Silas snorted. “I told you, man. We’re done. Stick a fork in it. Call time of death. D-O-N-E. Done.”
Michael shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
On the surface, they couldn’t have been more opposite, and not just because Michael was Black and Silas was white. Michael was shorter, quieter, and always dressed like it was Sunday brunch. If he had to spend the day outside, he’d prefer it to be under an umbrella at a wine bar. Silas was bigger, taller, louder. He’d loved sports all through school and preferred his pastimes to involve some level of physicality.
“I’ll believe it when I see it. You’ve been on-again, off-again for a hundred years.”
“Five,” Silas corrected him. “And it was mostly off. And it’s been a month since we called it quits.”
“I thought you two were going to end up married by default,” Michael said.
Silas sighed. Dating Michelle had been easy. But a relationship based on convenience wasn’t much of a relationship at all, they’d finally come to realize. Knowing all the same people for the same amount of time wasn’t exactly a reason to march down the aisle.
“Not happening. She’s a great girl. But she’s not my girl. It’s time we stopped wasting each other’s time.”
“Five bucks says you two are back to kayak picnics in a week.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Silas said, raising his pilsner. “And you know why?”
His brother leaned back on his barstool, looking smug. “She finally wised up and met someone better than you?”
Silas gave a dry laugh. Razzing was the family’s second language. “Don’t forget that your love life is up next for scrutiny, Mikey. And no. But I might have finally met the one.”
“The one what?” Beneath Michael’s plaid, pressed button-downs lived the heart of a pragmatic man.
“Come on, man. The One. I heard wedding bells when I saw her for the first time.”
“You sure it wasn’t just low blood sugar, or maybe you were standing in front of the fire station?” Michael posited with a frown.
“Positive,” Silas said. “She’s funny without ever hitting a punch line. She didn’t freak when my dog barfed all over her porch, and I do mean all over. She’s crazy smart and wasn’t suckered in by my expert flirting. She works with her hands and works hard.” He thought back fondly to the dirt-streaked tank top. The light sheen of sweat on her skin. “If she hires Bitterroot, I get to spend the next few months asking her out while dazzling her with my dirty expertise.”
“Dating clients is a shit idea, and you know it,” the risk-averse Michael reminded him.
“You can’t expect me to follow rules when the potential future Mrs. Wright is on the line. Or maybe she’ll keep her maiden name. Or maybe we won’t even get married. We’ll be life partners like Oprah and Stedman.”
“How strong is that beer?” Michael asked, eyeing Silas’s glass.
“I’m not drunk. And I haven’t lost my damn mind. I just met someone who took one look at me and—you remember when Todd Whitecastle tackled you on the playground and the football knocked the wind right out of you?”
Michael winced. It had been the beginning and end of his attempt at being an elementary school jock. “A guy doesn’t forget that feeling.”
“It was like that,” Silas said.
His brother’s brown eyes widened behind his glasses. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“So all that stuff Mama B has been saying about love and the right woman—”
“Person,” Silas interjected.
Michael smiled shyly into his wineglass. “Person. It might actually not be bullshit? I thought that was just so we didn’t let our hormones run amok in high school.”
“One day we’ll realize our mothers already know everything, and we could have just saved ourselves a hell of a lot of time by asking them,” Silas mused.
“Hey, Sy!” a bubbly brunette with a tiny nose stud and a UCLA sweatshirt said from the end of the bar. “Hi, Michael,” she purred, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Hey, Charisse,” Michael said, sounding awkward as hell.
“How’s it going?” Silas said with a wave.
She took her drink, a frothy orange something accessorized with fruit and an umbrella, and wandered off, shooting Michael a backward glance.
Silas slapped the bar between them. “You’ve got to do it, Mikey.”