Page 130 of Love By Design

“Want to guess?” Finn asked.

“Not really,” Andrew answered, deadpan and dry…like Hunter.

“I’m Marshall,” I said, standing and reaching across the table to shake his hand.

Andrew squared his shoulders and returned the gesture, putting everything else aside for the sake of maturity…like me.

“Andrew.”

“This is Finn,” I said, pointing at him. “Hunter. And this is Smith.”

They all managed to get it together enough for handshakes, and then Andrew chose the seat between me and Finn, and we were all on our asses again.

“I’m glad you’re older than me,” he murmured at Finn.

“Why’s that?”

“I think if you were younger, you’d be insufferable,” he teased…just like Finn would have.

I glanced between the two of them, Finn battling his mouth into an angry line when I could tell he found the humor in the barb. Andrew’s face a mask of indifference, like he’d unintentionally mastered Finn’s humor and Hunter’s delivery without even knowing better.

“Thanks for coming up to meet us,” I said, flagging down our waiter. Andrew ordered a gin martini, and it was the first difference I’d noticed about him. “Though I’m not sure what your goal with this is.”

“Do I need one? We’re related. It makes sense to put faces to names. To shared DNA.”

Beside me, Smith sucked his teeth. Like me.

“You don’t need one,” Hunter said.

And then silence fell over the table until our drinks wereserved. Smith guzzled his wine, and I kicked my foot into his. He made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat but set his glass back down on the table. Thankfully, he’d gotten it all into his mouth and not all over the front of his shirt.

I scratched the back of my neck, tickling my finger up into my hairline while also waiting to see if any of my three—no, four—brothers were going to pick up the conversation again. When it became clear none of them were, I said, “So, Andrew. Hunter hasn’t told us anything about you at all besides we have the same father and that you don’t want to take his last name. Tell us something else. What do you do for work?”

“I also don’t want his money,” Andrew said quickly.

I glanced at his clothes, well-tailored but still off the rack. He didn’t strike me as blue collar, but there was definitely no Covington money behind him.

“Good.” I smiled. “How do you make yours, then?”

“Data entry,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek. “What about the four of you?”

“I’m an architect,” I told him. “You know Hunter is an attorney.”

Andrew nodded.

“I’m in finance,” Finn said, and I was grateful to see him engaged in the conversation, however minimally.

Everyone looked at Smith, who in turn looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die. “I have a degree in design,” he said. “I’m working with a historic preservation and restoration firm right now.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Smith swallowed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just the way you said it.” Andrew waved dismissively and reached for his martini. “Never mind. And you’re the youngest?”

“For now,” Smith muttered.

Andrew laughed awkwardly. “You’ll have to forgive my next question, but…how did the four of you find each other?”