Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

She shrugs casually, but her smile gives it away that she’s proud her vocabulary surprised me. “I listen.”


“Okay, deal. One purple, real tiara for your absolute bestest behavior.” I reach behind me, and though we can’t officially shake, she grabs my pinkie finger with hers to pinkie promise.

“Can Peanut Butter have a tiara too?” she adds.

“Pushing it,” I warn. But when she crosses her arms over her chest, I acquiesce. “If you’re extra-extra-extra good, I’ll get him one too.”

She hugs the beleaguered dog and he licks her face. With a smile, I try to think of a way to spin this, but Luna interrupts my whirling mind. “Keep it simple, stupid. K-I-S-S, just like our background story. She’s your niece that you needed to watch. It makes you seem like a family guy the same way” —she drops her voice to a whisper— “a wife does.”

She has a point. I nod, visualizing the introduction and how Elena might respond. “Okay, KISS, got it,” I echo vacantly.

Before I forget, I call Cameron back and leave another message. “Hey man, Mom’s a no-go for babysitting tonight, but Grace is with me. We’ll be out a little late, so she can stay at my place. I’ll bring her back tomorrow or Sunday, whatever’s good for you. No worries, we’ll just hang out and play the Royal Family because she’s already talked me into a tiara.”

When I hang up, Luna is looking at me strangely. Before I can find out why, Gracie asks, “Did you hear that, Peanut Butter? We’re having a sleepover at Uncle CJ’s!”





CHAPTER

EIGHT





LUNA





“We don’t talk about . . .” Grace sings and then waits for me to join in.

“Bruno . . . no, no, no!” I finish with a big flourish, having fun singing the entire Disney repertoire with her. Grace has an arm thrown over Peanut Butter, happily singing to him in full-blown Mariah Carey mode despite his howls begging us to stop. Grace explained it’s his way of singing along with us, but I have serious doubts about that.

The little girl is an absolute hoot. She’s infinitely better than either of her uncles, and the drive that had seemed extraordinarily long before has flown by with her constant questions, song requests, and storytelling.

Surprisingly, Carter has had a faint ghost of a smile on his lips the whole time. He’s even joined in on the fun, sort of, answering some of her questions with playful answers of his own. He doesn’t go so far as singing, but I’m pretty sure I heard him humming. He’s so uptight and work-focused that I would’ve thought he’d be annoyed by a child’s antics. But my assumption was obviously wrong.

“We’re almost there. Ready?” Carter asks us.

“I’ll be super-duper good, Uncle CJ.” Grace holds up her hand as she makes the solemn vow.

I shoot a smile at Grace and mimic her move. “Me too. Super-duper good.”

“Okay,” Carter says easily, but his fingers haven’t stopped nervously tapping on the steering wheel. We pull up in front of a pair of tall gates that are already open. “Elena’s expecting us. Showtime.”

On the other side of the gates, there’s a long and winding drive leading to the front of the house. Though it’s not like one I’ve ever seen.

“Is that a house for one person?” Grace exclaims, pressing her nose and hands to the window. “You could fit my whole school in there!”

“Right?” I whisper. It’s more like a mansion or estate, or whatever’s bigger than that, and my heart begins thumping in my chest. I don’t belong here. No dress is enough armor to make me fit in at a place like this.

Carter parks and comes around to open my door like a gentleman. Taking my hand, he helps me out, and the touch of our hands reminds me of the role I’m playing. I look up into his eyes, and there’s an instant where I forget that I’m mad at him and this feels like a date.

Grace and Peanut Butter explode out of the car with a whoop of laughter, shattering the moment. “Let’s go, Peanut Butter!”

The dog heads straight for a pair of meticulously pruned rose bushes by the front steps and lets loose with a long stream of pee. I swear I hear him sigh in relief.

“No, bad dog!” Carter hisses, but there’s no stopping the yellow waterfall hitting the pristine flowers, the leaves flapping backward with the force of the golden shower.

A tall man comes around the corner, surprise widening his eyes when he sees us, but his expression quickly changes to anger when he sees Peanut Butter. “No! Rosalia! You’re killing her!” he yells sharply.

Who’s Rosalia?

The man waves wild hands, trying to shoo the confused pooch away from the bushes. “Git!”

“Peanut Butter, come here. Get away from the mean man!” Grace cries, running toward them to throw herself between the dog and the man, holding her arms out protectively. “Don’t you be a meanie!”

Gathering Grace and Peanut Butter and shoving them behind his back, Carter tells the man, “Excuse us, so sorry.”

His attempt to diffuse the situation is in vain, though, because the man has given his full attention to the rose bush, which he’s caressing tenderly with gnarled hands and sweet-talking. “Oh, Rosalia. What has that monster done to you? I’ll get you some fresh water to drink, would you like that?”

Oh-kay, I guess the bush is Rosalia?

“What’s all this racket out here?” a woman says from the porch. “Bernard? Are you okay?”

She’s older, wearing a loose-fitting bronze pantsuit, kitten heels, and a worried look as she scans the yard, her silver bob swinging back and forth with the movement.

“That dog tried to kill Rosalia.” The man points an accusing finger at Peanut Butter, snarling his lip.

“It was a long drive, so he really had to go,” I explain apologetically.

“No big deal. The poor baby had to piddle.” She’s telling Bernard, but Peanut Butter has climbed the steps and is sitting politely at the woman’s feet as though he recognizes a kind spirit. She reaches down to pet his head and he leans into her touch. “My bladder’s the size of a walnut too.”

Standing back up, she greets the rest of us. “You must be Carter. Thanks for coming all the way out here. I hope it wasn’t a trouble, other than the peeing.” She laughs at her own joke, petting Peanut Butter again.

Carter takes a few steps up to the porch and offers his hand. “Happy to come out anytime, Mrs. Cartwright.” He pauses, drops his chin, and then smiles. “I mean, Elena.”

Ooh, he’s good. That was a pure act of fertilizer-grade manure with the name misspeak, playfully coy while also being old-fashioned polite. He’s shoveling it both ways.