The doorbell rings.
West goesto answer it. Voices spill into the hallway — warm, familiar, the cadence of family who don’t need permission to show up.
Eleanor Prescott walks in first. Elegant as ever. She spots me immediately.
“Jane!”
“Eleanor!”
She crosses the room and hugs me properly — not the polite version. The real thing.
West’s dad follows. Shakes my hand. Smiles.
“You’re still here. Good.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere but a half-packed apartment on a Sunday. Most people would have run by now.”
West reappears carrying another box. “Dad. Stop terrorizing her.”
“I’m not terrorizing. I’m giving her an out.”
“Don’t worry,” West says mildly. “My ten-minute-interval kisses reenergize her.”
Aunt Milly arrives last. She takes one look at me, one look at West, and beams.
“So,” she says. “When am I getting great-nephews and nieces?”
West doesn’t look up from the box he’s taping. “In Progress.”
I throw a dish towel at him.
He catches it without looking.
Eleanor makes a sound that might be a laugh.
Aunt Milly pats my arm. “I like you. You throw things. That’s good. He needs someone who throws things.”
“Noted.”
Charles moves toward the door, pauses, and looks back at West.
“Put a ring on her, West. Before someone else figures out what she’s worth.”
West doesn’t pause.
“Working on that too.”
I stare at West.
He keeps taping.
“Alright, we’ll see the two of you at Jean-Georges at 8 p.m. once you’re done with the movers.”
The door closes behind them.
“Did you just—”
