Belonging. Maybe. Or just... peace.
“Uncle Logan!” Michaela appears at my elbow, clutching a sparkler that isn’t lit yet because David has forbidden any fireworks until after sunset. “Did you know that the Fourth of July isn’t actually the day we declared independence? The Continental Congress voted for independence on July 2nd. July 4th is just when they approved the wording of the document.”
“I did know that.”
“Most people don’t. It’s a common misconception.” She looks up at me with an expression that suggests she’s been waiting to share this fact all day. “Also, John Adams thought we should celebrate on July 2nd. He was really mad about the whole thing.”
“History is full of people being mad about things.”
“That’s basically what my dad says about the law.” She peers past me toward where Audrey is helping Layla set up the dessert table. “Are you going to marry her?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “What?”
“Audrey. Are you going to marry her? Because I call flower girl if you do, and I need to know if I should start planning my outfit. I don’t want to be wearing the same dress for your wedding as I wear for Layla and Bennett’s.”
“You don’t think you should wait to be asked before you plan your outfit?”
Her hands go to her hips. “It’s implied. Do you see any other little girls around here?” She makes a show of looking around at the party full of adults.
“You may have a point.”
“Exactly. And I like to be proactive, Uncle Logan. There’s a market for flower girl dresses in my size, but it’s niche.” Michaela shrugs, as if she’s tired of waiting for the world to catch up with her.
There’s no reasonable response, so I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She tilts her head. “So? Are you going to marry her?”
I glance toward Audrey, who’s laughing at something Serena said, the sunset painting gold streaks through her hair. The curls are fully back now—the blonde dyed back to her usual brown. She looks like herself. She looks like home.
“Yes,” I tell Michaela. “I am.”
Her face transforms into pure smugness. “I knew it. I’m very good at predictions. It’s a skill.”
“Don’t tell anyone. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“My lips are sealed.” She mimes zipping them shut, then immediately unzips them. “But you should do it during the fireworks. That’s romantic. I saw it in a movie once.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
She nods seriously and runs off to interrogate someone else, sparkler still unlit and waving like a conductor’s baton.
David appears beside me, two beers in hand. He passes one over without comment.
“Your daughter just extracted my proposal plans in under thirty seconds.”
“She’s terrifyingly efficient. I blame the debate camp I let Caleb talk me into.” He takes a long drink. “For what it’s worth, I think you should do it. The proposal. Tonight.”
“Because of the fireworks?”
“Because you look at her like she’s the answer to a question you’ve been asking your whole life.” He shrugs. “That’s not something you wait on.”
I turn the bottle in my hands, watching the condensation drip. “I have a ring. I’ve had it for three weeks. I keep taking it out of the drawer and putting it back.”
“Why?”
“Because what if she says no?”
David laughs. “Logan. That woman wants to be with you. She sat through a PowerPoint presentation about cohabitation timelines. She’s looked at fourteen houses with you in the past two weeks without once complaining about your ranking system.”
