Page 114 of My Brother's Best Friends

She giggles. “A little, but truth be told, I’m the lucky one—I get to drool over three hunks every day.” She glances back at the farmhouse again, searching for something.

“What’s wrong?”

“Janet was supposed to harvest whatever’s ripe in the garden,” she mutters. “But I don’t see her anywhere.”

“I think she’s already done with that,” I say. “Pretty sure I walked past her earlier and she was already bringing in a full basket from the garden.”

Makayla sighs. “That girl is on fire.”

“True, but no one’s hotter than Alex right now. I had no idea he was such a natural with a saw.”

“I don’t think Alex had any idea, either, until he picked up a saw and decided to build the vineyard racks on his own.”

The vineyard keeps throwing curveballs, challenging each of us at every turn. But Makayla’s the one who pushes us past our comfort zones. She stitches every detail into a tapestry that lets our lives unfold in a steady, shimmering stream.

“Either way, I’m lucky to have you all riding this wild wave with me,” Makayla says before dropping to her knees and yanking at the weeds again.

“Remind me again why you didn’t just spray the whole lot with weed killer?” I ask.

“Because I want to give an organic crop a shot. Do it old school. Like they used to in the past. Some of the best wines came out of an age when they didn’t spray their vineyards with all sorts of toxins. And yes, I know they’re supposed to be safe and yadda yadda, but… I’m sticking to my guns.”

“Fine.” I drop beside her.

If Makayla’s digging in the dirt, then so am I. There’s no bridge I won’t cross or mountain I won’t climb to help make her dreams come true.

She shoots me an amused look, then returns to plucking the tender weeds. I do the same, and we work for a moment in silence. I figure she’ll come inside with me if I’m patient. The tactic works—it doesn’t take long before she reassesses the task.

“Is this silly?” she asks.

“No, it just means you need longer breaks because you’re—well—pregnant,” I say, pushing to my feet and helping her up.

“I wouldn’t mind an ice-cold lemonade right about now,” she says, glancing over the row. “I’m almost done, anyway.”

“See? Reason wins.”

“And lemonade.”

“The triumph of reason—and lemonade!” I proclaim, drawing a laugh from her.

We walk back toward the house, enjoying the fresh air. I hold her hand protectively to make sure she doesn’t slip on the uneven ground. Makayla knows we’re extra cautious with her, and she’s fine with it. “What good is a man who can’t lead his woman?” she’d said the first time we talked about it. “Let alone three,” I’d replied.

Now she lets me guide her toward the house without a fuss. We climb the porch steps and find Alex waiting beside the table and cushioned chairs, smiling and holding a pitcher of fresh lemonade.

“You fine gentlemen always know exactly what I need,” Makayla says.

“Anything for you, babe.” Alex pours her a glass.

We settle in, watching heat shimmer over the young, vigorous vines—rows that roll to the horizon, where green hills and scattered redwoods reach toward a flawless sky.

My nerves stretch thin; I check the time so often Makayla can’t help but notice.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Alex shoots me a warning look. I shake my head slowly. “Nothing,” I tell her. “Just waiting for Kellan. It’s taking him forever.”

“He said he’d be back before dinner,” she replies.

“No, he said he’s coming back with dinner,” Alex reminds her with a nervous chuckle.

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