Before I could knock, the door swung open with enough force to rattle the brass knocker. Miles stood in the doorway, grinning like he'd won a bet.
My youngest brother appeared as he always did—perpetually rumpled oxford shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had dark curls standing up at odd angles and the same mischievous expression he'd perfected at age six.
"About time!" He glanced at Alex. "We thought you got cold feet!"
"Some of us have lives, smartass." I stepped over the threshold.
"Oh, is that what you call it?" Mischief sparkled in Miles's eyes. "Last I heard, you were on—"
Matthew appeared, all six-foot-three of him blocking the hallway light. He lunged forward and wrapped an arm around my neck, pulling me into a hug that quickly turned into a mock headlock.
"Still ugly as hell." He rubbed my buzzed head with his free hand. "And even more grumpy than usual."
I jabbed an elbow into his ribs, and he released me with an exaggerated grunt.
"Alex, right?" Matthew extended his hand. "I'm Matthew. The smarter, better-looking brother."
Miles teased. "Says who? Your bathroom mirror?"
Alex laughed. It was tentative but genuine. "Good to meet you both. Michael didn't warn me about the welcoming committee."
"Oh, we're just getting started." Miles put a hand on his shoulder. "Wait till Mom gets her hands on you."
Marcus emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His expression was harder to read—part relief and part lingering anger—but he clapped me on the back hard enough to make me stagger forward half a step.
"Jesus, you finally show up, and you bring a stray?" He winked at Alex, extending his hand. "Marcus McCabe. The responsible one."
"That's debatable," I muttered.
"Alex Kessler." He shook Marcus's hand with surprising steadiness. "The uninvited guest."
"No such thing in this house," a voice called from within.
My mother appeared in the hallway, flour dusting her forearms and a smear of something red—tomato sauce, probably—across her apron. She'd twisted her silver-streaked hair into the same messy knot she'd worn for as long as I could remember.
"You brought a guest. You should have warned me. I would have made another pie."
"As if you don't always make three." Marcus straightened her apron.
"Four, but that's not the point."
She was already moving toward Alex, hands reaching for his jacket, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulders.
"You must be hungry. My boys never feed their friends properly. Come in, sit down." She ushered him further into the house without waiting for a response, her strong hands guiding him by the elbow. "Michael, don't stand in the doorway like a stranger."
"I tried calling," Miles stage-whispered to Alex. "But our brother here thinks phones are decorative."
"Some of us need space on occasion."
A brief, awkward silence fell. Marcus's jaw tightened, and Matthew shifted his weight.
Mom waved a dismissive hand through the air. "None of that tonight. Alex, are you allergic to anything? Should I have made something vegetarian?"
"No allergies, and I eat everything."
Miles nodded. "Good answer. She takes food rejections personally."
Mom swatted Miles's arm. "I do not. It's only that I don't understand people who don't appreciate good cooking."
