“Prove it,” Parker says, grinning at me. He looks at our entwined hands and wiggles his eyebrows. I shake my head and groan, but I can feel the smile spreading across my face, and it puts every other smile to shame—every fake one or real one I’ve given in years—because this one is for everyone in front of me. This one is for my family.

Roman casually pulls a knife from his wrist and twirls it in one hand like a baton thrower in a marching band. Some skills aren’t magic.

I snort, and he gives me a little look out of the corner of his eye. His lip twitches into half a smile because he knows what I’m thinking.

It’s good to know he’ll stoop to showmanship for my brother.

I look at Parker’s wide eyes and then Jacob’s.

Brothers. The s on the end feels weird but right. Something I’ll have to get used to but won’t regret.

Deb raises her eyebrows and gives me a look, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or if it’s something like parental concern. “Well,” she says, “I guess we know who’s carving the turkey on Thanksgiving.”

Roman tucks his knife away. “It would be my pleasure.”

Deb gives me a look like she’s trying not to laugh.

I shrug my shoulders.

Deb steps back from the door. “Lucky for us, we’re having pizza tonight, and it’s already cut. Come on in.”

This time I don’t hesitate. I walk inside and pull Roman with me.

“I didn’t catch your name last time,” Deb says as Roman stands awkwardly next to me in the little foyer.

“This is Roman,” I say. I wave a hand at the rest of them. “This is Deb, Parker, and Jacob. My family.” I let the word fall this time, but it doesn’t crash, because everyone’s widening smiles catch the word and make it feel at home.

My throat feels tight, but it’s the good kind—where you’re so full of love that you might burst.

“Kitchen’s this way,” Deb says.

The boys are already running back to the pizza and probably planning the mound of cookies they’ll smuggle to their room afterward for their gaming session.

“I’m just going to go up to my room for a minute,” I say. I want to unload my knives. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to show off my new hobby.

Deb hesitates, and I wonder if she’s going to give me an awkward lecture about boys in my room, which would definitely be more than I could handle on the parenting front, but she just nods and lets me go.

The creaking stairs welcome me back.

I open my door and freeze.