Across the lawn, Sutton finally let herself collapse into a folding chair, heels kicked off, a glass of champagne in one hand and a plastic tiara perched firmly on her head. “I am officially off-duty,” she announced. “If anyone even whispers about cheese boards, I’m throwing myself into the fountain.”
Lee raised his glass in salute. “To Sutton. Patron saint of baked goods and breakdowns.” He crossed the grassy patch and leaned down to wipe frosting off of Libby’s cheeks. “Our beautiful girl, look at you go.”
“Back off, Lee,” Dig said, hopping up and elbowing between Jordan and Doyle. “It’s clear I’m already the favorite uncle. I already have her listening toFunny Girland learning stage cues. She’ll want to move to New York City with Uncle Diggy in no time.”
Doyle rolled his eyes. “Please, she’s wearing a Tiffany bracelet that I bought her. If anyone’s winning this, it’s me.”
Jordan, watching the exchange from a patch of shade near the tree line, barely looked up from his drink. “They’re both idiots. I’m the cool one,” he said loud enough for me to hear. “Who do you think she’s going to call when all of you drive her out of her mind?”
I gave a quiet nod, adjusting Libby’s paper crown where it had slipped down over her eyes. “Noted.”
Vivianne and Hollis Aden lingered on the edge of the lawn with Eunice and Vance, their voices soft over the hum of distantlaughter and the clink of dessert plates. I gave Vivi a small wave, and she returned it with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d warm up to me eventually, and I’d do whatever it took—especially knowing how desperately she was trying to repair things with her daughter. With the woman I loved.
Hollis, on the other hand, looked like he’d stumbled into a candy shop and refused to leave. Wide grin, frosting smeared across his cheeks, a half-eaten cupcake in one hand and a chocolate-dusted cookie in the other. Eunice gave a slight wince, and I had to fight the urge to grin at the scene.
Maybe the four socialites weren’t destined for bridge marathons or polite tea parties, but it was a start.
Magnolia was stretched out on a picnic blanket near the food table, one hand resting lightly on her belly. Lee hovered close, trying to pretend he wasn’t checking her water bottle every five minutes.
“You’re worse than my doctor,” she muttered without looking up. “I’m already peeing every thirty seconds as is.”
“And yet you married me,” he replied, popping a grape in his mouth.
“Regret is a slow burn.”
Ryan stood off to the side with a cupcake in hand, smiling faintly but not saying much. He caught my eye, nodded once, then looked away.
I settled onto the grass beside Libby, who handed me a soggy piece of cake like it was a priceless artifact, eyes full of joy and wonder. I took it without a word, heart full in a way I hadn’t expected. I used to think happiness was loud. Something that crashed in with fireworks and confessions. But today felt quiet. Steady. Real.
Libby looked up at me with her mother’s hazel eyes and said, clear as day, “Dada.”
The entire group turned.
Tally froze, her hand mid-air as she wildly gestured during her conversation.
I blinked, unsure I’d heard her right.
Libby, proud and sticky, said it again.
“Dada.”
The world didn’t stop. Music still played. Glasses still clinked. A dog barked somewhere behind us.
But something in me did.
I was a dad.
And this was my family.
***
After packing up the mess from Libby’s first birthday and sending everyone back to Maggie O’Malley’s—the inn and public house my sister now owned outright—we loaded up the stroller. Tally and I had spent the last year renting a room in the back carriage house of the inn, saving every penny, dodging a very pregnant Magnolia’s hormonal outbursts, and quietly building something that felt a lot like a life.
Tally had worked her ass off. Long days, late nights, camera always slung over her shoulder. And after enough courthouse ceremonies, pop-up weddings in the squares, and one memorable beach elopement where the ring bearer dropped the rings in the ocean, she’d finally done it. She’d saved enough to launch her own company:Marry Me, Savannah—a one-stop shop for wildly romantic, slightly chaotic, deeply heartfelt elopements. She ran it out of the inn, of course, alongside my sister, who helped with the lodging accommodations, and Sutton, who baked all the wedding cakes. We were still Pruitts at heart, never quite able to spend that much time apart from one another.
We were walking Libby through Lafayette Square, her legs kicking under a pink blanket, Nancy Reagan trotting beside us in a rhinestone leash Sutton had insisted on buying her, when we passed a house with wraparound porch, the railing lined with flowering vines in soft bloom. A single, swinging sign hung from the side of the staircase.
Open House.
