29. Lucas
29
LUCAS
I’ve spent another day wasting my time at my “office” and arguing with Dorian about the project. It’s not quite dinnertime, but I could use a break. I head over to the Hitching Post, where I order a whiskey neat and settle in at the bar.
The door swings open, and Christopher storms in dramatically.
I’m glad I’m not stuck in a Western novel, or it would be pistols at high noon.
“You!” Christopher snarls, stalking towards me. “Jasper fucking Whitfield. What the hell are you doing, encouraging my best friend to screw around with my baby sister? You never were any good.”
I shrug and set down my whiskey glass. “You aren’t the first person to tell me that.”
“Hey,” Mr. Hardcastle says to him sternly. “We’re backing off on that. He was a little kid when you knew him, and yeah, his dad was a jerk. That means we all should have been supporting him, not making his life even harder.”
Christopher scowls at me. “Doesn’t excuse him interfering in my family’s life. ”
I spin my seat around so I’m facing him. “You just referred to Brenda as your baby sister. How old is she again?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asks belligerently.
“She’s twenty-five, am I right?”
“So?” But his gaze drops and he shifts where he’s standing.
“So, she’s at the age where many women are looking to find a guy and settle down. Is Miguel Hernandez a terrible man? Is he a drunk, a skirt-chaser, a player?”
Christopher’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Of course not. I’d never be friends with someone like that.”
“Good. So what kind of man is he?”
“The kind who should stay away from my baby sister!” Christopher’s cheeks redden and he glares for a moment, then he heaves a sigh. “I guess he’s not the worst guy for someone to end up with.”
“He’s not the worst guy for your sister to end up with,” I prod him. “He is, in fact, the best guy for your sister to end up with.” And I know that because this is a romance novel and everyone gets a happily ever after, and nobody ends up with people who are bad for each other, but I can’t say that because it sounds crazy. Even to me.
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Do you want Brenda to end up single and lonely for the rest of her life?”
“No, but . . .” he trails off.
“But you love her and she’ll always be your baby sister, and you’re protective of her. I get that. But Miguel also loves her, and he will protect her and be faithful to her, and they’re both crazy about each other.”
His face screws up in dismay. “I... I guess.”
“She has liked Miguel for a long time,” I say. “And she shouldn’t have to make her relationship choices based on your memories of her as a twelve-year-old. ”
“But she... but I... What if it doesn’t work out and he breaks her heart?”
“There’s no guarantees in life, Christopher, but he’s a great guy, and he is crazy about her, and I can’t imagine him ever doing anything to hurt her. You should be happy that he’s the guy she wants, because you know him as well as you know anyone, so you know that she’s safe with him.”
“So what do I do? She’s not even talking to me,” he says glumly.
“You find her, apologize to her, and give her and Miguel your blessing.”
“I’ll give it a shot. I hope it’s not too late.”
“It’s not,” I assure him.
The door swings open as he’s leaving, and Brooke walks past him. She joins me at the bar.
“I know, I know, what’s a nice girl like me doing at a place like this?” She settles down in the seat next to me.
“Classing up the joint, that’s what,” I smile. “What are you having? Don’t say wine.”
She shudders. “Dear God, no, not after last time. I’ll have a seltzer,” she tells the bartender. “What’s new with you?” she asks me.
“I managed to talk some sense into Christopher,” I tell her.
She nods. “Ah, yes, you played the wise adviser role.”
“I know what that means in the context of the novel, and I hate that I know it.” I scowl.
“Hey, at least the story beats in a romance novel aren’t life-threatening, they’re just frustrating sometimes. Again, be glad we’re not stuck in a Stephen King novel.”
I frown in thought. “I wonder if that actually happens to anybody.”
“Maybe really bad people end up there.” She shrugs. “Speaking of bad people, I went to Pri’s house to talk to her, and she admitted that Dorian paid her ten grand to come here and lie about the affair. She also said that she bought the ring herself, and that she’s addicted to chasing unavailable men, but she’s going to find a therapist when she goes back to New York.”
“Whoa. Slow down. What the hell?” I rear back in my seat. “That little motherfucker.”
Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay; it’s resolved now. She’ll get her own happily ever after someday. So there’s one plotline wrapped up. And I’m sorry I believed her and not you. When I think back on it, I seriously can’t believe I fell for her story.”
“It’s okay. Being in this world messes with your head.”
She shudders. “I’ll say. My dreams are just so real these days that when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember where I am. It’s really disconcerting.”
“Me too.” I scowl. “Also, Dorian is really begging for an ass-kicking. I would kill to be able to fire him.”
Brooke leans back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “It might finally be time that the plotline would allow it. Give it a shot—what could it hurt?”
“Oh, I’ll do more than that.” I slide off my barstool and stand up. “Attention everyone! Attention!”
The chatter continues.
Brooke climbs up to stand on her barstool and yells at the top of her lungs. “Hey! He said attention!”
Everyone falls silent. I help her climb down, feeling that familiar pulse of warmth and desire as I seize her waist and set her down.
“I have made a final decision regarding my project!” I raise my voice to be heard. “I’m abandoning the plans to renovate the downtown, effective immediately. I have come to know and care about every one of you, and I realize that my plans were selfish and done out of a misguided sense of grievance from years ago. I am firing Dorian, and I will be leaving town within the week.”
That feels like the kind of thing that Jasper would say .
And it must be working, because everyone stands up and whoops and hollers at the tops of their lungs.
“I’ve only told everyone this fifty million times,” I marvel to Brooke. “I know, I know, plotline, can’t rush it, yada yada. So when do we get to go home?” I hold up my hand. “Don’t tell me. I have to make a big romantic grand gesture. Can I propose to you right now?”
She chews her lower lip thoughtfully. “We can’t squish too much plot together into one place. And I don’t think it’s quite time yet. I feel like when the moment is right, you’ll know.”
People start crowding around me, thumping me on the back. Men are shaking my hands and hugging me. Brooke smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.
A ghost of worry is still nagging at me, though. How would I know when is the right time to make my grand gesture? What should it be?
Our entire success or failure depends on the least romantic man on the planet making a huge, dramatic, romantic gesture and getting it exactly right.