The eldest Harper brother glowered over the rim of his coffee cup at Cal, who ignored him and concentrated on buttering a piece of toast. On most mornings, Cal was thankful that Tobias invited him to share his home while he regrouped, but on mornings like this, where every doubt he had seemed to be rearing its ugly head, he didn’t need the added pessimism of Tobias’s less-than-positive attitude.

“How long you going to do this?” Toby was concentrating hard on something behind Cal, most likely the small placard from their mama’s kitchen. Toby had inherited their father’s soul-searing stare, so you never knew if he was looking at something behind you or seeing directly through you.

And what was “this” exactly? Sharing Toby’s living space? Trying to make this long-distance thing with Kat work? Tending bar at a failing pub? Cal knew he had a plentiful selection of bad decisions to pick from. Not necessarily wanting to select any of them, Cal chose to shove a whole piece of toast into his mouth and fixed his eyes on his coffee cup.

“Calhoun!”

Cal felt a sharp ping on his skull, followed by a plink on the Formica tabletop. He held up the guitar pick. “Really, Toby? You’re pegging me with picks now?”

“Would you rather me reach across the table and punch you in the ear like Chet did?”

Cal scowled at the mention of the manner in which their old man garnered their attention. “No, thank you. I’d rather you not hit me in the head with anything. Just ask me a question like a civilized human being.”

“I did, and you chose not to answer, like a big chickenshit.”

Cal grunted. Tobias wasn’t going to drop this. He could tell by the set of the man’s shoulders and the hint of a grin that played across his mouth. No, Tobias Harper was digging in, and Cal didn’t have a hope of waiting him out. So he did what a rational person would do: he played dumb.

“What is ‘this,’ exactly?” Cal quirked his eyebrow at Toby, something he knew he hated. Crap, I’ve reverted to the fifth grade.

Toby actually chuckled at the question. “Man, what isn’t ‘this’? But mainly, today, it’s ‘How long are you gonna sulk and ignore that house you’ve got waiting for you in Midtown?’ ”

Cal tapped on the table. “Uh, there is no house in Midtown. I sold it.” He should have felt elated from the sale of that house, the physical manifestation of everything he never wanted, but in reality, that house only left his heart empty and his bank account full.

“When?”

“About two weeks after the divorce was final.”

Tobias shook his head. “Well, hell. All this time, I was sitting here thinking that you just wanted someone to sulk with, not that you didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m sorry, Cal. This changes everything.” Toby picked at a cut in the Formica. “I was ready to dole out some tough love and heave your ass and your shit out into the front yard, but now . . .”

Cal rubbed his head where the pick nicked his head. “You got any more picks?”

“No, why?” Tobias asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Because I do have another house, and yes, I just wanted someone to sulk with. I figured you were the best choice: we both have conniving, gold-digging exes. Plus, you’ve got dogs, and I’d be available to feed them when you’re on the road. Win-win, right?” Cal braced for a thump that never came. He cracked open an eye and found Tobias just sitting across from him, fingers clasped and elbows on the table, shaking his head.

“You are a sad sumbitch,” Tobias said. “You are fucking pitiful.” Tobias clapped his hands together. “Okay, so that’s done. Take your booze and get the hell out of here by this weekend.”

Cal started to nod, until the last part of Tobias’s statement set in. “Wait, what? This weekend?” He began to make all sorts of excuses about why he couldn’t move into his house this weekend, everything from his work schedule down to lack of furniture; in other words, everything but the truth—that he was scared and lonely.

“You let Nolan stay with you for more than six months.” Cal inwardly cringed at the petulant tone in his voice, but he was beyond caring.

“Nolan was recovering from having his chest cracked open like a pecan. Nolan wasn’t working, couldn’t work until he got his health situation rectified. You”—Tobias pointed at him—“you are forty- fucking-five years old, in good health, and a damn millionaire to boot. You don’t need to share a house with your older brother. What you need to do is get your act together and stop acting like a fucking whiny-ass baby.” Man, Tobias was laying down the truth bombs today.

Cal wished he were back in Ireland where it was perfectly acceptable to have a dram at ten thirty in the morning, because he knew Tobias was just getting started, and there was really only one direction this little intervention could go.

“And while I’ve got your attention, Calhoun, how long you gonna let that woman in Boston jerk you around?”

“Oh, Jesus, there it is.” Cal slapped his hand on the table hard enough that the coffee cups rattled in their saucers. “You don’t know that she’s jerking me around—”

“And you don’t know that she’s not jerking you around. Why hasn’t she visited? Why haven’t any of us met her, especially considering that her very best friend in the world is shacking up with our baby brother? Hmm? Fucking what about that?” Tobias stood up to his full six and a half feet, looming over him.

“She’s met Nolan, remember. But just stop, Toby. Just . . . stop.”

“Just remember the last time you thought you were getting some primo ass that you weren’t good enough for. And remember how that worked out for ya.” Tobias leaned down so that his face was mere inches from Cal’s, and Cal was very tempted to tweak his nose. Cal took a deep breath and leaned back from the table, but Toby leaned further into his space. “She fucking lied to you for years and didn’t even have the decency to change out of her wedding gown while she fucked your groomsman.”

“I said to stop, Tobias!” Cal roared out of his chair, getting into Tobias’s space now. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Cal—” Toby to tried to break in, but Cal was on his own roll. He knew he was taking his anger and frustration out on the wrong person, but he didn’t care.

“At least Amanda was screwing one of the top chefs in Atlanta, not some washed-up bluegrass musician who didn’t even write his own songs anymore.” The color drained from Tobias’s face, but Cal kept talking, spewing venom at his brother. “Oh yeah, ‘award-winning,’ my ass,” Cal spat, hooking his fingers in quotes when he said “award-winning.” “That old fuck took your credit, your royalties, and then he took your wife, and you just let him. You didn’t even fight for C—”

Tobias was on Cal in a flash, backing him into the wall with his hand wrapped around his throat. “Don’t you dare mention her name in my fucking house. Don’t you dare.”

Cal breathed through his nose, his jaw clamped down hard to resist uttering the forbidden name. He knew Tobias was on the edge and that he’d have no compunction against putting his fist straight into Cal’s face. And Cal knew he would deserve it. Her betrayal was a million times worse than Amanda’s, a billion times worse.

Then suddenly Tobias’s hand dropped and he stepped back. “Pack your shit and get out, Calhoun. I’ll be gone overnight so I won’t have to see you. Penny will watch the girls.”

“Toby . . .”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Tobias grabbed the two leashes from the hat rack by the kitchen door and whistled for his two dogs. He snapped on their leashes and disappeared out the back door without a word to his brother.

Cal sank back down into one of the kitchen chairs and cradled his head in his hands. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

Kat ignored the curious looks from her coworkers—oh, no, her former coworkers—as she strode through the lobby of the Reynolds Restaurant Group’s corporate offices, awkwardly juggling two boxes that contained the remnants of her twenty-year career in the restaurant industry. Kat pushed her way through the revolving door. She couldn’t stand to be in those offices one more second, even if it meant standing in shame on the sidewalk while she waited for a cab.

“Miss Fahey?” A liveried driver stepped up to her. She nodded, and the man inclined his head. “Mr. Reynolds asked me to take you wherever you need to go and said to take all the time you need.”

“Oh, okay. Um . . .” She was still in shock until the driver tried to take the boxes from her. “Oh, you know what? I’ll be just a second,” she said and marched over to the public trash can and dumped the boxes in.

She felt about a million pounds lighter as she got into the town car, and exhaled noisily before directing the driver to her apartment. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Kat settled back into the luxurious seat and stared out the window, still stunned that she’d been fired. Though, really, she didn’t know why she was surprised; she’d seen this scene play out many times over the past twenty years. Any time a manager said, “Stop by my office,” after three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, you could pretty much be assured you were going to be canned, effective immediately, and not collecting two hundred dollars, drive through, please. They’d even had her personal effects boxed up neatly by the time she’d gotten out of the so-called exit interview.

Jackasses.

Her phone buzzed, and she closed her eyes before checking the message.

Just thinking about you, darlin’.

Kat stared at her phone and slowly began to smile. She leaned up to the driver. “Do you have time to wait for me to run in and then head to Logan?”

“Sure thing, Miss Fahey. Donald said to take you wherever you needed to go.”

“Fantastic. Thank you very much.”

Kat sank back into the seat again, got out her phone, and opened up a travel website. By the time she’d made her flight arrangements, they’d arrived at her brownstone.

“Be back in a jiffy,” she told the driver.

“Remember, all the time you need.”

Kat ran upstairs, threw some clothes into her suitcase—she knew being a slob and never putting her laundry away would pay off someday—and bolted out the door to the waiting town car. The driver took her suitcase and put it in the trunk. “Logan?”

Kat, breathless with mostly anticipation and a big dose of anxiety sprinkled with flat-out fear, said, “Yes.”

´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

Cal sat in the parking lot of Foley’s Public House, a smallish bar where he’d been working since he’d gotten back from Ireland. His head throbbed, and he truly felt like he was going to vomit. His fight with Tobias was like nothing they’d had before, ever, not even when times had been so much more stressful. Cal knew he was to blame. He shouldn’t have brought up Tobias’s ex, no matter how angry he was, and certainly, his older brother was just looking out for him. No, the problem was that Tobias had given voice to every one of Cal’s concerns about this . . . thing . . . he had with Kat.

Kat.

He’d fallen hard, so hard. And so quickly. Since he’d gotten back from his impromptu visit to Boston, he’d been mulling over every single one of their interactions, replaying all their conversations. Everything seemed absolutely normal until Cal asked Kat to come visit; that’s when she got weird—hesitant and evasive. Cal had actually contemplated hiring a private eye to investigate her, but then he put himself in her shoes and decided to just man up and ask her what she was thinking, if she was involved with someone else. But he hadn’t, because he was a damn coward.

Cal’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the ID. Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Kat. You miss me so much you had to call me for a morning pick-me-up?”

Her words came out in a rush. “What are you doing in about four hours?”

“Uh, I’ve got a couple of meetings. Why?” Cal schooled his voice to sound like nothing was amiss, or at least, he hoped it did.

“I’ll be at Hartsfield in about four hours.” He was absolutely stunned, so stunned that he didn’t say anything until Kat prompted. “Cal?” she asked, her tone unsure now.

“You’re going to be in Atlanta in about four hours?” he repeated stupidly. “Really?”

Kat laughed, that husky, throaty laugh that instantly conjured up images of her in the kitchen, wearing his shirt while she used every pot and pan she had to make a one-pot chicken dinner. “Yeah, I am. My schedule suddenly opened up—like, wide open. Anyway, they’re calling my group to board . . .”

Cal no longer felt like barfing. “Sure, that’s fantastic, Kat. That’s more than fantastic. I don’t even know a word to describe it.”

“Okay, Cal.” That sexy laugh reappeared, then morphed into a giggle that betrayed her nervousness. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I . . . I can hardly wait to see you either.”

He could practically see her smile through the phone. “Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Not if I see you first, darlin’. Bye, Kat.”

Cal pressed the End button on his phone, laid his head back against the headrest, and thanked whoever was watching over him. His best friend’s pounding on the roof of his very basic rental car interrupted his meditation of thanks.

“Come on, Cal. I have news for you, and I’m starving. Get your ass in the pub.” Alphonse thumped the roof once more and headed inside Foley’s Public House.