"Bullshit," she says cheerfully. "It's the least complicated thing in your life right now."
I glance at her, then away. "We've only known each other a few months."
"So? Mom and Dad got engaged after six weeks."
"And look how that turned out," I mutter.
Rowan shakes her head. "Dad being a commitment-phobic asshole has nothing to do with how quickly they fell in love. The love part was real."
She's right, of course. Our parents' love was like a lightning strike, sudden, intense, transformative. The fact that our father couldn't sustain it doesn't negate how real it was.
"I'm scared," I admit finally, the words barely audible.
Rowan abandons her broom, coming around the counter to stand beside me. "Of what? That he'll leave? That man looks at you like you hung the moon, Sadie."
"Not that he'll leave," I say slowly, trying to articulate the fear that's been lurking beneath the surface. "That it won't last. That I'll wake up one day and all of this will be gone. That I'll never really get to have this kind of happiness."
"Ah," Rowan says softly. "You're waiting for the other shoe to drop."
I nod, relieved that she understands.
"Here's the thing about shoes," she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Eventually, you have to stop waiting for them to drop and just enjoy walking in them."
A laugh escapes me. "That's a terrible metaphor."
"But accurate," she insists. "You're allowed to be happy, Sadie. You're allowed to build a life that isn't defined by what you're running from."
"I know that. Logically, I know that."
"But your heart hasn't caught up yet," she finishes for me.
I nod again, blinking back unexpected tears.
"Well, let me tell you something," Rowan says, turning to face me fully.
"I've watched you for months, always looking over your shoulder, always waiting for disaster. And you know what? Disaster came—and you faced it. You survived it. You won."
She takes my hands in hers, her grip warm and strong. "You don't need me here as a safety net anymore. You've got this. You've got Poppy. And you've got a man who would move mountains for you both."
The tears spill over now, tracking silently down my cheeks. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise," she says with a grin. "You were just too stubborn to notice."
I laugh through my tears, letting her pull me into a tight hug. We stand like that for a long moment, swaying slightly in the quiet café. Sisters. Survivors. Together but no longer dependent.
When we pull apart, Rowan wipes her own eyes. "So," she says briskly, "are you going to say it out loud, or do I need to drag it out of you?"
I take a deep breath, the words rising to my lips with surprising ease. "I love him."
"There," she says, satisfied. "Was that so hard?"
"Actually, no." And it's true. The words feel right, natural. Not frightening at all. "I love him," I repeat, stronger this time.
"And does he know that?"
I think of the night in the hotel room, of whispered confessions between desperate kisses. Of the way he held me after, like I was something precious, irreplaceable. "Yes. He knows."
"Good." Rowan picks up her broom again, resuming her sweeping with a pleased expression. "Because if I'm moving to Denver, I need to know someone's looking after my little sister."
