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I spend the entire morning cleaning. After spending last night inhaling the last of Amelia’s scent from my dirty sheets, and going over in my head what I could have done differently and coming to the same conclusion every time—I shouldn’t have slept with my best friend’s not-yet-ex-wife when she’s obviously still hung up on him—I strip down the bed, open the windows, and get down to some serious spring cleaning.

I want the apartment to smell of soap and disinfectant when my brothers get here, not sex. And maybe I need to erase my mistake too. If not from my mind—because I don’t think anything will ever erase the ecstasy of pushing into Amelia’s eager body from my memory—at least from my living space.

They arrive a half hour late, which gives me enough time to shower, and too much time to think. I have my phone in my hands, a message to Scarlett half written, excusing myself from the dinner tonight. If Amelia doesn’t want to see me—

The doorbell rings.

I turn off my phone, the message unsent, and open the door.

Brody is freshly shaved, his hair still a little damp from his morning shower, yet there’s a wariness in his eyes warning me that his wilderness trip may not have been as refreshing as he’d hoped. I want to smack him in the back of the head and tell him to get over it. There’s nowhere he can go that will save him from his memories, and he’s missed every one of Bryce’s birthdays since our father died. It’s pathetic. Next year is a big one, forty, and I’m not letting Brody off the hook. But that’s in twelve months, and I have something more pressing to tell him that he’s also not going to like, so I tell them to sit and drop three bottles of beer on the table.

“It’s a bit early to drink,” Bryce says, looking out the open window.

The sun is just reaching its highest peak.

Then his eyes narrow, looking at the freshly made bed with suspicion. It’s true that my bed is usually unmade. My cover-up is giving me away.

“It’s that kind of conversation,” I say, raising my beer for a three-way clink.

“Cheers,” we all say, and take a long sip.

“How was your trip?” I ask Brody.

He grunts, and I know I’m not getting any more out of him on that subject, so I move on.

“Well, I’m sure Bryce has already brought you up to speed, but here goes… I want to renovate the old farmhouse into a brewery.”

“No.” Brody leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in an it’s-final kind of gesture, while Bryce raises his eyebrows in an I-told-you-so way.

Well, I know my brothers. I wasn’t expecting anything else. But I’m not done.

“Neither one of you needs to do anything or even ever set foot there. I’m happy to run the whole operation and send you your fair share of the profits.”

Their faces don’t soften in any way.

“And if that’s not enough distance for you… I’m willing to trade my share in the bar and your house for your shares of the land. You can take this apartment.”

I spread my hands out to show the room.

“You’re serious,” Brody says.

“But you love the bar,” Bryce comments.

“I am, and I do. But…”

I don’t know how deep I want to get into it with my brothers but I need to convince them.

“I’m feeling restless. The bar is as good as it’s going to get. I was looking forward to this expansion, and I don’t want to give up. I need something more challenging in my life. But I can’t afford to buy land and build. The farm is the only option I have left.”

“Argh.” Brody shakes his head in frustration. “Why can’t you get a girlfriend or something to keep you busy?”

“Like the girl from last night,” Bryce says, his voice raising at the end like there’s a question in there.

“What?” I choke.

“Oh, come on. Kayla said the entire bar heard you. Heard the girl too. Apparently, she really liked saying your name.”

This is not good. I run my hand down my face, closing my eyes. Now people will be gossiping about this. My belly cramps just thinking about Amelia feeling humiliated yet again. And it’s all my fault.