He smirked at me. “No, Miss Judgeypants. And, by the way, I happen to know some frickin’ amazing tattoo artists.”
“I was only joking.” I took another swig of coffee, more willing to listen to this tale now that caffeine was involved. “What does he do?”
“Right now, he works construction. He’s a contractor, but he wants to open a business doing custom woodworking. Make furniture, built-ins, stuff like that.” Luke shoved more cereal into his craw. “You should see some of the things he’s made. Amazing stuff. He needs the money for some equipment. A band saw, I think he said.”
I leaned my back against the counter, hugging the warm mug to my chest. “Woodworking, eh? He’s not convicted of a felony or anything, is he?”
“Whaa? No.” Luke rolled his eyes at me. “Why would you think that?”
I shrugged. “A lot of people who open their own businesses are felons. They can’t get a decent employer to hire them.”
Luke rolled his eyes again. “Not everyone wants to work for the Man, Meggie. You’re cynical.”
“I’m realistic.” I took another sip of coffee.
“Well, Remington isn’t a felon and he’s not a deadbeat, either. He’s a hard worker. You should be thanking me for finding a male willing to dress up in fancy pants from two hundred years ago.”
“He’s willing to come to England for a week?” I ventured, tapping my fingers along the sides of the mug.
“As long as you foot the bill. His latest job ends next Friday, and he hasn’t agreed to another yet.”
“Does he have a valid passport?”
Luke leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. “Really? Pretty sure he wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t.”
I set down my mug and rubbed the spot between my eyes where a headache was rapidly forming. “You really expect me to teach a construction worker how to be Mr. Darcy in two weeks?”
Luke leaned forward again and dumped more cereal into his bowl. His cereal habit was alarming. He needed a twelve-step program. “Admittedly, he doesn’t know any more about it than I do, but he’s willing to learn.” He pointed his spoon at me. “Last night you said you could teach me in two weeks.”
“That’s different. You’re my brother. I can boss you around, and you know how nerdy I am.”
Luke splashed more milk into his bowl. “For five Gs, I’m positive Remington will let you be as bossy and nerdy as you want.”
My shoulders sagged and I blew out a sigh. “He’s a construction worker? What does he know about nineteenth-century England?”
“Uh, about as much as I do.” Luke scowled at me. “And he’s only a construction worker temporarily. Not everyone has had their whole life planned to the second since they were five years old, like you.”
“I was nine.”
“Not the point.”
I pressed my glasses up between my eyes with my pointer finger and drew a deep breath. My chest was tight. “I really appreciate you trying to help me, but it’s just not going to work. Harrison knows every dance step, every line, every card trick. I doubt Jeremy even knows who Jane Austen is.”
“You’re such a snob, Meg. Lots of people know who Jane Austen is. Just because he hasn’t read Pride and Prejudice five hundred times doesn’t mean—”
“I haven’t read it that many times,” I mumbled into my mug.
“But you have a copy of it in your purse as we speak. Am I right?”
“Maybe.” I sniffed. “But anyway, I thought about it more last night. Even if you’d agreed, I couldn’t train someone in two weeks. It’s just not enough time. I don’t know what I was thinking when I suggested it.”
“I don’t believe you.” Luke scooped a ginormous amount of Cheerios onto his spoon. “I saw how into it you were last night. You’re competitive as hell. You want to beat Harrison’s ass.”
He was right of course. “Yes, but—”
“It’s because Remington isn’t a snobby professor type with a Ph.D., isn’t it? You’re embarrassed to bring him around your history-nerd friends.”
“No, it’s—” I stopped and blinked. I had to admit my brother was a little right there, too. But if Jeremy was one of Luke’s old friends—from the trailer park—he’d probably be horribly uncomfortable around my sort of friends. I didn’t want the poor guy to be in way over his head. That would be embarrassing for both of us.
My brother let his spoon drop into his bowl. He gave me a hard stare. “You know what your problem is, Meg? You’re a snob. An intellectual snob.”
I scrubbed a hand through my messy hair, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. “I thought I was bossy and controlling and a perfectionist?”
“That too.”
I tugged on the end of my robe’s belt. “You can hardly call me a snob just because I don’t feel up to the monumental task of teaching one of your poker buddies how to be Mr. Darcy in two weeks. Besides, if Jeremy’s working until next Friday, when would we even have time for lessons?”
Luke raised his brows at me. “You were a tutor in high school and college, if I remember correctly. You seem to know how to teach people things after hours.”
“But that was Latin and History and English and—”
“Yeah. Sounds like a bunch of crap Mr. Darcy would need to know.”
I took another sip of coffee. Why was Luke making this so difficult for me? “Ugh. It’s not that simple. Look, I hate to sound shallow in addition to my intellectual snobbery, but Mr. Darcy is tall, dark, and handsome. I seem to remember Jeremy being a short skinny kid with acne and—”
Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head at me. “Oh, my God. That was in high school, you nut. When’s the last time you saw him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, sometime around college, maybe.”
“Haven’t you seen pictures of him on my Instagram feed? He’s—”
The doorbell rang. I spun around. The clock on the microwave read 8:30 a.m. “Who the hell is that at this hour on a Saturday?”
Luke pushed back his chair and stood. “I sorta told Remington to stop by this morning to say hello. You know...make the plan?”
“What? Without even discussing it with me?” I took a panicky gulp of coffee. It burned my throat.
“We’re discussing it now,” Luke said. “I thought you’d be happy. How was I supposed to know it would turn into a battle?”
“Gah.” Dramatically tossing my hair over my shoulder, I marched into the living room. “Great! Now I’m gonna have to tell this poor little guy thanks but no thanks.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you’d be thankful,” Luke called after me as I headed toward the front door.
I paused just long enough to run my free hand over my rat’s nest hair. I probably still had sleep in my eyes, and I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet that morning, but I took another fortifying swig of coffee as I marched. “Next time maybe check with me before you invite one of your ne’er-do-well friends over at the crack of dawn.”