Last Summer(74)

Giving him a nudge, Ella leads her brother up the escalator to the men’s furnishings floor in Nordstrom. “Tell me about this girl,” she says, sipping her coffee.

“Corey?” Andrew’s face lights up. He leans a hip on the moving rail. “She’s cool. Nah, that’s not right. She’s real.” His grin spreads. “There’s nothing fake about her, if you know what I mean.” His brows waggle.

“Stop.” Ella smacks her brother’s chest. “Gross.”

Andrew’s expression sobers. “She isn’t like most women I’ve dated.”

“You mean she has a brain?” she lobs.

“High expectations,” he returns. “A lot of people I work with want big rewards for minimal work. Not Corey. She works her ass off.” He cringes and clears his throat. “Sorry. I mean she’s driven. She’s earned everything she’s been offered. She’s genuine with people. Just an all-around great lady.”

“You’ve been dating for two months? I can’t believe you haven’t told me about her.”

“She works in marketing at Talbert & Dean.”

Ella’s brow furrows. “Isn’t T&D the investor in your app?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ah.”

“We’ve been keeping it under the radar, but now that we’re getting serious, we don’t want to hide anymore. Aunt Kathy always said, ‘Honesty’s the best policy,’ right?” He nudges her in the ribs.

“You could have told me.”

“I wanted to but . . .” He shrugs. “You’ve been dealing with your own stuff. I didn’t want to add to it.”

The escalator drops them off on the men’s floor. Ella touches his upper arm. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Me too. Where are you taking her tonight?”

Andrew slides his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. “Dunno. Dinner? Maybe a jazz club after?”

“Impressive. My little bro is growing up.”

“Bound to happen at some point.” He snorts a laugh. “Might as well start acting my age.”

“Nah, I like you the way you are. Let’s see what we can do with you.” She taps her chin, taking in Andrew’s SpongeBob shirt, unzipped hoodie, faded baggy jeans, and Converse sneakers. His hair is a mess even by cute surfer-boy standards, and his facial hair is long past trimmed and contoured.

“What you need is a button-down shirt and dark wash jeans. I’m going to insist they’re fitted.” She points at his baggy rear. “A blazer of some sort would be nice, too.”

Andrew blanches at the mention of the coat.

“Oh, come on. A few nice pieces in your wardrobe won’t kill you. First, we need to get you cleaned up. Then we’ll find an outfit.”

An hour later, after a shampoo, trim, and shave at the salon on the other end of the mall, Ella walks Andrew through the various sections of the men’s department, picking shirts and jeans along the way. A stylist latches on to Andrew at one point, selecting her suggestions from the racks of tailored jackets. Arms full, she escorts them to a large dressing room. Ella settles onto a leather bench, sipping her second latte, which she’d purchased on the way back from the salon. As Andrew strips to his boxer briefs, everything Ella has avoided thinking about since her conversation with Davie suddenly starts pounding around her brain.

She glances at her phone. No calls or texts from Damien. Nothing from Nathan either. She owes him a call and the truth. But Damien is her priority. She just needs to get Nathan’s article off her list.

Andrew pushes an arm into a blue-checked shirt. He already stepped into a pair of Citizens of Humanity dark wash jeans. So much better than the saggy Levi’s she would bet he sleeps, works, and eats in. He nods at Ella’s phone. “Expecting a call?”

“No, why?” She drops the phone into her purse.

“No reason other than you can’t stop looking at it. Is this shirt supposed to be this tight?” He swings his arms, crossing them over his chest, then jutting back his elbows.

“It’s extraslim. Here.” Ella sifts through the pile of shirts she brought in. “Same shirt, one size up. I’m glad you’ve got a girlfriend. You’ve been spending too much time alone at the gym.” His chest is wider and biceps larger than she remembers.

“That’s why I have a girlfriend.” He grins.

Andrew has the look of their father: brown eyes, sandy-blond hair, divot in his chin, and deep creases in his cheeks when he smiles. She knows this more from photos than from memory. Both she and Andrew are older than their parents were when they passed, Ella by almost ten years.

“Do you think of Mom and Dad much?”

“That’s a weird question.” Andrew tosses aside the shirt he just tried on and takes the one Ella hands him.

“Looking at you now, I was reminded of Dad.”

“You look like Mom. She was pretty.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Andrew winks at her, buttoning the shirt.

Ella never gave it much thought, but she does wear her hair in the same long, straight style as her mom. Their coloring and build are also similar.

“Do you wonder if they would have stayed married?”