An Autumn Boyfriend Disaster: Butler Brothers of Boston, #2

By Lisa H. Catmull

I kissed my boss, then I ghosted him.

I've grown up a lot since then, and things have changed. I've always wished I had a second chance with him, and now… Maybe I do.

Luke wants to bring our band to play at his celebrity brothers' wedding. I'm moving to Alaska at the end of the week, so it's my last chance to hang out with him. I'm a go-with-the-flow hippie, so I figured, Why Not?, but I had no idea what I was signing up for. Luke's family makes My Big Fat Greek Wedding look tame.

It's changing everything about the dynamic between me and Luke. The walls between us are falling down, and best of all, he's not my boss anymore. Nothing's in our way—except ourselves.

And my concussion. And the Twitch livestream. And a fake engagement. Oh, and his brother's secret baby. Then there's the paparazzi. I don't know. Maybe we're not meant to be. Maybe the universe is conspiring against us.

But maybe, just maybe, there's a chance of salvaging this autumn boyfriend disaster before we ruin his brothers' wedding for his entire family.

A second chance romantic comedy in the Sugar Creek series. This is a fall romance featuring plenty of pumpkin but no spice—just swoony kisses, baked apples, and warm sweaters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa H. Catmull
• Release date: Oct 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223161653

Book preview

Chapter One

I have nothing better to do than stalk my ex-boyfriend on New Year’s Eve. Technically, it’s not stalking. It’s not my fault that Luke never turned off the location sharing on his phone. And technically, he was never my boyfriend.

But I’m not very technical. I’m more of the emotional, intuitive, I can’t-believe-you’re-working-again-tonight type, so I make a detour on Pearl Street and head to our office. I can’t count how many interventions I’ve had to make for Luke’s own good over the last four years.

Except I’m not sure who the intervention is for tonight. He might not take my news as well as I hope.

The cold cuts through me as I walk through the crowds of revelers. Snow dusts the sidewalk beneath me. This dress was a mistake, but it’s my lucky first-date dress. It’s the dress my mom wore when she met my dad, but the loose, flowing style doesn’t provide any warmth in the Colorado winter.

The sandals? I have no reason for wearing them, except that I always wear them. And I didn’t think I’d be walking home from my date. Alone. Without a proper coat.

I swipe my badge and pull open the glass doors—metal handles should be illegal in Colorado during the winter—and skip up the winding circular stairs. Past the pool table. Past the bean bags and ping pong table. All the way to the corner office, where a lone light burns at eleven o’clock at night.

Music blares through the cracked-open door. Luke’s high, clear voice sings along, and the lyrics tug at my heart. I know this song. It’s one of my favorites by Bread.

I pause in the hallway, swaying to the song. If he knows I’m listening, he’ll stop singing, and I love his voice. Not many men can hit those high, clear notes and make it sound effortless. But then the song hits the part about taking people for granted and losing them, and Luke’s voice cracks.

So does my heart.

That must be why I caught the vibe to check on him. He’s sad, and I could sense it. He needs me.

So, I’d better cheer him up before I drop my news-bomb.

I start singing along with the beautiful lyrics as I fling open the door to his office.

Luke’s head whips up from the desk, and his eyes widen. He stares at me with an anguished expression. I’ve never seen him so raw. I can feel the pain radiating from him.

Andie? his smooth voice suddenly has a ragged edge.

I can’t tell him tonight.

Hey, Boss. I lean over and check the music app on his phone. What is that playlist? ‘Unchained Melody’? ‘Always on My Mind’? ‘Someone to You’? No wonder you’re depressed.

He scrambles to turn off the music, cutting it off before the song can finish, then straightens in his chair. What are you doing here?

It takes me a second to remember. I’ve never seen Luke like this. He doesn’t usually show his feelings, and here he is, oozing emotions all over the room. I toss my coat on the tiny sofa and shove a pile of papers aside to perch on the edge of his desk. Happy New Year’s!

He clears his throat, then tugs a contract out from beneath my thigh. Happy New Year’s, Andie. Luke taps the papers and sets them neatly on the other side of his desk.

I ease into the conversation. How was your Christmas break?

Luke checks his watch. This is going to take a while, isn’t it?

Yep. It’s not midnight for another hour.

He pulls out his phone and texts something before I answer. I’m ordering food. He slides the phone onto the other corner of the desk, the one where I’m not sitting.

And dessert.

I pick up his phone and hand it to him.

Luke texts again, then shoves it on the desk beside my leg, nudging me.

I hop off the desk and drape my coat on one of his chairs. I came to cheer you up.

Luke’s expression shutters, and I can’t see the despair and hurt anymore. He’s just—blank. Who says I’m depressed?

I take off my lucky string of beads and position myself behind him. Why else would you be at the office on New Year’s Eve? I drop my hands onto his shoulders and start massaging. "I’m not leaving until you clear this negative energy." So, I can’t create any. Was your trip that bad?

Luke sits stiffly in his chair. You’re here, too. Are you depressed?

I pause with my hands on his shoulders, and he squirms. I need his help as much as he needs mine. I rub slow circles with my thumbs. I’m never depressed. Who can be sad in a world full of such beauty?

Luke gazes up at me. He doesn’t tease me about being a hippie, like he normally would. He eyes my lucky date dress and glances at the beads on the sofa. When his gaze locks onto mine for an uncomfortably long time, I tell him the truth. Maybe a little sad. My date ended early.

And the shutters lower on his expression again. Sorry, Andie.

I don’t want him to think that he’s my second choice or last resort for tonight. Even if he kinda is. I nudge his shoulder. "Why’s your world ending?"

Again, no smile. My dad offered me a promotion.

And that’s bad? I rub a thumb down his neck and along the top of his shoulders. He’s wearing a butter soft button-up shirt that’s not at all his usual style. He looks best in blue, but most of his geek shirts are black or white. My hands glide over the smooth fabric, and knots of tension ripple beneath my fingers. You’re holding onto some serious stress. Let it flow out of you.

Still nothing. Sometimes I have to be painfully direct with Luke. What’s up?

No comment. He closes his eyes and tips his head backward, resting it against my stomach.

That prompts the usual flutters, the ones I’ve trained myself to ignore. And Luke smells different tonight. Better. He doesn’t usually smell like anything, but tonight some new, delicious manly scent wafts upward.

Humor usually works with him. Poor, spoiled millionaire baby.

Luke tenses again. It’s not about the money. My brothers set a date for their double wedding.

That’s awesome. I keep massaging his shoulders, working on the knot beneath his right shoulder blade. I don’t see the connection.

He shrugs.

I gently push down his shoulders. Release the stress.

Luke purses his lips, and from where I stand behind him, he looks amazing. My gaze roams over his face, a constellation of freckles on each cheek. His blue eyes are closed, and those lips look way too kissable.

They’re not. I tried once, and it was a disaster. I rub the tense spots at the top of his neck, but mostly it’s an excuse to play with the curls at the bottom of his hair.

"It’s a C-level position working for my dad in Boston. CTO. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live around five brothers and my parents? And now I’ll have sisters. Sisters who like me, and want to spend time with me, and buy me cologne for Christmas."

So, that’s what the delicious scent is. I dig into the knots on the left side of his neck. I love Brie and Lindsay.

Luke snorts. "But do they have to love me so much? He tugs at the collar of his shirt. Lindsay was so excited to see me wear my Christmas gift that I couldn’t say No."

I like this shirt. It must be wrinkle-free.

Luke shrugs. It’s slim fit, whatever that means.

My gaze darts to his abdomen. It does fit him well. Too well. I like your usual t-shirts better. The ones that hide his shoulders and chest. I run a finger around the smooth fabric, then tuck my thumbs beneath the collar to rub that part of his neck. His skin is warm to the touch, and he shivers when my cold fingers dip below the collar. This one is obviously suffocating you.

Luke undoes the top button. Like my family.

You have a beautiful family who dotes on you and wants to be involved in every aspect of your life. I pull my thumbs out from beneath the collar, missing the warmth of his skin, and go back to rubbing his shoulders. It soothes me more than it helps him. Why did that inspire your super melancholy playlist?

I tip his head onto his chest to stretch his neck. Luke’s muffled voice replies, I thought I’d be married by now. If anyone’s going to suffocate me, I’d rather that it were my wife.

His wife?

This is definitely not the direction I saw the conversation going. I was hoping to use his promotion as a segue to my news.

I guess that’s kinda sweet that you want your wife to suffocate you. That means you want to spend time with her.

All of it.

My hands go still on his shoulders. How did we get into this conversation? I didn’t know you were dating someone. But maybe he meant that in a general way, not specific to any particular girlfriend. You’re serious enough to consider marrying her? Or did she break your engagement?

Luke’s eyes snap open, and his expression closes off again. No comment.

Shock roots me to the spot, and my hands are welded to his shoulders now. You were engaged, and I didn’t know? I thought we were friends.

Luke ripples his shoulders, like he’s uncomfortable. You don’t know everything about me.

My fingers are lead, and I can’t move them. Did she dump you? Is that why you’re upset?

He purses his lips.

Who was she? I whisper. Who hurt you? And I send my healing energy toward him, but it would be easier to help him if I could read him.

Or if he’d talk.

No comment. Luke rolls his mouse on the desk. The playlist appears, and he exits the music app.

Luke, I heard your mopey music. I’m not leaving—

Fine. He spins toward me in his chair, and his face is still a mask. Seeing the twins so happy made me want that, too.

I know. They’re adorable on video calls, and I want to be disgustingly, over-the-top in love too.

"So, this guy wasn’t your soul mate? Luke asks pointedly. Maybe the next date. Or the next. Or the next. I’m so tired of it. He glances at me. Unlike some people."

I swat his shoulder, then leave my hand there. The reason I date so much is because I want to love someone so intensely that the room goes dim when he leaves, and only he can lighten it again.

Luke spins his chair back to face his computer monitor, and my hand falls off his shoulder. I know how to use light switches, if that’s all you want. He cracks open a drawer and grabs a remote. He presses a button, and the overhead light goes off at the same time that the light in the corner turns on. The window shades whir and begin to roll down, blocking the night sky. The music starts again, but softer.

I gasp. I love this vibe.

Here you go. Luke holds out the remote and quirks a dimpled smile. True love. It will never disappoint you, as long as you change the batteries every six months.

And now he’s hiding behind his sarcasm and humor, but it’s not funny tonight. Not when someone crushed his soul.

And when another date fizzled out for me.

But the dim light and setting are ridiculously romantic. It reminds me of the tiny fairy lights I strung in his living room. I wonder if he still has them up.

Did you love her that much? I ask quietly. I shouldn’t feel jealous, but a fist grips my heart and squeezes. You installed custom modifications to your office to create mood lighting. It must have been serious.

That gets a tiny twitch of his lips. His mood is shifting.

Luke props his hands behind his head. His muscles tense, so I tug his arms back to his side. I’ll make you a deal. My question for your question.

He takes my hands and moves them back to his shoulders. Any question?

Of course. But first, I have to know. I dig into the knot at the base of his neck. Are these massages the only reason you put up with my heart-to-heart talks?

Luke finally grins. A real one. Yep.

I massage his shoulders. You know the rules. When you stop talking, my hands stop working. Let’s hear your conversation-starting question, Luke Butler.

He stares blankly at the screensaver on his monitor and lets out a deep breath as I rub his back with the heel of my hand. Have you ever loved someone so much that you couldn’t imagine a life without them? Has anyone ever worked their way into every crevice of your life, like an ivy tentacle winding up the side of a house, but you couldn’t bear to rip the vine away? Even though you knew it would eventually destroy the brick beneath.

That was unexpected. Whoa, Luke. Getting all vulnerable and deep.

A tiny smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. See, I can surprise you.

I think about what he asked. "So, women are like poison ivy? And your heart is a brick?" That explains a lot. He’s walled off.

Regular ivy. Not poisonous. The smile fades, and Luke’s jaw sets. I must have hit a sore spot—emotionally. Or in the middle of his back. Not sure which. I was thinking more about the stubborn way plants grow without any water. Like love, when you want to root it out.

Why would you want to root it out? I massage his shoulders again. What brutal imagery. It’s beautiful and effective, but this conversation is still too dark and mopey. I shiver. It hits a little too close to home.

Luke reaches for my coat and tosses it to me. He grabs the thin, gray remote and presses a button. The lamp winks out, and the overhead lights flood my eyes. I lean over him to press the button. I like the mood lighting better for New Year’s Eve.

Luke tips his head to watch me straighten. My arm brushes against his, and something flashes in his eyes. It’s fierce and hungry, and it stuns me. His clear blue eyes lock onto mine. "You never answered. Have you ever felt that way?"

I thought that was a hypothetical question. I can’t answer that. He’s the vine that wraps tendrils around my heart, no matter how many times I rip it off.

And he’s my boss.

He continues to stare, obviously waiting for an answer.

I shrug. "No comment on the ivy in my life. Unless you want to tell me who has a chokehold on your heart."

A flash of disappointment flickers across his face before his jaw sets and his expression is neutral again. Nope. Next topic.

I sense his frustration and sadness, and I’m here to shift his energy, not dwell on his pain. Unless it’s me? I rip the fledging seed of hope out of my heart. That was a long time ago.

And he describes her as someone who would destroy him emotionally. That’s not me. I’ve gone to great lengths to preserve our friendship after the disastrous almost-dating.

Luke glances up. Now it’s your turn to talk.

I want to know about the mystery woman, and what kind of girlfriend Luke Butler would want, since I never made it to that stage officially.

But that makes my stomach churn, and I’m radiating nothing but positive energy tonight.

Instead of having five brothers and two pending sisters-in-law, you could be an only child of self-absorbed parents who guilt-trip you about not doting on them every time you visit.

Luke’s shoulders relax, as if he’s relieved to leave the subject of drought-resistant vines and brick-hard hearts, and he closes his eyes again. My parents have ivy on the side of their house.

At least your parents have a house. I shove his shoulders. You can’t apply the analogy to parents. It’s their job to suffocate you. That’s what good parents do. I’d love to have a little more attention from mine.

Luke snorts. His fingers find mine, and he puts my hands on his shoulders again. I still get guilt-tripped about not staying longer every time I go home. He cranes his head to one side and looks at me. What did your parents want this time?

You’re too tense. I put one hand on either side of his face and swivel his head back the way it was. "They want me to quit my hedonistic corporate lifestyle and return to the blissfully simple van life with them."

Luke snorts. What’s so hedonistic about designing websites and writing code?

I dig into the knots along his spine too hard, then catch myself. It’s not Luke’s fault that my parents are hard-core hippies. I am, too, kind of. I take a deep breath. I am peace. I am love. It allows me to do outrageous things like own a couch and extravagant luxuries like the tin of vintage peppermint lip balm I bought at the Christmas craft market.

A phone pings. Luke opens his eyes and grabs the phone off his desk. Layla says she can drop off some appetizers on her way home. She got off at eleven.

Layla? My hands freeze on his trapezius muscles, and he rolls a shoulder to shrug them off. I know his tricks. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He wants to eat.

I sink onto the mini couch along the edge of his office. What else don’t I know about Luke’s life?

Chapter Two

Is that your girlfriend? I lower my voice. The ex?

Luke pushes away from his desk. The new head chef at Jonah’s restaurant.

She cooks food? So, basically, your dream woman.

I sling my beads around my neck and wrap my light jacket around my middle, hugging it close to warm up. I glance over, and Luke’s watching me. As soon as our eyes meet, he drops his gaze. Luke clears his throat and wanders into the darkened hallway.

Yep, he’s done talking.

He flips on the light switch with a slow exaggerated motion, arching an eyebrow at me. Does this make me your dream man? The walls are back up, and he wants to keep things light.

I laugh. I love you so much, Lukey.

The dimples pop in his cheeks as his mouth pulls in a crooked smile. Only because I change your light bulbs.

Guilty. I pretend to swoon.

Luke heads down the hall. "Layla’s a free spirit like you," he says conversationally.

"You could free your spirit, too."

Luke’s smile widens to a grin. Make me.

I already tried, I think to myself. The feel of his fingers on mine lingers.

He’s finally in a better mood, but I’m the one moping now. I shake myself. I am joy.

By the time I come out of my fog, Luke’s gone. I wander into the break area. Luke tosses paper plates and napkins on the ping pong table. I grab some bean bags and drag them over to use as chairs.

He looks down at the bean bags and laughs. I’ll stand.

I set out some bottled water. My parents would have a heart attack if they saw the way I ate—all that waste. But a girl’s gotta eat.

And then I flop into a bean bag to wait for this non-girlfriend of his.

Luke leans against the metal railing overlooking the first floor.

I wink at him. Layla, huh?

His eyes drop to the entrance below. She couldn’t stand working with my brother, Matt, so Pappy transferred her here. Gave her a promotion for having the good sense to leave. He flashes me a lopsided grin, and his dimples pop.

He seems to feel better since we started talking about Layla.

I take in his appearance. Button-down shirt—without wrinkles. Dark blue chino pants. His hair is gelled. Kinda spiky. And that manly scent. Is this for her? I wave my hand at his outfit as I check him out. What really happened to your geek t-shirts and jeans? Did Brie burn them?

"No. I flew back today, and this— Luke gestures up and down his body. This is why I’m not moving. I can’t handle any more makeovers or glow-ups or whatever they call it."

You look amazing, and you smell even better. I roll out of the bean bag and join him at the railing. My arm brushes against his, and he shuffles to the side. I rest my back against the cool metal barrier. You should take the promotion, if it means you look like this all the time.

Luke grips the railing, leaning toward me. Not worth it.

I scan his body slowly. You look delicious.

He flushes to the tips of his ears and stares at the floor below. Delicious?

This is our game. I tease him, and he ignores me, but somehow, we both feel better.

Lindsay has good taste. That shade of blue brings out your eyes. I tousle his perfectly gelled hair. And everyone loves red and blue together.

Luke scoffs. I hate my hair.

I love your hair. There’s not even a name for that deep shade of red-brown. Sienna? What is that?

Luke shrugs. Red is red.

There’s so much more to it than that. There’s orange-red, red-red, brown-red… I step even closer. Lean over. Which cologne did Brie give you?

He groans. "Jonah’s cologne. Because even his man scent is perfect."

Let me guess which one it is. I wrap a hand around his neck and tug him down, so I can get a whiff. I’m an excellent connoisseur of man scents.

That’s just another way of saying you’ve kissed fifty guys, Luke grumbles, but he leans over.

I press onto my tiptoes and bury my nose in his neck.

Oh my. The musky scent of the cologne mixes with that familiar scent of him, and it’s beyond delicious. It’s supercalifragilicious.

Luke’s arm wraps so lightly around my waist that I almost don’t feel it.

That’s new, too.

And just then the door slams below us.

I tighten my grip on Luke and inhale deeply. Tom Ford. I wriggle my nose behind his ear and inhale again. Yep. That woodsy scent.

Luke pushes off the railing, rubbing his neck, and jogs down the stairs at double speed. Hey, Emily.

Emily? I peer over the railing.

A tall, slender blonde stares curiously up at me. She’s wearing a puffy down jacket over skinny jeans. She knows how to dress for this weather.

Luke pulls her into a huge hug, and my heart drops. All the good vibes vanish. I thought her name was Layla.

"I brought two blondes back from Boston, Luke says. He raises his voice and points, accusing. This one is my job replacement."

Emily hits his shoulder playfully. Playfully. Like they already know each other. Shut up, Tasty.

Tasty? I yell from the second-floor landing. "His cologne smells delicious. They turn to look at me, and my mouth says it before my brain can stop it. Supercalifragilicious."

Luke stares at me, and then I remember that he is moping about a girlfriend, and this is probably her.

Emily looks up at me and cocks her head. Tasty is an old nickname. It goes way, way back. Right, Lukey?

He presses his lips together. Thanks for bringing it up, Em.

So, she’s an old friend. And she lives in Boston. That’s why I didn’t know about her. Maybe they text and call each other? I turn around to give them some privacy to kiss, but I don’t hear any smooching. I hazard a glance downstairs.

Emily shrugs out of her coat and points at Luke. You are in so much trouble when I tell your mom that you have a new girlfriend.

Wait. Who’s the new girlfriend? Me? Or her?

Then I replay her comment to make sense of it.

She knows his mom? Is she an old girlfriend?

Luke gestures toward the stairs. Andie’s not my girlfriend.

So, I’m not the girlfriend. But it disappoints me to hear him say that out loud. It’s like he has to make sure that she knows we’re not dating.

Then why were you making out? The woman takes the stairs two at a time. I didn’t think you did the non-committal make-out thing.

Luke follows her. I don’t.

So, there’s some level of commitment here? Emily asks.

No, Luke grunts.

Luke and Emily arrive at the top of the landing. I smile at them. That was nothing. If we’d been making out, you would know it.

Luke glances at me, reddens, and grips the railing a little harder.

The woman laughs. Sorry. I just saw your face in his neck and the two of you all tangled in each other’s arms, and thought that meant something.

But she’s laughing about it? Not mad or jealous?

Luke shifts uncomfortably. "Andie and I don’t tangle. His gaze darts to mine, then back to the woman. Or make out."

Or commit, I mutter, and the red on Luke’s cheeks deepens. I stop teasing him, even though I wasn’t joking.

But the blonde woman doesn’t stop. That’s a shame. The Butlers want some grandbabies. You and Luke would make adorable munchkins.

I feel my cheeks flush bright red. That’s karma. Thanks, universe. "Did you just say munchkins?"

She grins. I did, and I stand by it. She extends her hand. I’m Emily Butler, Luke’s evil cousin. Or Wicked Witch of the East, or whatever. Evidently, I’ve come to steal his job, which involves him training me for the next forever, so it’s not exactly a stealthy steal. Layla texted me something about appetizers and an impromptu New Year’s Eve party. Who can we text?

I shake her hand. I’ll start thinking.

Luke groans. No one else.

Emily pulls a chair over to the ping pong table. I’m not liking these odds, cousin. Three girls and one guy, and I’m not kissing you at midnight. I need some minions to adore me.

My eyes flick to Luke. Midnight kisses. I forgot about those.

I agree. We need to even the odds. We have a super sexy drummer. Bald head, tattoos, the whole bouncer look.

You think Smash is sexy? Luke shakes his head. I mean, it makes sense for Emily. She’s the only person I know who dates more than you do, Andie, but I didn’t know you liked bad boys.

I beam at Emily. I like every boy. Smash is a teddy bear.

She smiles back. You’re talking my language. We’re going to be best friends.

She glances at Luke. We need to up our weekend game. I’m not spending nights at the office.

We are going to get along so well, now that she’s Luke’s cousin instead of his girlfriend. Do you sing or play? We have a band.

Emily nods. I’m decent.

No impromptu band practice. Luke drops into a bean bag. "I’m not like Danny. I’m an introvert, and I do not need cheering up."

You’re worse than Danny Boy. Emily kicks the enormous foam-filled sack. Get up, Tasty. You’ll wrinkle your pretty-boy clothes.

Sure, Mom. Luke folds his arms behind his head and nestles deeper into the bean bag. Make me.

I want to make him. My eyes drop to the sliver of space. There’s room for me next to him. We’d have to snuggle pretty close to each other to fit.

Or to wrestle him out of it. Either would be fun.

Emily is still talking. "—and if it takes months to train me, not weeks, should we maybe hire two or three people to carry the workload? I have a social life."

You just joined a band, I add. "We could change the name to Emily and the Winged Monkeys."

Luke groans. No. No cousins in the band.

Emily nudges his shoulder with hers. You know I play keyboard better than you.

He tips his head in acknowledgment. Duh. You went to that arts school.

Ha! Yes. Emily grabs a water bottle and unscrews the lid. And that’s why I’m too busy to be a workaholic. Living life is an art form. She squares her hands and examines Luke. You’re a blank canvas, cousin. I’m here to add some color, unless you have someone else to do that. She winks at me.

I have as much social life as I want, and I’m already in a band. Luke runs his hands up and down the legs of his pants, as if trying to wrinkle them. They’re wrinkle free, too, he says dejectedly. No excuse not to wear them. He pushes out of the bean bag, but he can’t reach the table.

I toss him a water bottle. He catches it and unscrews the lid, then offers it to me.

I put a hand over my heart. You change light bulbs, and you’re a gentleman? Be still, my heart. I toss him another water bottle, which he keeps.

Emily glances between us. "Are you sure you’re not Luke’s girlfriend?" She doesn’t look convinced.

Luke unscrews the lid of his bottle and guzzles a long drink, like he’s avoiding his cousin’s question.

I’m sure. This is it. My chance to drop the news that I finally decided. I’m Andie Weaver. Tech staff. I came to cheer up Luke, and to quit. I flash him an apologetic smile. Happy New Year’s!

Chapter Three

I choke on my water.

Andie bends over and pats me on the back. Before I know it, she’s sitting cross-legged on the bean bag beside me and massaging my shoulders again.

Emily raises her eyebrows.

I cover my eyes with one hand. Sorry, what did you say?

Andie settles in, and now she’s even closer. I already told you, Luke. I’m a corporate sellout, working for The Man. I can’t do it anymore.

The spot behind my ear still tingles where Andie sniffed that new cologne, and now her leg presses against my side. I don’t want to fight it. Not the way I feel tonight. But Emily does report to Pappy, so I shift over as far as I can.

Millions of miniscule foam beads squeak beneath me as I settle into the bean bag. Andie’s hands fall off my shoulders, and I draw a long, deep breath. You work for my dad. He’s not The Man.

Technically, she works for you. Emily giggles. I’m totally calling you The Man from now on.

Who’s The Man? Andie sits up and nudges me. You’re The Man.

I sit up, and she starts digging into a knot on my right side, the same one that always forms under my shoulder blade. The fact that she has the knots in my back memorized only sharpens my sense of regret.

And then there’s the way she always smells like wildflowers in bloom. You’re not a sellout.

Her voice drifts over my shoulder. But I earn so much money.

You don’t even own a car. It’s so frustrating to see her guilt. Paying rent isn’t wrong. Having enough money to buy groceries isn’t wrong. Being ambitious or having a steady job isn’t morally wrong.

Andie’s fingers play with the hair at the bottom of my neck, and I can’t think anymore.

Emily clears her throat. Is this how you conduct all your exit interviews? On the bean bag? Because your dad and Pappy have strict rules about family members not dating employees.

Thanks, Em. Like I didn’t know. I glare at her and tumble out of the bag, pushing on the floor to stand.

I didn’t know about that rule. Andie stretches and kicks out her feet, relaxing into the bean bag. Her loose dress drapes across her shapely legs. Good thing I’m quitting. She smiles and starts twirling the beads around her neck.

It would be better if she weren’t also moving.

Lamest rule ever, Emily says. Why do you think I don’t want a promotion? She winks at Andie. Being a Butler and working with all this eye candy can be torture.

Wait till you see Smash sometime, Andie says. You’re in luck. The super hot drummer guy quit a while back.

I grab a chair and tug it toward the ping pong table. "You really think Smash is super hot?" I ask.

Andie shrugs and settles deeper into the bean bag. Women have been known to drool over Smash when we perform. She tilts her head to look at me. I’ll give you two weeks to find my replacement.

A month. I panic. Here we go again. Time to talk Andie out of another one of her impulsive ideas. That’s my job—dispensing reality checks along with the paychecks. As much as I want to date her, I also want what’s best for her.

Her parents don’t have her best interests at heart.

Besides, if she moves, I’ll lose her completely, so I push for more time. It’s winter, and you hate camping in your parents’ RV before April.

She tucks her feet onto the bean bag. They have a heater.

But my protective instincts kick into overdrive. "You can’t live in a van again. How would you play Minecraft?"

She tips her head in acknowledgment. Fair point. There are public libraries, though.

Knock, knock! Layla calls from the entrance. Where are you?

Up here! Emily calls. Luke and Andie were making out when I got here, but they deny everything.

"I was enjoying his tasty cologne. Andie sits up quickly in the bean bag. Her eyes dart to Layla, who has a shocked expression, and back to me. Why do they call you Tasty, Boss?" Andie asks.

Layla walks over to the ping pong table, looking sideways at Andie. She grins at me as she drops several white plastic bags on the breakroom table. "Why do they call you that? It seems like it should be Matt or one of the chefs."

Long story. And I’m not in the mood to tell it. Thanks for bringing the food, Layla.

You know I’d do anything for you, Luke, since you’re not Matt. She comes over to hug me. I like how different you are from your brother.

I let go. It’s funny, how different it feels to hug her instead of Andie.

Andie makes it so easy to be social. Everyone loves her, and she always knows what to say. But for some reason, she’s sizing up Layla like she doesn’t trust her.

Andie waves from the bean bag. I’m Andie.

Good to meet you. I’m Layla. She digs several takeout containers out of the bags and spreads them across the table. Why are we having an impromptu New Year’s Eve party?

Are we? Andie looks at Layla. "I’ll text the rest of the band. Andie pushes her way out of the bean bag. We need to cheer Luke up."

I’m not depressed, I grumble. I don’t need a roomful of people when I came to the office to be alone.

I’m in. Emily flashes a thumbs-up. I want to meet my future boyfriends, I mean, band mates.

Andie glances between me and Layla on her way over to the ping pong table.

Does she think I’m dating my brother’s ex?

Andie is bugged about something, but I’m not emotionally savvy enough to understand the sudden tension. And then a thought hits me. Is she—jealous?

I can’t help grinning, even though the conversation has gotten away from me, and Andie is letting her crazy, narcissistic parents guilt trip her into a terrible decision.

I start opening the takeout containers. Hang on. Do you see all this garlic? I’m not planning to kiss anyone at midnight.

Andie looks both relieved and disappointed, and I feel a flicker of hope. She came here after her date instead of going home.

She grabs a couple more chairs. I already texted everybody. The party is happening.

I don’t actually mind. I just like to voice my complaints, because I look pretty pathetic otherwise. Emily’s right. What kind of loser works on New Year’s Eve?

The kind without a girlfriend or any prospects.

But maybe it’s not too late.

I smile at Andie, making sure to maintain eye contact, as I pull out one of the chairs for her and hand her a plate. Thanks. I did have a few social graces instilled in me.

She smiles back, her face lighting up with joy from the one simple word, and her eyes twinkle. I don’t get it. How is she the easiest to be around, and yet the hardest to understand? All I said was Thanks.

Food is easier to understand. I open the takeout containers. The pungent smell of ripe olives hits my nose first, and then it’s the one thing I can’t resist: charcuterie.

I arrange salami, hummus, artichoke hearts, and prosciutto on my plate with some crackers. Layla also brought some of my favorite appetizers, so I load huge chunks of breaded buffalo-spiced cauliflower and shrimp scampi onto my plate, then I heap spoonfuls of blue cheese dressing to dip everything in.

Layla and Emily catch up on the other side of the ping pong table while Andie eats beside me. I silently eat the same charcuterie selection that Jonah has always served while everyone talks around me.

The menu at his Boulder restaurant could use an update. His Flatiron Bistro is doing well, and our other local restaurant, Oregano, hasn’t had a new menu item since it opened. Maybe I’ll hint about that to Layla. Now that she’s head chef at the Flatiron, she doesn’t have to stick to his old recipes. Jonah has too many other things going on to worry about new menus for either of his Boulder restaurants.

I could use some honeycomb on my salami and cheese, for example.

Andie puts a hand on my shoulder as she pushes away from the table. She’s back to her normal self again, and I have no idea why.

"—and he always said tasty when he ate, so the name stuck."

Layla and Andie laugh at Emily’s story. Maybe I should have been paying attention. Somehow, they are all best friends already.

Footsteps ring on the spiral metal staircase, and the rest of the band appears. Andie wasn’t joking. She really did text Smash, Felix, and Summer.

Happy New Year’s! Andie jumps up. Summer squeals and hugs her. Felix tugs her into a hug and holds it until I glare at him. Smash bends over and wraps her in a beefy hug.

Too bad I was sitting at my desk when Andie arrived. I missed all the hugging.

Andie beams at me. The band’s all here! You have to sing with us, too, Layla.

That sharp sense of loss pricks me again. Until Andie moves to wherever it is her parents feel like going, I say lightly. I dip a sweet potato wedge in some whipped feta, then dunk it in some spicy tahini concoction and jam it in my mouth.

Homer, Alaska. They don’t want to pay taxes to The Man. Andie wraps her arms around my neck. Luke’s sulking because he has to move to Boston.

I don’t sulk. Even if you quit your job.

Felix and Summer look at each other. You quit?

Andie nods happily. I’m going to stream my Twitch channel full-time.

From Alaska. In the winter. With no Wi-Fi. I peel her arms off my neck. It feels too good. But she’s right about Boston—there’s no way I want Dad’s promotion. We can’t keep the band together if you’re traveling with your parents.

Andie pats my cheek, then leans over and steals the last sweet potato wedge from my plate. I can visit. How many practices do we need anyway? We know enough songs.

Andie wipes the last of the feta and tahini from my plate and straightens. Emily says we’re playing at Brie’s wedding, and I can’t let her down.

How does Emily always know all the family gossip?

I’m not going anywhere. Smash’s gravelly voice rumbles, and his brow contracts. I’m renovating a home, and it’s not a great time to leave. The toilets arrive next week.

Emily’s eyes narrow. Sebastian Sumner Templeton the Third?

Smash rubs his completely bald head. Hey, Em.

She stares at him, looking shocked and disappointed and angry, all at the same time. "You’re the hot drummer?"

He smirks. If you say so.

The super hot drummer? Emily stares at him, and I hear the disappointment in her voice.

He locks eyes with her, and most people would be afraid of death by glare. But yes, I’m also the drummer.

Oh, he’s super hot, Layla says. Bonafide.

Emily’s smile tightens and changes into a smirk. Never would have guessed you’d end up as a plumber.

"I’m a contractor now."

Andie pulls Smash into a side-arm hug. What kind of secret life are you hiding from us?

He and Emily lock eyes. Nothing.

Emily hands him a plate. Jake and Jonah want Luke’s band to play at their wedding in October. You have plenty of time to finish your little project.

"And why are you the one telling me that? Smash asks casually as he loads his plate, but there’s an edge to his question. You don’t even know what I’m working on. Seems like playing his brother’s wedding would be Luke’s call."

Emily tosses her own plate in the trash. I’m in the band now, too.

Smash rubs a hand over his knuckles absent-mindedly. Oh, boy.

Who cares who tells you? Summer grabs a plate and scoops the rest of the shrimp onto hers. Free food tonight and free trip next fall.

"I’m going to tell my brothers we can’t