“I still think that, but,” I say offering him a slow grin, not wanting to end this on a negative note. “You know, I’m sure happy you found Sophia. But you don’t have the same baggage I do.”
“That’s not true. You could still find someone. The night mom and dad died was—”
“Stop,” I tell him. “I know you and I can get to the heart of things pretty damn fast, but that’s cutting it way too close.”
Taylor nods then drops the subject and tries again. “What hotel did you stay at last night?”
I should’ve thought this part through. “One by the restaurant.”
“By the restaurant?” Taylor asks. “There’s not a hotel within a ten-block radius of the restaurant. What was it called? Maybe a new one was developed since I’ve looked.” Taylor, always one to stick with the facts.
“I don’t know, it was nice. A lot of pink, though.”
Taylor frowns. “Pink?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “Pink carpet, pink couch, pink walls.”
Taylor sits back, eying me as if he’s onto me. Hell, he probably is. “I saw you leave the restaurant with Ava.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you go home with her?” Taylor asks, not beating around the bush.
I’m sure where this is going, and I nod slowly. But Taylor’s approach surprises me.
“That girl’s quite a character, right? Sophia and I are just glad she hasn’t gotten married yet.”
This gets my attention.
“Why’s that?”
“She has these ideas in her head about love, marriage. She thinks happily ever after equals a romantic comedy.” Taylor shakes his head. “She drives Sophia crazy with her talk about soulmates in best friends.”
“And that’s not how love works?” I ask.
Taylor shrugs. “Look, Sophia and I are in love. But it’s not the kind that elicits puppies and beds of roses.”
“Puppies?”
Taylor shakes his head; he clearly has plenty of opinions about Ava. “Girls love puppies, right?” When I don’t respond, he continues, “The thing about Ava, that’s different than Sophia, is she has a pattern for falling for every wrong guy. The girl’s been hurt by more assholes than any woman I know. She always goes for the who's unavailable, a douchebag. So, when I say I’m glad she’s not married, I mean it. If she got tied to one of the guys she’s dated it would only end in bad news. She has horrible taste in men.”
“Is this a warning?”
There’s a tightening in my chest, I don’t like the way Taylor is talking about Ava Grace. Or about me. I saw Ava’s apartment, saw her DVDs and her quote of the day. I get that she’s a romantic. But I also saw her funny, heart on her sleeve, all-in approach to life. It was fucking hot as hell.
“Look, Ava Grace is not my business,” Taylor finishes. “But Sophia is. I don’t want anything to put a hitch in her wedding plans. And you hooking up with her sister would not end well.”
I shrug. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Hell, one day in Denver with my brother and I’m already fucking things up for him. Therefore, I don’t get close to people. I always mess things up.
I’m better off alone in the mountains.
Taylor pushes his lips forward. “If you slept with her, fine, but just let that be enough.”
I raise my hands, letting him know he can drop it. “I’m leaving for the mountains, I won’t fuck anything up, I promise.”
– –
Later, in my house with the fire roaring in the hearth, Esme, my housekeeper, brings me a tumbler of my favorite whiskey.
“It’s so good to have you back, Samson.” Esme is a sixty-year-old woman and takes care of all the things I don’t want to manage. Groceries and laundry and shit that takes me away from my one focus: the mines that made me a billionare and set me up for life in Faro, a town I love. Mostly because it’s small as fuck. Denver is nice and all, wide streets and sidewalks and restaurants that serve more than greasy diner food like we have here.
But Faro doesn’t have Ava Grace.
“Everything alright, Samson?” Esme asks, closing the drapes over the windows in my study.
“I’m good, it’s late, though, you should call it a day,” I tell her, knowing she stayed up late waiting for my arrival.
“Well, welcome home, dear,” she says before leaving the study.
I lean back in the leather chair, thinking how good it is to be in this room that feels like home. A far cry from Ava’s pink and gold condo, that’s for sure.
There’s a deer head mounted above the fireplace, rich leather sofas and walls lined with books. There’s a bearskin rug on the floor and enough whiskey in the liquor cabinet to get me through ten years of winter snowstorms.
My brother thinks I live in some cabin in the middle of nowhere, and I do live in a cabin, and it is the middle of nowhere, but it’s also the middle of my five thousand acres. And it may be a cabin, but not what he’s picturing—no one would call it rustic.