“I don’t think—”
We both still as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slowly open.
The entry before us is an expansive foyer with two large doors leading to one destination.
“Once, before they were married,” Shana explains, “Duncan was out of town and I was in town. I stayed here with Kimbra for two nights.”
Before I can respond, one of the grand doors opens and both Kimbra and Duncan are standing in the open frame. Their expressions are a mixture of emotions that seem to be waiting for us to comment.
“Hi,” Shana says, stepping forward and hugging Kimbra. “Sorry about last night.”
“Come on in,” Duncan says.
Once the women are ahead of us, he pats my shoulder. “Sly, I like it.”
It’s no secret that I’m not overly thrilled to get dating advice from my older brother.
Their apartment is luxury at its finest—marble floors, fireplaces, and floor-to-ceiling windows. I think back to when Duncan first bought the penthouse. With his reputation as a lady’s man, I expected it to be the ultimate bachelor pad, a place with a revolving door where the doorman allowed only one woman up at a time—unless instructed differently.
To his credit, as far as I know, it never was.
With my experience in architecture, I could better describe the penthouse by assessing the square footage and mentioning the twelve-foot-high ceilings or custom woodwork and molding. While that’s all impressive, what really matters is that it’s fucking huge with a to-die-for wraparound balcony. And despite all of that, for years this beautiful apartment was simply the place where he slept.
Kimbra really has changed his life.
Looking around now, I see the subtle differences since they married: color and accents. If Max were here he might call them homey touches such as pictures of the two of them, as well as other photography of the city and artwork that was never here before.
Through the years, my brother and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. There’s the natural brotherly competition, and yet for some reason as I stand here at this second, I see him differently.
With our history, this is a welcome revelation.
“Wine?” Kimbra asks.
“I’m fine,” Shana replies.
The difference in Shana’s demeanor from the park to now makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to be the cause of any problem between her and her best friend, even if that best friend is my brother’s wife.
Taking a deep breath, I jump in with both feet. “Wow, I bet the two of you…” speaking directly to Duncan and Kimbra, “…would never believe that Shana and I ran into one another in the lobby?” I look to Shana whose eyes are wide. “Actually, it was our taxis that arrived about the same time. Right?”
“Umm,” Shana says, “we did arrive at the same time.”
“Because?” Kimbra prompts, not letting us off the hook.
Shana rushes toward Kimbra. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
I can’t help but notice Duncan’s large smile. Soon, his wife is smiling as widely. “That’s it,” Kimbra says. “Spill. I know darn well that you didn’t accidentally bump into one another in the lobby or sidewalk. I want all the juicy details.”
As Kimbra speaks, Shana and I sit and our hands come together. From the strength of her grip, I know that she’s more nervous about this then she’s let on.
“Oh my goodness, you’re holding hands.” Kimbra says, practically bouncing on the edge of the sofa facing us. “Last night...your lips!”
“What?” Duncan asks.
“It wasn’t an allergic reaction. Was it?”
“We should have told you,” Shana confesses, blowing my well-contrived lie out of the water. “It’s that we didn’t want to complicate your wedding.”
“Whoa, our wedding?” Duncan says.
“That was nearly a year ago,” Kimbra remarks as if the wheels are turning in her head. “You two...this has been going on...for a year?”
Shana’s big blue eyes turn my way and I begin our story. “Yes and no. You’re right. We arrived in the same taxi and how about before we give you all the details, we take you up on that offer of some wine?”
“Only if Shana will help me find the glasses,” Kimbra says standing and beckoning Shana away from us.
Before she goes, I give her hand one last squeeze.
Instead of talking, Duncan leans back against the sofa and stares. I can’t tell if it’s his CEO look or just his cocky I’m better than you attitude. With each passing second, his grin grows until I find myself debating about yelling at him or jumping up from the sofa and punching him. Because that’s what brothers do or what being with my brother makes me think of doing.
“Stop,” I finally say.
“No way. I’m enjoying this.”
“What?”
“Seeing my little brother smitten.”
“Smitten?” It seems like I’ve heard that recently. “What kind of word is that?”
Duncan shrugs. “It’s what Kimbra calls it. I like it. It means—”
“Bro, I’m the one with the master’s degree. I know what it means.”
Instead of flinging back with a comment on how my education hasn’t given me the empire he’s built, Duncan stays calm, cool, and collected. “It looks good on you,” he says, moving his head up and down. “You know, better than that brooding loner thing.”
I exhale. “You’re not mad?”
“Fuck no. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“Whatever this is,” I say, “started the night before your wedding. After that, I let her go, and I’ve regretted it for a year. I’m not letting her go again.”
“Then don’t fuck this up. Kimbra loves Shana like the sister she never had. That makes the woman who was holding your hand like family.” His nose scrunches. “Okay, that seems weird, but whatever. Whatever you do, don’t piss off my wife.”
“I’ve seen your wife pissed.”
Duncan laughs. “Christmas last year. Who knew a delivery company could be persuaded to deliver on the holiday?”
“She didn’t give them a choice.”
We both laugh, remembering Kimbra’s persuasive technique.
“Yeah, no one wants her upset.” I turn the direction of the kitchen. “They’re taking a while to get glasses.”
Duncan tips his head toward the other side of the room. Nestled near the fireplace and built-in bookcases, there’s a small bar area with a large wine refrigerator and stemmed glasses hanging below the shelf above. “Especially since the glasses aren’t in the kitchen.”
We both chuckle as the ladies come out of the kitchen empty-handed but thankfully, smiling from ear-to-ear.
“No glasses?” I ask.
“Actually,” Kimbra says with a smirk, “we were checking on dinner. It’s still baking but should be ready in a half hour. In the meantime...” she goes to the wine bar and reaches for the glasses. The crystal clinks as she brings four large round goblets and places them on the table between us. “Red or white?”
Once we’re all properly equipped with our glasses, I begin.