Sometime between bites of grilled onions and peppers, charred steak, and creamy mayo wrapped in a Philly cheese steak, knocking comes from the front door. It's not rapid, nor soft. If anything, it sounds melodical, though which song it's supposed to mimic exactly, I don't know. However, there's only one person I know that would have the right to be knocking on the door of the Alphas' apartment with such a pattern.
Sure enough, after taking a big sip of water to clear his own windpipe of this greasy goodness, Eric calls out, "Come in, Marissa."
Instantly, the door flies open, allowing Marissa to skip right in, trailed by the much more professional Alan. Making a beeline for me, her smile beams like a parent after their kid's first recital. "You did so great, Ali! The public was absolutely
