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“I know, but a year is a long time.”

“You’re not allowed to stay here for me.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. You would be unbearable if you gave this up.”

That made her laugh. “I would.”

“You’d bring it up every time we fought.”

“We don’t fight.”

“You would start.”

She laughed again, then wiped beneath one eye. I pulled her back into a hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

“You have to send me pictures.”

“I will, and I’ll write dramatic, lengthy letters like a soldier away at war.”

“Good.”

She pulled back and smiled. “And I’m coming back for your wedding.”

I stared at her. “My wedding?”

“Oh, please. If I come home and there’s a giant rock on your finger, I expect credit for calling it.”

I laughed. “We haven’t even been together that long.”

“Does Richard seem like a man who takes his time once he decides he wants something?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Exactly.”

I shook my head, but I smiled. I could not help it. “I don’t think he’s going to rush things.”

“When a man knows, he knows, and that man is definitely going to marry you.”

I looked through the doorway into the living room. Richard stood near the fireplace with my father, both of them looking at the framed photograph in Henry’s hand. My father was speaking, and Richard listened with his head slightly inclined, attentive and respectful. They looked natural together. Not close yet, but comfortable enough that my father’s shoulders were relaxed.

For the first time, I let myself imagine Richard in this house often.

Christmases. Sunday dinners. My father shaking his hand before pretending he didn’t like him too much. Leanne coming home from Europe with stories about Paris and Milan. Richard beside me, patient with my worries and always seeming to know exactly what to say when I needed it.

Leanne followed my gaze. “You’re happy.”

“I think I am.”

“You deserve it, Sam.”

The words were simple, but they nearly undid me.