The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(38)

“Take care of yourself, big brother.” She pats his cheek with enough force that it’s almost a soft slap. “And now that you’ve gotten the talk out of your system, never do it again.”

Winnie hops up into the truck and slams the door in a single motion. Almost immediately, she kicks off her boots, peels off her socks, and tucks her legs up in the seat. Her toenails are painted a bright pink.

I pull away from the curb, ignoring the way Chevy still stands there, eyeballing me even though Winnie essentially just told him to stop doing this. That’s the thing about big brothers. We’ll never stop being overprotective.

Having Winnie in my truck makes it feel as unfamiliar as a rental car. Her scent makes me want to stop by the diner and get a piece of pie. Or press my lips to the crook of her neck to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

NOPE. No, I do NOT want to do that.

I crack my window, but it doesn’t help. And even though I’ve got my eyes firmly fixed on the road before me, I’m aware of every move Winnie makes. I’m like a workhorse in need of a good pair of blinders.

She fishes out a notebook and a pen from her purse. She uncaps it with her teeth and opens the notebook to a blank page and writes the date at the top. Her pen raps out a staccato rhythm that matches my heart, which has picked up speed.

Is she … going to take notes on our road trip? I shift in my seat. The very comfortable, worn-in jeans I chose for the trip suddenly feel a size too small.

“I know we’re on a schedule, but do we possibly have time to stop for coffee?” she asks.

“You seem fairly well-caffeinated.”

“I’ve been up all night, so I’m kind of wired. But I didn’t get coffee before I left.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just couldn’t sleep.”

She doesn’t say she was too excited, but she doesn’t have to. I could see it in the way she skipped down the sidewalk, and I can see it now in the way she’s smiling slightly, twitching in her seat. But I can also see signs of her exhaustion under the excitement. The dark circles under her eyes are slightly hidden behind her glasses, but definitely there. Her shoulders have started to slump, and while I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road, she yawns.

I hesitate, then gesture to the second stainless steel mug in the console. “For you.”

Her response is dead silence. For two whole minutes—I check the clock—Winnie says nothing and does not move. Even the pen stops tapping on the paper.

“You brought me coffee,” she says finally. A statement, not a question.

I wish I hadn’t.

This morning, I was making a pot, so I thought why not double it? Why not offer an olive branch to hopefully maintain the peace?

The thing is, Winnie is acting like this mug of coffee is some amazing gift, like I showed up with a herd of giraffes or something.

Hesitantly, slowly, methodically, Winnie reaches out for the travel mug.

“It’s just coffee.”

She takes off the lid, looking inside. A flush rises in my chest. Because I didn’t just make extra coffee, which was bad enough.

“You used heavy whipping cream.” She sounds shocked. “Do you even have heavy whipping cream?”

I’m not about to admit I stopped at a convenience store, bought a carton just to add a big splash to her mug, then threw the rest away. I raise my eyebrows and glance over. “How do you know it’s cream?”

“The color is different from just milk. I can tell. Wow. Thank you. This is surprisingly thoughtful.”

“Surprisingly? You don’t think I can be thoughtful?”

Winnie glances over. “I guess it’s not that. It’s surprising you’d do something thoughtful for me.”

Now, that just makes me feel bad. But also, I don’t want Winnie reading into the gesture. There’s nothing to read.

“You’re a valued employee.”

“I’m your only employee.”

“Exactly.”

Winnie takes a long sip of coffee, then puts it back in the cup holder and picks up her pen. “You said you wanted to discuss tweaks to the website.”

“Right.”

“But before that, I wanted to ask some questions about the conference. Like, what sessions are we going to attend?”

“You can look.” I nod to the console between us, where I’ve printed up the schedule, marking the sessions I plan to attend. I feel strangely self-conscious as Winnie glances through my choices.

“Looks like you’re sticking closely to the brewing track. Don’t you already know a lot of this stuff? Wouldn’t it make sense for you to alternate with some of the business sessions or the ones focused on running a brewpub and taproom?”

Winnie has a point. But I can’t muster up any interest for sessions about things like brand-building, community outreach, or taxes and legal issues. “You’re welcome to attend whatever sessions you want.”

“Thanks, boss,” she says, sarcasm layered heavily. But she pulls out her own program and a highlighter, glancing from mine to hers as she highlights sessions. “We can divide and conquer. I’ll take one for the team and hit up some of the boring business things and then the social media and promotion. I actually enjoy that.”

Winnie’s talking more to herself than me. Or, at least, she starts that way. Then she turns in her seat, facing me as she lobs way too many questions at me, rapid-fire style.