Page 2 of My Brother's Best Friends

“Makayla?”

A gentleman in his mid-fifties approaches, glancing at his phone between steps. At first glance, he looks like a movie-perfect chauffeur. He wears a dark suit and leather gloves, his silver hair neatly trimmed, his smile warm. Right then, my phone pings with a text from Bryan.

“Your driver should be at the airport—Hans. Great guy,” he writes.

“I’m Makayla,” I tell the silver-haired gentleman.

“I’m Hans, your driver. Allow me to take your luggage,” he says.

I can’t help but smile. “Honestly, I’m so tired, I wouldn’t dare stop you.”

“Please, it’s my pleasure.”

I’d almost forgotten how fluent most Swedes are in English; he even nails a faint American accent. Grateful, I let him carry my luggage and follow him across the parking lot to a sleek yet sturdy SUV, its taxi light glowing and license neatly taped to the windshield and rear doors.

He loads everything into the back, then helps me climb in. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s about a two-hour drive.”

“Thank you.” I sink into the seat, doing exactly that.

You’re almost there, Makayla. Almost there.

The Golden Stag crowns a ridge of snow-capped mountains that glitter like diamonds under the starry sky. The sight gives me pause. It’s gorgeous—a blend of classic architecture and modern lighting—and I’ll bet the views are even more breathtaking in daylight.

Hans brings my luggage all the way in, then politely shakes my hand and leaves me to marvel at the even more impressive interior, starting with the sumptuous lobby clad in festive red velvet and gold tinsel. I can’t stop staring at the centerpiece—a massive crystal chandelier that sparkles overhead. Still, I have a bed to crash into, so I look around for the front desk.

I spot my brother napping in an armchair across the room. He opens his eyes, sensing my presence. I’m moved by his insistence on meeting me at the end of my journey, when he could have been sleeping in his own bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, giving him a hug. “It’s been a day.”

“You could have come with me three days ago,” he says.

“When we first made these travel plans, I had a job. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to take any time off,” I say, my voice low.

“But you’re here now,” Bryan says, still trying to catch up.

“I quit, and I’d love to give you the details, but right now I can’t even think straight,” I reply. “Give me a night to sleep on it, and I’ll explain what happened in the morning.”

“Of course,” he says. “The most important thing is that you’re okay. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better after a shower and a solid eight hours of rest,” I promise. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I think I finally got the kick in the rear I needed to open that winery.”

“Makayla, that’s great. You’ve always been passionate about wine,” he says. “Mom and Dad would be thrilled for you.”

“I know they would,” I say, a quiet pang tugging at my heart.

Bryan walks me up to the reception desk and takes control. He gets my key card and hands it to me before grabbing both of my bags and heading toward the elevator.

“I can carry one,” I protest. “I’m tired, not helpless, big bro.”

“No way,” he says. “I’ve seen that look before. If I don’t help, you’ll toss my Power Rangers action figures out the window again.”

I shake my head. “That was one time.”

“I never found the Blue Ranger,” Bryan says, adding a dramatic pout.

“Stop,” I say, too tired to laugh.

“Fine,” he says, punching the elevator button. “I’ll just make sure you get to your room and then leave you in peace.”

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