Lily barrels into us before I can come up with a reply, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Lucky! You were amazing!”
Banks appears next, arms spread wide. “Lucky Vale is back, baby! And—holy hell—you’re better than ever.”
I laugh, shaking my head, overwhelmed in the best possible way.
Charlotte calls out that my parents-in-law want a picture (I’m calling them that, sue me), Banks is begging me to let him brag online, and Lily is already trying to drag me toward snacks.
But Ethan keeps a hand on my waist, grounding me through the chaos.
And in this tiny, imperfect, glowing corner of Manhattan… I feel it.
Home.
Family.
Mine.
His.
Ours.
When the night winds down, when the crowd thins and the lights dim, Ethan helps me pack up my guitar.
Banks hugs me twice. Charlotte immediately schedules brunch like it’s a hostage situation. But the real giveaway? They won’t look at each other. Won’t even breathe in the same direction. Uh-huh. Banks and Charlotte are definitely up to something.
And I am definitely going to find out.
Ethan lifts my guitar case easily, like it weighs nothing, then pauses beside me on the sidewalk outside.
The night air smells like rain and car exhaust and possibility.
“You ready to go home?” he asks.
And God—yes.
I nod. “Yeah. Take me home.”
He opens the truck door for me. Lily climbs in first and shoots to the back seat, yawning dramatically. When I go to pull the door shut, Ethan leans in close, his lips brushing my temple.
“Lucky Vale,” he murmurs, voice rich with pride and something deeper, “I’m so damn proud of you.”
My chest gets tight in the best way.
We drive toward the bridge, lights flickering across the windshield. The city stretches around us—loud, alive, messy. And somewhere beyond it, Cedar Lake Falls waits. The lake. The deck. His shirts. Lily’s art taped to the fridge.
My new life.
Our new life.
I rest my hand on Ethan’s thigh, tracing slow circles. He glances over, eyes soft in the glow of passing headlights.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m thinking,” I admit.
“Dangerous.”
I laugh, leaning back into the seat. “Just making a list.”
