Page 66 of Code Name: Atticus

“You would choose lamb,” Luke said. “Always trying to be different.”

“Says the guy who ordered duck at an Italian restaurant.”

“It’s California cuisine, not Italian.”

“The restaurant has ‘fig’ in the name. Figs are Mediterranean.”

“Figs grow well in this area,” Brenna interjected.

We continued the playful argument through dinner, the ease of it washing over me like coming home after a long deployment.

“So when do Mom and Dad find out?” Luke asked as dessert arrived—panna cotta we all shared despite claiming to be full.

“This weekend, probably?” Brenna looked at me for confirmation.

“My parents tomorrow, yours this weekend?”

“Your parents don’t know yet either?”

“We wanted to tell you first.”

Luke’s cheeks flushed, something I hadn’t seen happen very often in all the years I’d known him. “I’m honored.”

Brenna shrugged. “We figured you’d react the worst, so we wanted to get it over with.”

He chuckled.

“So, what about you? When’s my big brother gonna settle down?”

“Now that you have, I’ve got a five-year reprieve at least.”

While I knew Luke was trying to be flippant, come across like he was joking, there was something about the look in his eyes that told me he wasn’t. Something was up with him, and now that I thought about it, he’d seemed off when we met for coffee too.

“If you boys will excuse me,” Brenna said, motioning for me to let her out of the booth. Once she was gone, I stretched my arm across the back of the rounded bench.

“So, what’s going on with you?”

Luke scrubbed his face, then leaned forward with hunched shoulders. “Owning a businesssoundslike a great idea.”

“Not going well?”

“Helluva lot harder than I thought it would be. That’s for damn sure.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

He studied me for a minute, then shook his head. “Wish you could.”

“You cannot tell Mom and Dad before we do,” Brenna said when she returned to the table.

Luke’s mouth gaped. “I’m wounded you’d think I would.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“That was different. You were fifteen, and he had a motorcycle.”

“He had a moped.”

I might’ve been jealous until she mentioned that.