Page 8 of Falling For You

“But you don’t have to change who you are,” I teased.

“Are you saying I’m habitually late?”

“I would never say such a thing.” I waggled my brows.

“Aren’t you always telling me how we can grow as people? Well, I’m starting now. I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll hurry. Just let me run a brush through my hair, at least.”

The sparkle in my brother’s eyes couldn’t be missed.

“Fine,” he grumbled, stretching back as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

I entered the tiny bathroom and reached for my brush to tame my auburn flyaways from the crisp, dry autumn air. It looked like I'd poked my finger in an electrical socket.

“It is what it is,” I muttered to myself as I sprayed detangler on my head and tried to start over.

“Almost done?” my brother called out.

I chuckled and shook my head. “That’s it. I’m winning this.”

Pulling my hair into a quick ponytail, I sprayed it down with some hairspray, tapped some gloss on my lips, and dabbed some mascara on my lashes.

It would have to do.

I scanned my outfit and decided to ride it out. I wasn’t the one showing up for a date with her.

“All ready to go so I can yell at the top of my lungs that you are incredible. The best! The most amazing brother and boyfriend in the world. A woman would be lucky to get you,” I kept hollering down the hall. “So much so that I don’t want to let…”

My brother laughed, standing from the couch and shaking his head. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” My hands whipped to my hips.

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Somehow, you made it sound like I was your brother and boyfriend.”

I grinned and patted him on the back. “This is going to be fantastic. What could possibly go wrong?”

Chapter Three

Violet

The Hungry Buck was part bar and part supper club. The locals always considered it a supper club, and the tourists thought it was a great bar with delicious food.

Supper clubs dotted Wisconsin’s small and big towns, some dating back to the 1800s. But the Hungry Buck was one of the best, in my humble opinion, situated just outside of town with a view of Buttercup Lake. They served up a mean Old Fashioned, something I’d missed while living in Chicago.

The exterior looked old and loved surrounded with maples clinging to their last red leavesand limbs brushingagainst the worn wood siding. Mums and pumpkins alongside the stairs ushered in fall like the rest of the town, and a large patio extended to the lake.

My brother’s eyes lit up. “I see her truck.”

He pulled into the packed parking lot, and I hid a chuckle as he parked. “I got this.”

I nodded in agreement. “You got this.”

Climbing out of the truck, I stretched and glanced toward the bright red doors with a life-size buck stenciled on top in black.

Yup. Nothing quite like it in Chicago. The thought made me smile as I followed my brother into the Hungry Buck.

The moment he opened the doors, the loud chatter overwhelmed the music. The dim lighting reflected off the knotty pine walls, adorned with photographs of ice fishing on Buttercup Lake and old fishing rods strung about. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke mingled with the savory aromas of grilled steaks and oven-roasted prime rib.

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