“Fine,” he grumbled as he pulled off the fisherman’s sweater.

“Who set up this date for your ridiculous bet?” she asked.

“There’s food involved,” he said as he grabbed a black turtleneck from the dresser drawer. “You know it had to be Griff.”

“So how are things going? Keeping that marriage magic alive?”

“You know it’s not real,” he grumbled, more annoyed about it than he should be as he pulled on the turtleneck.

“Neither is my placement in a Hogwarts house,” Bristol said, “but I still am Team Slytherin all the way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Gryffindor.” Brave and strong, that was his kid sister, G house all the way.

He’d made sure of it, always hyped her up before her volleyball tournaments when their mom forgot to show and orchestra concerts that went on for fucking forever but still not long enough for their dad to put in an appearance. That’s just what big brothers did.

“Not a chance, Hufflepuff,” she scoffed.

The dumb things he did because his baby sister asked. “I should have never have agreed to take that stupid quiz with you.”

“But you did, because you’re a good big brother if a terrible dresser.”

He looked down at his black turtleneck, smoothing his hands over the soft cashmere. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Just put on the navy blue sweater. It brings out your eyes. Women go crazy for that.”

They did? He tugged off the turtleneck. “It’s not a real date.”

And maybe if you say it enough, Beckett, you’ll stop wishing it could be.

“How would you know?” his sister snarked. “Your last date was what, a decade ago?”

Not quite, but it had been a while.

“I’m busy. I have responsibilities.” He took out the navy sweater and pulled it on. “It’s not easy helping to run Beckett Cosmetics while keeping you and Macon on the straight and narrow.”

“Maybe you missed it, Dad, but we’re both grown-ups now and our parents are doing better. Mom even remembered to pay the electric bill this month.”

“Yeah, because I loaded her phone with enough reminder apps that she threatened to throw it out the window.” It had been a whole ugly thing.

“But it works,” Bristol said, her tone softening, “so maybe you take it as your sign to stop feeling like you have to always take care of us and you start taking care of yourself for once.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, ignoring the unease making his chest tight.

He was busy and fulfilled and had a ton of shit on his plate. There was no room for romance. Or feelings. Or finding the woman of his dreams.

“Then why is it so important to win this dumb bet?” Bristol asked.