The Truth About Forever (The Truth About, #2)

33

Penelope

I pour the ginger ale into the punch as Jake and Cassian bicker back and forth.

"Says the one who forgot to pick me up at the airport," Jake drawls. His face isn't visible from my angle, but I can hear the smile in his voice. They've been trading banter for the past twenty minutes. Within that twenty minutes, I haven't stopped smiling. It's as if they haven't seen each other for years; like they're two high school buddies at a reunion.

Jake's been here for two weeks. We're just under a week away from Christmas. He's helping with some ultimate design plans. The designs we've approved came from Cassian. It was surprising to see Cassian's sketchbook out on the table. I've caught him with it before, but I didn't know what he was doing in it. It's a wonder he never went to university for art or graphic design. He's amazing. 

"God," Cassian groans. "You're going to hold this over my head forever."

"Sure am," Jake laughs. "You're lucky Tim Horton's was there for me. No guilt or shame for eating ten Timbits."

"Fuck, now I want Timbits," Cassian replies. "The chocolate ones. None of those confetti birthday cake bullshit ones."

"Confetti birthday cake is the best flavour. Change my mind."

I set the empty bottle of ginger ale down and pick up the bottle of gin, adding a few shots to the punch. Both of them are wrong. Chocolate Timbits are too dry and flaky. The birthday cake ones are too sweet, and I hate the addition of sprinkles on the top. The old-fashioned Timbits are the best. "Okay, doughnut snobs," I say, turning to face them. "Have we finished hanging the garland?"

My gaze flicks to the countertop behind them, where the garland lays. Then I glance at Cassian. He's gazing at me, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. He's trying to fight a smile. Cassian looks down at the nails he's holding. Then the hammer in Jake's hand. His lips curve into a smile as he says, "Who's supposed to hold the garland for us? If I'm holding the nails in place and Jake is hammering them..." He trails off, cocking an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. Next time I round up a crew to decorate a partially completed coffee shop, I'm hiring Patrick and his team. The party starts in an half an hour. These two have been loitering around. My brother would've been precise and completed the job within minutes. "I think Jake can handle the nails and hammer while you hold the garland. If Patrick were here, he'd be finished by now. In fact, he would've finished within three minutes."

"Damn right I would've."

We turn around, watching Patrick enter through the decorated doorway. My brother can clean up nicely. This is the first time I've seen him in anything but his typical work attire: jeans, a flannel, a muscle shirt, and his work boots. Tonight, he's wearing a white button down with navy blue dress pants and dark brown, polished shoes. His hair is as unruly as ever. Blond curls brush his shoulders and small tufts stick up in random directions. Even going out for lunch, he was never this... well-kept.