Page 17 of Crazy Thing

I wasn’t even mean to this one. I guess she just didn’t plan on actually having to do work while she sat in front of the computer. The woman was highly offended that she couldn’t just scroll on social media all day.

Maybe it’s time I give up. I’ve been trying—and obviously failing—to have a local assistant helping me. But it’s just not working out so far, and I’m out of ideas.

Running my businessesreallywould be easier if I move back to New York or San Francisco. But now that I’m cursed and dying slowly, my days are numbered. I need to stick close to my home base. And more importantly, I need to make sure that my family is financially secure before I go. What’s the point of all the wealth I’ve accumulated if the people I’m closest to aren’t set up for success?

I’m focused on building. Always. That’s the way my brain works.

My siblings like to say I’m the boring one. Too uptight. Reserved. Detached.

They can say whatever they want. I know who I am. I’m purpose-driven.

Boring? Sure. If ‘boring’ means financially secure and fiscally responsible, then sure. But more than anything, I’m purpose-driven.

I nudge my oldest brother with my elbow. “What do you want in life, Archer?” I ask.

He looks at me, his shot glass suspended halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

I shrug, expecting this to be a weird conversation. Weird, but necessary.

“Well, I helped Felix take over the medical clinic from Dad. I helped Karli start her meal subscription business. I helped Ronan with his hockey career. I’m helping Nolan with the bar remodel here. I even created a trust fund for little Stella and I’m paying for Mom and Dad’s year-long trip to Europe. But you…I don’t know what you want.”

Archer’s head turns toward the stools at the front of the bar. I follow his gaze. Together, we watch as Layla checks the time, hurriedly pulls her purse onto her shoulder and plops a kiss on Karli’s cheek. She discreetly glances in our direction, her eyes locking on Archer.

I swear, my brother’s ribcage immediately locks up as he holds his breath. Layla freezes, too. She offers a timid smile and a quick wave. Then she’s hustling toward the door, no doubt on her way to pick up her toddler son.

Archer stares longingly after her. “The thing I want most in life is not for sale. There’s no price tag on it,” he slurs his words.

“Well, fuck.” That shit wasdeep.

Archer’s head bobs slowly, his eyes lingering on the empty doorway. “Yeah. Fuck.”

My oldest brother would probably deny it if I came right out and asked him, but the obvious truth is that he has a thing for Layla. He has for years now. Watching his drunk ass tonight, I’m seriously wondering how much longer he’ll be able to suppress those feelings.

Nolan shows up at our table with a tray of burgers. “Eatup, you losers. I’m not babysitting any of you tonight.” Then he turns to me, a big grin eating up his face. “The contractors are almost finished with the terrace. You wanna go see it?”

“Hell, yeah!” I say, already out of my seat, my grin matching his.

I follow Nolan across the crowded bar and up a narrow flight of stairs. With a rough bump of his shoulder, he pushes open a finger-smudged door and a warm gust of air greets us as we step out into the balmy night.

“Fuck, yeah! This is what I’m talking about,” I say, my head bobbing in approval.

Nolan beams with pride. “Inez wants to put a little garden over there,” he tells me above the music bleeding up from downstairs. “We’ll set up a bunch of high-top tables on the other side. And we have to go pick out some string lighting from the hardware store.”

I take in every corner of the space, from the canopy-covered lounge area to the wide open dance floor to the view of the lush mountains in the distance. “I see the vision. The tourists will love it up here.”

The local witchy festivals draw large crowds to Starlight Falls year-round. I know that this terrace will be a hit among the visitors. Once it’s opened, this spot will be the perfect location to come and soak up the late summer breeze and enjoy a glass of wine on evenings just like this.

“Ah, shit. I’ve got to call the furniture company,” Nolan says suddenly. “I’ve got a couch delivery to reschedule.” He’s already backtracking toward the door.

“Go. Go on,” I tell him. I lean against the guardrail and stare out at the space again.

This bar upgrade was a good business decision for me. I can already tell.

To be clear, this investment was never about the ROI. It’s about helping my brother take his business to the next level and securing a bright future for my niece. Even still, it’s a satisfying feeling, knowing that my money is going to good use.

My moment of reflection is soon interrupted by the groan of tires. My eyes are drawn to the side of the building, and I watch as a big, ugly converted school bus pulls into the parking lot below.

It’s hideous.

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