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Which is fine. Obviously.
I grip my phone and stare as messages from people who are dropping everything and flying across the country yet again stream onto my screen.
It’s fine.
Because I’m going to be a Winslow soon.
This is going to be my family soon.
“You okay?” August asks.
I slump and set down my phone. “It’s just so bittersweet.”
“No matter what happens, you are loved.” August knocks her head into mine. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
My chest pinches, so I ignore it in order to perk up instead. “Was that a positive affirmation in regard to my marrying of your very attractive and very wonderful brother?”
August gags. “No. That was a confirmation that I think your parents do love and want what’s best for you, but they’re unbearably stubborn in a way that’s really, lowkey toxic. I think smacking them headfirst like this might be enough to shock their systems into some much-needed self-reflection. If their pride keeps them from participating in your wedding, that’s on them. But, if they do show up—and shut up—long enough for it to matter, they are going to see you spoiled rotten and loved deeply. Which is everything they want for you, in their own way.”
I bite my cheek. “That means a lot.”
“Yep, I bet it does. I bet it even means enough to never ever bring up my brother’s physical appeal again!”
I hum. “I don’t know about that one. Have you seen his freckles?”
“Only every time I look in the mirror. Need I remind you that we’re both covered in them?”
Dreamily, I sigh. “Yeah. He’s covered in kissable little stars. Covered…everywhere.”
August frees a deranged laugh, then deadpans. “You want me dead.”
“No, no, no, no, no.” I shake my head, protesting thoroughly as the front door opens.
A grunt alerts me to my love’s presence, and I attempt a fluid jackknife that results in more of a flailing wobble upright. Wynnter’s attention zeros in on me, then he crosses August’s house, drops to his knees, and claims my mouth.
“Why!” August declares as my back hits the carpet again.
Ignoring my bestie’s writhe, I savor the things she refuses to put in her literature. On all fours around me, Wynnter sighs and breaks the connection, touching his freckled forehead to my freckleless one. “Missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“How’d things go?”
My heart soars. “I picked my dress.”
Wynnter’s eyes heat, and he murmurs a swear. “Yeah, baby? You like it?”
“Mhm.”
“Help,” August says.
Wynnter’s eyes roll, and he gets up, helping me to my feet while simultaneously grabbing a pillow off the couch to lob at his sister’s head. “Grow up.”
“Never,” she hisses, tucking the pillow he threw beneath her head and returning her attention to her laptop. “If you two are going to snog, you should do it in private.”
Wynnter cuddles me. “It’s harder to stop in private.”
August’s face contorts. “Ew, ew, ew—”
