She shook both their offered hands, and Cole swore he’d never, ever seen her unable to speak as she was now. He knew his brothers, tall and, he supposed, good-looking, made an impression in their monkey suits, especially in contrast to the Sunshine’s clientele, but he was starting to wonder if she was having a stroke or some other medical emergency.

“You okay?” he asked her, knowing that, as long as she didn’t actually keel over, he was going to give her shit about this for years to come.

“These are your brothers,” she stated stupidly. “The North brothers.” She tilted her head suddenly, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes and in her forehead deepening, as if a realization had hit her. “North brothers,” she repeated, eyeing them, then Cole, then them again.

If Cole were nicer, he’d help her out, but nice was something he’d never been accused of.

“You don’t have anything to do with North Brothers Sports, do you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Guilty as charged,” Mason said with a charming smile he must practice in front of the mirror.

“Our dad is one of the original North Brothers,” Gabe added, and Cole had to work not to roll his eyes out of habit. He needed to break that habit.

Winona glared at Cole, accusation in her eyes. “This one never mentioned it.”

“Now you know,” Cole said unapologetically. “Maybe they’re thirsty?”

After a last second of pronounced glare, Winona asked his brothers for their drink orders and handed them the single-sided, nonlaminated paper menu of sandwich fixings. As soon as she’d slid bottles of beer to each of them, she disappeared into the back to make their requested sandwiches.

“You spend a lot of time here,” Gabe said, not in question form.

“It’s like having a personal chef,” Cole said.

“So you said you have questions,” Mason said, ever the down-to-business guy. “What’s up?”

Cole finished off his beer and shoved the mug toward Winona’s side of the counter so she could refill it when she came back in. That she hadn’t already replaced it proved that his brothers had her off her game.

He reminded himself he was only collecting info, not giving in. Keeping his gaze straight ahead at the wall of liquor behind the bar, he tapped his fingers on the counter, wishing he had his mug back to fidget with. “If I were interested in working for the family biz, what would you have me do?”

“It’s like I told you the other day—whatever you want,” Mason said.

Cole frowned, shook his head. “That sounds good and all, but let’s be real. You can’t just hire me to make nice. It needs to make financial sense. Am I wrong?”