatever peace of mind he had left to have someone recognize the connection between himself and Hallie and say it out loud. Why was he suddenly winded? “You think I should pursue Hallie. Is that what I’m getting from your theatrics?”
Her eyes flashed with accusation. “I don’t know if you have a chance with her now, secret-admirer-letter returner.”
Was there a pickax buried in his chest? “You begged me to write that letter!”
She made a disgusted face, flashing him a middle finger. “You want to get tangled up in semantics, fine, but the point is, you blew it. She’s a rare spot of sunshine, and you’re committed to huddling in the shade.” She paused. “Maybe I should write a book, instead of you. That was a sick metaphor.”
Julian started to leave the kitchen. “Speaking of which, I’m going to work.”
“You haven’t written in a week. It’s because of her, isn’t it? You’re all . . . tied in knots and full of woe like a T-Bird in love with a Scorpion. Grease is my comfort movie. Okay?” Her voice rose. “What is the issue with pursuing her?”
He spun around at the mouth of the hall. “She makes me feel out of fucking control,” he snapped. “You’ve been that way your whole life, so maybe you don’t understand why that would be undesirable to someone. She leaves things to chance, she’s flighty, she doesn’t think her course of action through from beginning to end, and chaos is the result. She comes with dirty footprints, and corralling dogs and sticky children, and tolerating lateness. I’m too rigid for that. For her.” A low, distant ringing started in his ears. “I’d dim her glow. I’d change her, and I would hate myself for it.”
