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“H-how do you know?”

He tilts my chin up ever so slightly, his voice low and warm. “She already does. Come on, Princess.”

The farmhouse looks even warmer from here, almost a Norman Rockwell-like painting. Between the porch, the colorful maple trees, and the barn with a chicken coop—it’s the prettiest portrait I’ve ever seen. Beyond the fence line, golden grass bends in the breeze, and I hear the chickens are complaining.

A familiar woman rounds the eastern corner of the porch, trailed by four cats with a tiny tortoiseshell riding her shoulder like a furry gargoyle.

Relief hits so fast, I almost laugh. “Maisie!”

Her head comes up. Her gaze travels from me to Gage. “Oh, no.”

I let go of him and hurry up the walk. Gage laughs behind us as I wrap both arms around her. Maisie goes rigid inside the hug. “Is she going to do this every time, Jerkface?”

Behind me, Gage strolls up, hands in his pockets. “Probably.”

I squeeze harder and murmur in her ear, “Maisie, save me.”

She snorts. “Trust me. You’ll need to save me from—” The front door clicks. Maisie’s eyes close. “Oh, shit.” She steps out of my arms and moves aside.

The door swings open, and two women appear. One is maybe in her fifties, dark brown hair threaded with silver and pulled into a loose clip. Gage’s eyes are so much like her; I’d know her anywhere. The woman beside her is smaller, silver-haired, round-cheeked, and wearing an apple-print apron like she’s been waiting her entire life for this moment.

Both stare at me right before Gage’s mother gasps. “Oh, my God.”

Nana claps. “There she is!”

While I’m wondering whether I’m supposed to wave, curtsy, or submit references, they descend. They both tackle-hug me, and the air leaves my lungs. Not metaphorically. These women commit. Hugs here aren’t instinct. They’re ritual.

“Maisie!” I squeak.

“You’re on your own, Frolic.”

“You’re even prettier in person,” his mother remarks, briefly touching the ends of my braid.

“And this dress!” Nana pulls back just enough to cup my shoulders and look me over. “Those stockings!”

“Thank you?”

My eyes find Gage’s over Nana’s shoulder. He is openly enjoying my suffering. I’ll kill him later. Maisie is, too, but I’m not stupid enough to threaten her.

His mother touches the bow at the end of my braid. “And the bows! I love the bows. I told him I loved the bows.”

“You did,” Gage confirms.

“She put one on the chicken,” Nana says delightedly.

“That video was hysterical,” his mother agrees.

Nana wags her finger. “My favorite was when you put bows on everything. Especially the dumbbell. That boy has always taken himself much too seriously.”

“I do not.”

All three women ignore him. His mother points at me. “The air horn, though. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but the air horn wins.”

My mouth falls open. “You’re siding with him?”

“I replayed it six times.”

“Mom,” Gage says solemnly, “I’ve never been prouder.”