“Seriously? Your brother broke the news via text?” I walked to my car, happy to have the distraction of a call from Jamie. To say I’d had a long day was a bit of an understatement. No big events, but honestly, the small ones were sometimes more annoying. More nitpicking with less payout. The brunch for the local DAR group that filled my morning was bad enough, but then the afternoon brought in a soccer-team-sized group of six-year-olds. For tea. With their dolls. Never mind the fact that dolls don’t drink. Or talk. Or eat teeny, tiny pastries sitting on teeny, tiny plates. I mean, sure. If the pastries are paid for, it shouldn’t matter whether they are actually enjoyed or just pretend enjoyed. But it was still annoying. Add the day’s pressures to two weeks of almost endless working with very little dating time, and Jamie’s voice on the phone was the greatest thing I’d heard all day.

“Texting is how we communicate.”

“Like cavemen?”

“No, like four brothers who are busy and wouldn’t talk near as much otherwise. We’ve had the same group thread for years. Don’t knock it.”

“I’m not going to argue against the ease of communicating via text message.” I unlocked my car and climbed in. “But come on. A mission call? That at least deserves an in-person announcement.”

“But then the moment wouldn’t be documented. All the big stuff has happened in that thread.”

“Like what?” I shifted over to speaker and dropped the phone onto my lap, then started the car.

“Like Dave’s engagement. Or the day we hit a million sales on the app. Or . . . Simon’s house.”

“His house?”

“Yeah. He’s a bona fide homeowner. The real deal.”

“How grown-up.”

“That’s Simon for you.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “So, you want to come help us celebrate tonight? Just the brothers. And Katie will be there too. It’d be nice for you to finally meet her.” Even with all the time I’d spent with the brothers, helping out at the soccer clinic, I still hadn’t met Dave’s fiancée.

“What about your parents? Don’t they get to celebrate too?”

“They’ll get their turn when Coop goes home. It’s our turn. Come on. It’ll be fun. Dave’s grilling rib eyes.”

“You had me at grilling. Count me in.”

“Dinner’s at seven. I’ll text you the address.”

I glanced at my watch. 5:42. If I hurried, I’d have time to go home and change before heading over.

Granny Grace was on the porch when I pulled up to the house. She waited for me, holding her hand up to shield her eyes against the bright afternoon sun. I walked over and gave her a hug. “Hi, Granny Grace.”