“Thanks, Con,” Royce says, helping himself to a roll.
“I smell something good,” Marshall says, exiting the elevator. “I was certain with Grant being out of the office, this was going to be a long boring week without treats. It appears I was wrong.” He winks at me, and it’s obvious as hell.
“What’s that about?” Royce points to Marshall.
“Nothing.” I’m quick to reply, and I see the question in his eyes.
“Hey, Layla, I have—” Sawyer stops in her tracks when she sees us. “I see how you are. Trying to hide the goods.” She moves to stand next to Layla and grabs a cinnamon roll, taking a huge bite much like the rest of us.
“Who’s harassing my wife?” Owen asks.
“No one is harassing your wife,” Marshall tells him. “But you’re late to the party.”
“Nothing new.” Owen grabs a roll, kisses Layla, and takes a bite.
“What was up with the look and the wink?” Royce isn’t going to let this go.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something. It appears that our brother here has found himself in somewhat of a pickle.”
“A pickle? Really, Marsh?” He shrugs and grins around his cinnamon roll.
“What’s going on?” Owen asks, his tone serious. My two older brothers and their wives stare at me with concern while Marshall smirks, watching it go down. He knows he has me between a rock and a hard place. I never lie to my brothers. Never.
“Do we have to do this here?” I ask.
“Yes,” all five of them say at the same time.
“Fine. Can we at least move this to the conference room?”
Layla grabs her sign, welcoming any guests, telling them to have a seat in the small waiting area and that someone will be right with them. “Ready.” She smiles at me.
Great. Sisters are coming too. Perfect. “Big mouth,” I say to Marshall as I pass by him to go to the conference room.
“I’ll bring the cinnamon rolls,” he calls after us. I can only imagine how much he’s enjoying this.
In the conference room, I wait for everyone to take a seat. I open my mouth to tell them, but I don’t really know what to say.
“Con’s in looove,” Marshall says, stretching out the word. I glare at him, and he just grins.
“What?” Royce asks.
“Who is she?” Owen asks.
“Aspen,” Sawyer and Layla say at the same time.
“Yes. No. I mean, yes, It’s Aspen, but I’m not in love. I just… I really like her.”
“Aw.” Another simultaneous reply from my sisters.
“When did this happen?”
“At the cabin. Look, I don’t want to say too much. However, I will admit that yes, I am interested in Aspen.”
“And is she interested in you?” Owen asks.
“Yes.”
“So, what’s the issue? Are you worried about Grant and Aurora? I can’t see either of them having an issue with this.”
“No. It’s not that.” I rake my hands through my hair. My brothers know me better than anyone. None of us hid our need for fun and random women. That sounds worse than it is. I’ve not been with a laundry list, but I’ve never had a serious relationship either.
“She thinks he’s a player.”
“No. She didn’t say I was a player.” I go on to tell them what she did say, which is very little. Just enough for me to know she thinks I’m not into her and that I’ll change my mind.
I won’t.
“So what are you going to do?” Layla asks.
“Flowers,” Marshall answers for me. “I told him to send her flowers. I also told him to chill and just let her see that he’s all about her and no one else.”
“Good idea. Try text messages telling her to have a good day, and good morning, goodnight, things like that,” Sawyer adds.
“Are you serious about her? You know that she’s family now.”
“Of course, he is,” the girls chime in.
“Didn’t you see the way they were looking at each other? Oh, and the dance at the wedding.” Layla fans herself.
“I’m serious.” Never been more serious.
“All right!” Royce claps his hands together. “Operation Win Aspen Over is in full force.”
“What? No. No. No. No. I can handle this on my own.”
“Clearly not if you went to Marsh for advice,” Owen retorts.
“Hey!” Marshall furrows his brow.
“Thanks, guys, but I don’t need help. Not yet anyway. Just give me some time to try and figure this out.” The five of them nod, but it doesn’t look very damn convincing to me. Who knows, maybe I need to rally the troops to convince her. I’m not marking the idea off the list just yet.
Chapter 17
Aspen
Today was exhausting. I didn’t sleep well last night. I couldn’t seem to turn my mind off. I kept replaying my time with Conrad at the cabin. There’s an ache in my chest that I don’t understand. How can I miss him? We spent a few short days together, but it felt like it was a lifetime.
Stepping out of the shower, I barely have my hair in a towel when I hear someone knocking on the door. Rushing to slip into my fluffy winter robe, I pad through the small apartment I used to share with my sister above our bakery, Warm Delights, and answer the door.
“Fuck,” Conrad murmurs. His eyes roam over my body. He can’t see anything, but we both know I’m naked under this robe, and the heat in his eyes tells me he’s imagining that very thing.
“Conrad, what are you doing here?” I pull at the robe to make sure I’m covered. Not that it matters, he’s seen all of me.
My question seems to pull him out of his stupor, and he raises his eyes to mine and holds up a bag of Chinese. “I brought you dinner.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but you were tired, and you had to get up early, and I wanted to see you.” His hand holding the bag drops to his side as he waits for me to invite him in.
I shouldn’t. It’s only going to prolong this… whatever this is, and then my heart will be the collateral damage at the end of it all. “Come on in,” I say, ignoring my own mental pep talk. The grin he gives me is one of victory, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I need to put some clothes on.”
“Not on my account.” He winks.
“I’ll be right back.” After scurrying down the hall to my room, I slam the door, and for the first time, I engage the lock. I’ve never needed to before, but my resistance when it comes to him is weak, and I think the barrier will help.
Luckily for me, he’s a gentleman, and by the time I’m dressed and have my hair brushed, hanging wet down my back, I find him in the small kitchen, at the tiny dining table with our dinner laid out for us.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just bought a variety.” He motions toward the small table that is covered with Chinese takeout containers.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this. You don’t need to feel guilty or obligated or whatever,” I ramble. I can feel my face heat from embarrassment, but I felt like the words needed to be said.