Page 82 of Five Brothers

“I’m glad you told me your dream,” she says, her breath seeping through my T-shirt. “And you know what’s weird? I see it. Not really the ‘living in a cottage’ part. I’m still working on that.”

I chuckle to myself.

“But the forest-green leather seats on the barstools,” she goes on. “The candlelight flickering against the walls. The black chesterfield chairs at the tables, and you in a crisp blue button-down behind the bar.”

“Not a T-shirt?”

“Nope.” She tips her chin up, assertive. “You’re a gentleman now. A respectable proprietor with vast knowledge of the history of whiskey and the difference between aging it in American oak barrels versus French oak barrels.”

Do I really need to know that?

“And there’s a microbrewery on-site,” she continues. “Huge copper tanks you can see through the glass wall, and you call your signature beer—”

“It’ll be a distillery, thank you,” I fire back. “Rum.”

She smiles, tucking herself into me again.Green leather on the barstools… I was thinking black, but green sounds classier.

“It always gets better in my head,” I say. “More detailed. It’s a good dream.”

“It’s going to happen.”

I close my eyes, ready to sleep with the picture in my mind, but she does that thing where she drapes her leg over mine so the heat between her thighs is on mine, and I start to stir.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to have sex?” I ask. “I mean, you could be practice for someone I really love someday.”

She kicks my leg, growling, and I shake with a laugh.

9

Krisjen

Trace slept in my bed, and we didn’t have sex. I’m still smiling two days later. He was sweet. I’ve never seen him like that before.

If I’m around, I’ll help him set up that pub someday. I’d love to, actually.

I roll the dish rack back into the washer, picturing it in my head.

I’d be proud to see him have that dream. Really proud. Still not sure about the cottage part, though. It’s barely big enough for a family. Or his brothers if they visit. Not sure he’s thought that through.

I plop down in the chair next to the cook’s station, taking Santos’s flask as he rolls out dough for pies.

I take a swig, wincing when I taste whiskey. He raises his eyebrows at me, because I’m a bold little minor, aren’t I? But he doesn’t say it out loud, just goes back to his baking.

“That kind of sucked.” I twist the cap back on and set it down. “What a long day.”

“But I bet that wad of tips in your apron doesn’t suck.”

I chuckle.No, it doesn’t.Bateman returned the next day for Mars and Paisleigh, so my mom must’ve paid him somehow, butArmy told me if I need to leave at any time, then I need to leave. They’d deal with it.

A few customers remain on the patio, but the restaurant inside is empty, except for Jessica mopping the floor. It’s after nine. I should get home. My mom will be on her third vodka tonic by now.

“How’s the family?” Santos asks.

“Can’t complain.” I can, but I won’t. “Yours?”

“My oldest wants to be a plumber,” he mumbles. “He got accepted to Texas A&M.”

That’s impressive. But … “Not everyone has to go to college,” I remind him.