told him to suck it.”
“Lily!”
“What? It’s our family legacy. It pisses me off that some corporate drone, even a handsome one, just waves a big check and doesn’t think twice about trying to snuff out a locally owned business.”
I sip my wine to carefully hide my resentment. It’s one thing to defend a family legacy with words. It’s another to have to be the one putting in the work.
Oblivious to my frustration, Lily picks up one of the fancy mint tins and smiles. “You ever wonder what Dad would think about all the stuff you added?”
“All that stuff is the only thing saving the business.”
She looks up in surprise, though I’m not sure if it’s at my words themselves or my tone. I’ve always been the one who had smoothed out the sharp edges of my stubborn father, bossy sister, and impulsive brother. I used to take pride in being the good-natured, easygoing one in the family, but lately I wonder if I haven’t also been a bit of a doormat.
“Is the store doing okay?” she asks.
“It’s doing okay,” I say, purposefully repeating her word. “But it’s not doing great. It’s not even doing good. For all Dad’s insistence that a personal touch and exceptional customer service will save the day, it’s hard to fight the power of the Internet and free delivery.”
She taps her nails. “We could lean into the e-commerce space. Have Caleb redo the website, let people buy online.”
“I’ve asked Caleb about five times to redo the website,” I say, sipping the champagne. “He always says he’ll get to it, but in between his paid projects and playing lumberjack…”
“But—”
“I know you want to help,” I cut in gently. “But respectfully, I’m the one who’s been managing the day-to-day. I’m the one who’ll figure out how to handle Sebastian Andrews.”
I don’t tell her that a body bag is involved in my fantasies.
“You’re right.” She holds up both hands. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s change the subject.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “How’s the renovation coming along?”
Two years ago, Alec and Lily vacated the little one-bedroom they’d rented for more than a decade and bought a three-bedroom apartment in Tribeca. Despite the new place’s fancy address and upscale building, the former owners had questionable design tastes: lots of black in the kitchen and a powder room I can only describe as construction-cone orange. The sink had been shaped like a butterfly.
To say that the renovation was an ambitious project is an understatement, but Lily, being Lily, had attacked it with a vengeance. The neon-orange powder room would be painted over with soft grays and mauve accents, the black lacquer cabinets in the kitchen replaced with white wood and glass, the stainless-steel kitchen island redone with black marble. The second bedroom would be turned into a guest room, the third into an office or a nursery.
The part of me that can’t wait to be an aunt is really curious about the destiny of that third bedroom, but I’m not entirely sure how to ask. I know they’ve always wanted kids—they’ve been trying to conceive the natural way, but they’ve also tried a variety of fertility treatments. But I also know that biology is a real bitch and that while forty-year-old women do have babies, it’s often not an easy road.
“The renovation’s great,” she says, though the smile doesn’t come anywhere close to reaching her eyes. “But I don’t want to talk about my boring married life. Tell me about your single life. Seeing anyone?”
“Trying to,” I mutter.
She smiles. “Still chasing the fairy tale?”
I lift my glass. “Still chasing.”
“Maybe Sebastian Andrews is on the market,” she says teasingly.
“Nope.” I take a generous swallow of wine. “He’s got a gorgeous girlfriend with the best hair and freckles you’ve ever seen.”
“I bet not as gorgeous as you.”
I snort. “On a good day, I’m cute, but hardly Sebastian’s type, nor he mine.”
She purses her lips. “Don’t get mad at me for going all Big Sister on you, but… do you ever think maybe it’s time to let go of your type? I’m all for knowing what you want, but if your Mr. Perfect hasn’t shown up by now…”
“He’s out there,” I say lightly, trying not to think of the very unavailable Sir.
She looks like she wants to argue, but instead studies her champagne, twisting the glass this way and that, the tennis bracelet Alec bought her for their twentieth anniversary last year sending a little kaleidoscope of light over the counter.