“Hey.” They turned in unison as the sister under discussion stuck her head out the front door, the midafternoon sun burnishing her copper hair. “Are you two coming in, or are you going to stand out there all day gabbing without me? If you’re talking about the wedding, you’re going to have to repeat everything, you know.”

Grace linked her arm with Cate’s. “Let’s go, bride-to-be.”

Her sister’s features softened. “I like the sound of that—and I have a ton of info to share with you two.”

“Then let’s get this party rolling.”

Eve met them at the door with hugs. “I’m so happy to see you both. Come on in.”

“Where’s the groom?” Cate entered first and tossed her purse on a convenient chair.

“Running errands and meeting a friend for dinner to give us sister time.”

“Good man.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Grace inspected Eve. “You’re glowing. I take it the honeymoon was fantas—” She sniffed. “Is that Mom’s moussaka?”

“The very same.” Eve closed the door.

“Don’t tell me you also baked a carrot cake.” Grace’s salivary glands went into overdrive.

“I did. But I’d rather have your baklava.”

She waved aside the comment. “You both know that’s a special occasion dessert. It takes more time to make than I have to spare on an everyday basis. But I promise to bring it for dessert on Christmas.”

“We’ll hold you to that.” Eve led them toward the kitchen. “Let’s get drinks and settle in for a long chat. I stocked up on Diet Sprite for you”—she motioned toward Cate—“and high-end froufrou iced tea for my other sibling.”

“You can buy a cheaper brand.” Grace crossed to the oven.

“Nope. Nothing but the best for my baby sister.”

Grace leaned closer to the oven and sniffed the aroma that always said home. “Are we eating soon?”

“Forty minutes. By the way, Dad’s back in Cambridge after detouring to that dig in Jordan after the wedding—and with big news. They’ve extended his visiting professorship through next June.”

“I bet he was over the moon about that.” Cate filched a tortilla chip from the bowl on the island and swirled it in salsa.

“They’re lucky to get an archaeologist with his credentials, if you ask me.” Grace joined Cate at the island and helped herself to a loaded chip too.

Eve handed them their drinks. “Where do you want to sit?”

“On the deck?” Cate’s tone was hopeful.

“Forget it.” Grace took another chip. “You’re the only one who inherited Mom’s Mediterranean, heat-loving blood. I vote we stay inside. It’s pushing ninety out there.”

“I have to side with Grace on this one.” Eve peeked at the moussaka. “Besides, I want to keep an eye on our entrée. We could go out later, after the sun dips behind the trees.”

“That’ll work. Why don’t you show us your honeymoon photos?” Cate brushed off her fingers.

“As long as we save a chunk of the evening to talk about your wedding.” Eve topped off her glass of lemonade.