My hands still over the flower stems I’m cutting, and I have to swallow hard and take a deep breath before I can answer. “He . . . Why does it matter?”

Carter studies me for a beat, and I think he’s going to ask me a question about it, but then he shrugs. “Only because I want to be original. It wouldn’t do for me to call you the same nickname he did. Or Rich, for that matter.” Is it me, or is there jealousy in his voice when he says Rich’s name?

“No one will think it’s strange if you call me Teagan.”

“Whatever you say, pinkie finger.”

Another snort of laughter bubbles out of me. Not because it’s that funny but because it’s not that funny and he’s amusing the shit out of himself with it. “Oh my God. What has gotten into you today?”

He shrugs as he pours our wine. “I’m in a good mood. I have the next five days off, and I’m spending them with a beautiful woman. Can you blame me for being upbeat?” He hands me a glass and takes a long sip from his own before making a face. “Oh, hell.”

I frown. “What?”

He wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. “Jake’s trying to make wine. This is his first batch, and . . .” He shudders and takes my glass away. He dumps them both in the sink. “Let’s just say that either sleep deprivation from the baby is starting to affect his judgment, or he should stick with beer.”

He reaches for the bottle, but I snatch it off the counter before he can dump it too. “I want to try.”

He folds his arms, watching me as I bring the bottle to my lips.

I take a sip, then cough. “Dear Lord. It tastes like vinegar.”

“I was trying to be gallant and save you.”

Pursing my lips, I shove the bottle at him. “And not even good vinegar.”

“Agreed.” He dumps the bottle down the sink. “I thought we should make bourbon, but Brayden did a market analysis and insisted the market for wine is better for our clientele.”

“I have beer in the fridge.” I return to the flowers while Carter rummages through my fridge to find us some drinks. By the time I’m done arranging them in the vase, he’s opened a bomber of the Jackson Brews Blueberry Sour and poured us each a glass.

“Much better,” he says, sighing.

I take a sip and nod. “Don’t you all have enough to do without adding wine to your offerings? What’s next? Buying a vineyard?”

“That would be awesome, but no. We’re all big thinkers. We can’t help but imagine new opportunities for the company.” He shrugs. “But I’m not here to talk about the family business, ligament.”

I cough on my beer. That might be the worst one yet. “Why are you here? Other than to call me seriously disturbing pet names?”