As I came around the corner from the storeroom, Cash was perched on the center barstool, still wearing his whites, looking like he’d just finished a long shift, which he had. My oldest brother and I might not be best friends, but one thing I could never debate was that he worked his ass off. He had to be persuaded not to work seven days a week, and I couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked less than six.

All these years later, with him nearly forty and me at thirty-four, I still thought of him—and Seth too—as tough to measure up to. Probably why I’d screwed around so much in my twenties. Hell, my entire life up to my thirties, really. Cash had been a star athlete growing up, then he’d been the military hero, and I was just a kid rebelling against myself so I wouldn’t be compared to either him or our brainy brother, Seth. Classic textbook case, but who could blame me?

Now, I was starting to feel like I was getting somewhere, doing something that mattered. Doing something I excelled at, something beyond making sure there was a body at the host stand and that the servers were busting their asses to keep our customers happy. Something that would bring new value to our family business, which I’d retain my ownership stake in. It remained to be seen whether my brothers would view my contribution that way.

I stepped behind the bar, which was my territory the way the kitchen was Cash’s, and went to the fridge under the counter.

“Hey,” I said as I pulled out three growlers I’d brought for this purpose. There were four plates on the counter in front of him—one with cornbread, one of blue corn and black bean nachos, one heaped with wings, and the last with a pile of onion rings. “Lots of leftovers tonight.”

“The cornbread is leftover. The rest I made special. Thought this was supposed to be a celebration.”

“Damn straight.” I shoved a cheese-and-bean-covered chip in my mouth, acting nonchalant.

Truth? I wasn’t nonchalant. Cash didn’t go out of his way if he didn’t want to, and the fact that he’d prepped food for the three of us… that had always been his way of saying he cared.

“Kitchen all closed down?” I asked as I popped a chunk of cornbread into my mouth.

“Yep. Where’s Seth? You heard from him?”

Seth was our unspoken buffer. He was kind of everyone’s unspoken buffer, the stereotypical middle child peacemaker, even though there were four of us Henrys.

“Probably asleep on his couch,” I said.

It was after ten o’clock, and Seth kept what he called “reasonable hours,” while Cash and I were the late-nighters.