The Harris Ski Resort’s lobby is like a comfortable, homey living room of a cabin. It has a central gas fireplace ensconced in a tubular glass case, wall dividers made up of iron banisters laid together like earthen wrought iron gates and adorned with iron maple leaves. To the left, there’s a floor-to-ceiling window where we can admire the slopes. It’s fancier than it was a year ago, yet, the architect who renovated the place made sure to keep the quaint, cozy feel of the establishment.

“What’s going on, Miller?” Kingston greets me.

“Where’s Lee?”

“You can’t find her at the B&B, her house, or with Dad?” he asks confused.

“Would you mind tracking down your sister, please?” I show him my phone. “I’ve been trying all day, and she’s been ignoring my messages and sending me to voicemail.”

“Lee?” He furrows his brow.

“If you’re looking for Cassie, she’s already at Dad’s. They left after having an early dinner. André prepared some snacks for them to take home.”

Cassie has André, the lodge’s chef, wrapped around her little finger just like everyone else. We hired him a year ago to make the restaurant one of the best in the area, not to cater to my child.

“No, I’m looking for Lee,” I speak slowly trying to bring back his attention since he’s already staring at the front desk.

“What Lee?” he asks without even looking at me.

Great, I lost the fucker.

“Yes, she’s five foot three, hazelnut color hair, dark eyes and looks somehow like you—but pretty. She goes by the name of Knightly. We call her Lee, and she usually wants to kill you because you upset her.”

He focuses his attention back on me. “Miller, I love my sister, but I don’t keep track of her. Since you’re free, why don’t we go to the restaurant?” He invites me like he used to do when we were twenty-five. It was back when he was starting to work at the lodge, and I had come back from Boston to take over the shop.

“I saw a group of guests that might do it for tonight.”

“You’re not twenty anymore, King,” I say quietly since there are guests around.

He chuckles. “Should I settle down, Miller?”

“No, but at least don’t be fucking around with your guests. It was fun ten years ago. But you’re thirty-five.”

“Should I start behaving like you?” He stares at my hands. “I don’t see you settling down. If you’re warning me because you think I might knock up a girl, I use condoms.”

“I did too, and fucker, they don’t always work,” I say. “Think about the reputation of the resort. Why would I want to stay at the place where the owner might or might not fuck my wife or girlfriend?”

He takes a step back as if I just punched him in the face. Somewhere along the way, King lost perception of what matters. He lives in his own reality where he keeps the business afloat and tries to make it the best. Sometimes it feels like he lost his humanity.

“I get it, keeping the family business going is important. Finding an outlet helps you balance your life. But be careful with what you’re doing. Did Lee know that you were planning on selling her B&B?”

“That was a couple of years ago, and I didn’t do it,” he growls.

“Because I stopped you,” I remind him. “Until you pay me back, I own half of this place. Do your siblings know that?”

His eyes widen. Of course, they don’t know shit. He likes to know everything that’s happening with the farm and the B&B but never tells them what’s going on with the resort.

“Now, find your sister. She’ll answer your call.”

He huffs but sends a text. We don’t speak as we wait for her response.

Where are you, Knightly Rose?

“She’s at the creamery getting ice cream before heading home.”

“What the fuck?” I glare at him. “She’s doing exactly what I told her we should do earlier today. Why would she cancel on me?”

“Maybe she had things to do, and she finished early. Who cares?”

I do, fucker. I glare at him. We’ve never talked about Lee and I becoming something else, but I guess there’s a mutual understanding that I can’t break the bro-code. What would he do if I did?

“I’m going to the restaurant. I’ll have André make something for her. Maybe ask for some chocolate cake to go with her custard.”

“Why would you do that?”

He might have graduated from fucking Harvard, but his skull is too thick to comprehend human behavior and emotions.

“Because that’s what you do for the people you care about. You do things that will cheer them up,” I respond exasperated.

“You care about Lee?” he asks confused.

I flip him the finger and leave. There’s no use explaining to an emotionally constipated man how relationships work.