I smile. “We’re just glad so many people could make it.”
“The timing worked out perfectly,” Patty says. “We’re closing on the absolute cutest Victorian next month in Colorado.”
“Wait—I thought you’d settled on Maine?” Luna asks, brows lifting.
They exchange a quick glance and a laugh.
“We thought so too,” Patty says. “But then Tay sent us a realtor brochure from this tiny little town right between the mountains and the desert…”
“We fell in love with it the second we saw it,” Patty finishes. “And the kitchen? Incredible.”
Luna practically bounces. “Oh, I want pictures! And you have to include the kitchen, of course.”
“But no work talk this week,” Denise announces, lifting a hand playfully. “It’s your wedding, dear. You should be focusing on enjoying yourself with your man.”
“Speaking of…” Patty jumps in. “Where is Noah, anyway?”
Luna glances toward the door.
“He’ll be here any second. Noah’s mom called just before we came down. Said her balcony door wouldn’t open.”
Ah yes—Mrs. Grady. The woman who brought the groom’s ex-wife as her plus one.
Luna’s handling it all with grace. I’m not as forgiving.
“There he is now!” Denise waves, but Noah’s already crossing the room—his eyes locked on Luna like she’s the only woman on the ship.
He’s stopped briefly by an older man with an old-fashioned camera slung around his neck. They shake hands, Noah asks him a question or two, pats him on the back, and then moves on.
“That’s Roger Dunlap,” Luna whispers by my ear. “He’s the man who had a heart attack in the desert. He looks better now. His wife promised he’ll be taking it easy.”
“Our very own Doctor Noah!” Patty says as Noah reaches our little party, giving him a squeeze.
More hugs. More gushing.
And then his arm slides around my sister’s waist.
The hello kiss he gives her isn’t showy, just easy. Unconsidered. Real. Luna’s cheeks flush when he pulls back, and I know she’d let him keep going if he wanted to.
I step back, watching them, touching each other without thinking, fitting together in a way that doesn’t require rules.
Which is exactly what makes my chest tighten.
Just minutes ago, Beckett and I were quietly negotiating the rules of our pretend happily ever after—what would look convincing, what was absolutely necessary. What I could tolerate. What I’d allow.
And what I couldn’t.
The contrast is stark enough that I have to look away.
I don’t want to think about this. About how different it feels. About how I never expected to be here.
Beckett and I have been married for eleven years, but we’ve been an “us” for almost fifteen. High school sweethearts. God, that sounds so innocent now.
I force my attention outward—to the guests, the laughter, the way everyone has shown up for Luna. I want this week to be perfect for her.
But then I feel it, that shift in the air, and sure enough, when I turn to the door, I see Beckett standing there, scanning the crowd.Looking for me,a traitorous voice whispers in my head in anticipation.
The worst part is that I know he is, the same way that I knew it was him when he walked in the room. Like a tug on a line that Ican’t shake loose, a thread that links us together and always has, from the very moment I first saw him.
