“The only perspective I need is the one where this project gets finished on time and I never have to hear Dominic Cruz ask me what my ‘love language’ is ever again.”
“He asked about your love language?” Serena looks delighted.
“He said he was ‘just curious.’ I told him it was ‘silence and professional boundaries.’” Jenna checks her watch. “I need to get back to the office. What time is this showcase?”
“Six,” Serena says. “Caleb’s sending the address. We can all grab dinner after.”
Jenna nods, already gathering her things with characteristic efficiency. “I’ll meet you there.”
She’s gone before any of us can respond, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive perfume and the distinct impression of someone holding the entire world at arm’s length.
“She’s warming up to us,” Layla declares. “I can tell.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
“She made a joke. Two, actually. And she agreed to come to a child’s showcase on a weeknight.” Layla beams. “By Jenna standards, that’s practically a declaration of eternal friendship.”
Serena laughs. “She’s going to love Michaela. They have the same energy—all business, no nonsense, slightly terrifying.”
“An eight-year-old is terrifying?”
“In a good way,” Serena and Layla say in unison, before they dissolve into giggles.
I check my phone again. No emergencies from Logan, just another text.
Logan:
Everything still stable. Stop checking your phone and enjoy your friends.
I’m smiling at my phone like an idiot when Layla nudges me. “Look at you. All heart-eyes over there.”
“I’m not?—”
“You absolutely are. And I love it.” She raises her coffee cup. “To showcases, the friends who feel like family and men who stand up to their horrible mothers.”
“To Jenna surviving however long she has to work with Dominic without committing murder,” Serena adds.
“And to Audrey,” Layla says, her voice softer now. “For finding someone who fights for her.”
Something flickers in my chest—not quite discomfort, but close. The way she says it makes it sound like a fairy tale. Like I’m the princess who got rescued.
But that’s not what happened. Logan stood up to his parents becauseheneeded to, not just for me. I was the catalyst, not the cause. The confrontation was his to have, his freedom to claim.
Still, I raise my water glass to the thought. “To all of it. Whatever comes next.”
We clink our drinks together, and for the first time since I got back from Sweden, I feel like I’m on the right track again. Not just with Logan, but here—with these women who show up for me even when I don’t know I need them.
This is what real family looks like. Not blood obligations and performative dinners. Just people who show up for each other, again and again, for no other reason than because they want to.
Logan’s parents will never understand that.
But Logan does. And so do the people at this table.
CHAPTER 29
Logan
There are approximately seventy-four adults in this room, and I’ve already made awkward eye contact with at least twelve of them.
