“Griffin, shut up,” she laughs, but the sound is wet. She looks up at me, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m happy for you, Griff. I really am. It’s a huge opportunity. It’ll just be strange not seeing you every day. I feel like I’ve only just grown out of the ‘annoying little sister’ phase.”
I bark a laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet yard. “You’ll always be annoying. Don’t worry about that.”
She stands up, smoothing out her dress, and reaches into her pocket. “I got you something, since you’re moving to the concrete jungle and all.”
She hands me a keychain. It’s a small, heavy piece of resin with sand and a tiny piece of driftwood inside. It’s from our local beach. It’s the one place I’ve gone to every time I needed to think, every time a project felt too big, or the world felt too loud.
“So you don’t forget about us.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And so you know this is always home. No matter how many bridges you build out there.”
I stand up, the keychain cool in my palm, and pull her into me.
She sighs into my chest, her forehead resting against my collarbone. For a second, the logic of New York fails me. The math doesn’t add up. The career, the city, the leaving? It all feels insignificant.
I lean down and kiss the top of her head.
When she pulls away, she’s scrubbing tears from her cheeks with the heels of her hands. I find myself fighting a sudden lump in my own throat. My technical brain is screaming about leaving on time, but my heart is stuck in the mud of this backyard.
I cup her face with my hands and wipe the dampness from her skin with my thumbs. Her skin is soft, and her eyes are so wide and honest that they make me want to stay and fix every rusted chain in this town.
“Look at yourself, Pipes,” I tease. “Making a scene.”
“Go,” she says, her voice trembling as she gives me a tiny push toward the driveway. “Before I find a way to flat your tires.”
“Take care of yourself,” I tell her.
“Always. You too.”
As I walk away, I can feel her eyes on my back, but I get in the car, drive away, and don’t let myself look in the rearview mirror.
The keychain sits in the cupholder the entire way, and I don’t move it.
Three
Present day
Piper
Ezra is framed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our hotel suite, the town lights below us looking like a spilled bag of diamonds. His jacket is already on, but his tie hangs loosely around his neck.
It’s almost time. My stomach does a slow, nauseating somersault that I choose to label asexcitement.
He turns when the bathroom door clicks shut. “Hey,” he says, his smile hitting that perfect, practiced frequency. “There you are.”
I smile back. I have to. Because I love him. Because we’ve spent eighteen months and a small fortune on floral arrangements and seating charts. Because tomorrow, I’m becoming a wife.
He crosses the room, his hands warm on my back. I melt into the contact, leaning into the familiar weight of him because it’s easier than standing on my own. For three seconds, the tightness in my chest—the one that’s been there for months—actually eases.
“I can’t believe it’s finally here,” he mumbles against my temple. “One more night.”
“I know.” I have to clear my throat so my voice doesn’t come out in a pathetic crack. “It feels… unreal.”
“It’s going to be perfect.” He pulls back just enough to study me, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just jittery.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, checking for cracks in the foundation, then nods. “Good.”
I step back, heading toward the wardrobe to reclaim some breathing room. Reaching for the dress bag at the far end, my fingers brush the fabric I chose weeks ago. It’s simple. It’s soft. It feels like a version of myself I actually recognize.
