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“Please tellme you aren’t still working.”
Oliver closed the front door behind him, plopped on the shoe bench, and peeled off his boots. Glancing up from my illuminated laptop screen into the dark condo disoriented me. I blinked a few times to adjust my eyesight before Oliver threw on the overhead light.
I winced like a vampire who had been thrust into daylight.
“I have some things I need to finish up,” I said.
The days were flying by, and I found it hard to believe I’d already been here a week. Although Charlie and I had met a few more times to introduce the team and basic responsibilities, we still didn’t have a clear project plan. To say it had me stressed out would be an understatement. My skin crawled just thinking about the lack of planning we had so far. Giving up some control in this company had also forced me to give up my sanity apparently.
“God, always so vague with you.” Oliver sauntered into the kitchen and cracked open the fridge before staring at the contents. “You hungry?” he asked.
I thought about saying no, a little afraid of what my brother would consider a sufficient meal, but my stomach chose that moment to growl, giving me away.
I sighed and closed my laptop. Setting it down, I walked over to the kitchen island. “What do you have?”
He smirked, likely sensing my reluctance, and held up everything to make a sandwich. “Does turkey and provolone offend you? I think we’re out of caviar.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpanned.
I moved around the island to stand next to him at the counter. He passed over two slices of bread, and together, we assembled our dinners in a wordless rhythm. Even after a few nights here, I hadn’t quite grown accustomed to seeing my brother so frequently. One might assume we would naturally settle into a relaxed, familiar routine. That wasn’t the case. I was more than likely the cause of the unease that still lingered between us, but I wasn’t sure how to fix it even if I wanted to.
“Why are you home so late?” I asked, figuring a question about his life was as good a place as any to start.
“Orientation at the ski resort. It should be opening next month and snowboarding lessons will be starting back up.”
“You teach?” I asked.
The way Oliver snorted already had me second-guessing my line of questioning. “Seriously, Nathan? I’ve taught lessons every winter for five years.”
I knew he taught when he first moved out here, but I thought he quit. Now that he mentioned it, I did remember him talking about getting time off last Christmas, but I hadn’t asked him any follow up questions.
“Right, of course. I remember.”
Oliver plated his sandwich and moved to the couch. I followed him.
He took a big bite and eyed me. “I could teach you if you’re interested.”
I almost choked on the bite I had just taken. I coughed a few times before Oliver slid over the glass of water he had poured himself. Snatching it, I gulped it down.
“I don’t thinksnowsports are for me.” I shuddered at the word snow. I couldn’t imagine hurling my body down the side of a mountain, let alone in frigid temperatures.
He shrugged. “You’ll never know what your thing is unless you try.”
“I have my things,” I insisted.
“Work?” He arched an eyebrow.
“It’s not just work,” I muttered.
“Yes, it is,” he challenged. “There’s more to life than what you do for a living.”
“I built that company from nothing.” I glared at him. “Not that you could understand what it’s like to work hard for something.”
He set down his plate and it clattered against the glass coffee table. The abruptness of it took me by surprise.
He crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
