Moving into the McClellans’ apartment proved easier than Griselda had expected. With Maya’s help, the McClellans had arranged for all her belongings to be boxed up and delivered while Griselda was still recovering in the hospital. By the time she arrived at the McClellans’, all of her things had been moved and lovingly unpacked, so the apartment truly felt like home.

Holden had left her early on Monday morning, heading to Baltimore for his appointment with Lieutenant Jones, and sent her a quick text later that day:

I scored 105 on the ASVAB, which means I can do artillery. Will see doc in Aug and be sworn in. (It’s called MEPS.) We should have an acronym too. How about IMYLCILYF?

Knowing that Holden had been worried about the ASVAB test, which measures a potential Marine’s aptitude for certain jobs and weighs heavily in placement, she was relieved he did well and had smiled at her phone from her hospital bed.

I’m so proud of you, but you already know that. What is IMYLCILYF?

A moment later her phone had pinged:

I miss you like crazy. I love you forever.

Her eyes teared up, and she typed back quickly.

IMYLCILYF.

She hadn’t heard from him since, and that was almost a week ago, but they had agreed not to be in regular communication over the next couple of months, while Holden was living with Gemma and Griselda was settling into her new life at the McClellans’. And it had been her decision, which he lovingly respected.

“Gris,” he’d said, nestled together in her hospital bed the night before he left her. “I want to talk about the next few months.”

“I don’t,” she answered, her heart squeezing at the thought of the long separation ahead of them.

“Angel, I won’t be able to see you for about five months. We’ve got to talk about it.”

“Stop,” she said, her pulse quickening and her eyes clenching shut.

“We’ve endured worse, and we’ve survived,” he plowed on, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I hate it,” she said. “I just found you, and now I’m losing you again.”

“You’re not losing me. I’m yours.”

For how long? she wondered. He had two months at home in West Virginia with Gemma. Then swearing in. Then boot camp. So much could happen between then and now.

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Anything,” he said.

The thought of him with Gemma was what bothered Griselda the most. She was the mother of his child, and she was living in his apartment. In extremely close quarters. What if Holden decided—after a few weeks—that he wanted to give her another chance? Griselda couldn’t begrudge his child the chance to have a loving, intact family, but she wouldn’t be able to bear feeling him pull away, an apologetic tone in his writing, his messages coming less and less frequently. It would cycle her into an intense depression when what she needed right now was to get her life back on track with a move, college classes, and a part-time job. She felt an overwhelming need to insulate herself a little, for protection.

She took a deep breath. “Don’t write to me until you go to boot camp.”

“W-what?”

She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Go home and be good to Gemma. Make sure she and the baby are healthy. Get ready for the Marines. And when you get there, if I’m still part of your plan, let me know.”

“Griselda, you are the plan.”

“I . . . I know,” she said, leaning back to look up into his beloved gray eyes. “But please. Don’t write to me while you’re with her.”

“Damn it, Gris, I have no intention of b-being w-with her.”

She didn’t answer, only stared up at him, begging him with her eyes to understand.

“Fine,” he finally relented, his face looking pained. “Fine. On the bus to boot camp, I’ll write my first letter.”

And if I get that letter, she thought, I’ll know our journey to forever has truly begun.

Sitting on the plush, beautiful bed in her new bedroom, she picked up her phone and clicked on the week-old text from him, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She wondered if he thought about her as much as she thought about him, and she wished for the day her phone pinged again with the news that he was headed to boot camp and she was still first in his heart.

Placing the pads of her fingers over the words she’d already read a hundred times, she heard his voice in her head:

I miss you like crazy. I love you forever.

Oh, please, God, she thought, leaning back on her bed as she felt phantom fingers worshipping her body and remembered his warm breath fanning the skin of her neck. Please let it be so.

***

Holden still hadn’t told Gemma about enlisting.

Well, he reasoned, it was hard to tell someone anything when you barely saw her.

He spent as little time at the apartment as possible, going to work early and, since returning from Baltimore, eschewing drinking for working out. Visiting the shitty little boxing gym off Norbert Road every night, he refused to get in the ring and fight, but he worked his body relentlessly. Partially he did this because when he went for his MEPS—his physical examination and swearing in—in August, he wanted to be shipped off to boot camp right away, and he knew he needed to be in top-notch physical shape for the Marines to honor that request. And also because the compulsion to reach out to Griselda was so strong and so hard to combat, it was best if he was bone weary by the end of the day, with no moment to think between his head hitting the pillow and his eyes closing in sleep.

It had been four weeks now since he’d kissed her tenderly, over and over again, before leaving her hospital room and heading to Baltimore to meet with Lieutenant Jones. She had tried not to cry as they said good-bye but lost the battle, and he’d come damn close to losing it too.

“I hate it that we can’t be together yet,” she whispered through tears, her arms around his neck.

“W-we’ve waited this long,” he said in her ear, his voice husky and emotional. Saying good-bye to her would never get easier.

“It feels like we’ve paid our dues. It feels like we deserve to be together.”

“W-we will be. Soon, Gris. W-we’re going to get there.”

He was gentle with her, careful not to hurt her mending ribs as he held her. He knew it was impossible, but how he wished he could have one last time with her naked, soft and willing beneath his hard, demanding body. He’d never stop wanting her like that. Not now. Not when he had memories that seemed so real he’d get hard and break a sweat in the remembering.

“Last chance, angel. You want to change your mind about writing from now to August?” he murmured against her neck.

The thought of not communicating with her for seven or eight weeks made him sick to his stomach. He understood why she didn’t want to hear from him. Would he want to hear from her if she were pregnant with someone else’s baby, living in a one-bedroom apartment with him? He understood why it hurt her, but he hated it that anything in his life should injure the woman he loved. His only goal was to make her happy. Forcing himself to focus on the bigger plan that included a happy forever with Griselda, he felt her shake her head.

“No, Holden. I’ll miss you like crazy, but I think it’s for the best.”

The best? The best would be staying in touch over the next two lonely months. Damn it. She couldn’t see that?

“Can’t you trust me? D-don’t you know how much I love you? It doesn’t matter if Gemma’s sleeping in my bed—I’ll be on the couch. I’m not touching anyone until I touch you again.”

She searched his eyes, beseeching him to understand before looking away.

“Okay,” he said gently, cupping her cheeks and tenderly kissing her lips. “I’ll send you a text when I’m headed to boot camp.”

“And a letter right after,” she added quickly.

“I promise,” he said, kissing her more urgently, the early morning sun flooding her hospital room and telling him it was time to go.

How he’d managed to walk away, he wasn’t sure. And he’d broken his promise to her that day, texting her from Baltimore, because he figured he wasn’t back home with Gemma yet. But he’d respected her wishes since then.

Holden punched the bag 198, 199, 200 times, then lowered his fists, backing up to a bench, where his water bottle sat waiting.

“How’s Gemma doing?” asked Clinton, sidling over to sit beside Holden on the bench. Clinton often joined him at the gym after work, and even though they didn’t necessarily work out together, Holden appreciated the company.

He turned to his friend and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I think you’d know better than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Clinton, an edge in his voice.

“That you’re close to her. You two text each other more than she and I talk.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” said Holden. “You’ve been in the picture a lot longer than me.”

“You going with her to the ultrasound appointment next week?”

“Yeah,” said Holden, taking a deep breath.

Gemma had left him a note last night where he generally left her money on the kitchen table. She was having her twenty-week ultrasound first thing Monday morning and had invited him to join her. Holden had read up online, and his heart leaped a little when he discovered that if the baby was in the right position, they could find out if was a boy or a girl. His son or daughter. He couldn’t wait to see him or her for the first time.

But the saddest thing about Gemma’s invitation was that the only person Holden had wanted to call was Griselda—to talk to her, to share his hopes for a healthy baby, and talk about possible names. Whether she realized it or not, he and Gemma were long past the point of reconciliation. At this point, they were two forced halves of a team, and Holden intended to do his share of the work. He paid her bills while she incubated his child. He respected her demand that Griselda not be a part of his life for now. He stayed out of her way, and, since the morning she’d made him breakfast and he left, she stayed out of his. It wasn’t the ideal scenario for bringing a child into the world, but it was strangely bearable, especially since he knew he was leaving soon.

“She’s excited to find out if it’s a boy or a girl,” said Clinton.

“Where’re you going with all this?” asked Holden, suddenly feeling a little irritated, like Clinton was trying to guilt him into feeling more for Gemma than he did.

Clinton shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel bad about it. I feel bad for the baby because his parents fucking hate each other. I feel bad for Gem because she wants what she can’t have. I feel bad about your girl in D.C. because Gem’s forcing you two to stay apart. I just . . . feel bad.”

“I don’t hate Gemma,” said Holden quietly, surprised to discover it was true. “I just want someone else.”

“But you’re living with her. You’re the father of her baby. I shouldn’t say anything, but I know she still hopes that you two—”

“It’s never, ever going to happen,” said Holden.

“Maybe you should tell her that,” said Clinton softly.

“I fucking did. And you were there. And she said she’d k-kill our f-fucking kid.”

“She was confused. And hurt. And angry with you.”

“Yeah, well. She seemed pretty serious to me.”

“Yeah, I guess she did.” Clinton sighed. “What a fucking mess.”

The next words tumbled from Holden’s mouth without a warning and shocked the hell out of him. “I’m leaving, Clinton.”

“What?” Clinton turned to Holden with narrowed eyes. “She’s pregnant with your kid and you’re leaving her? You promised—”

“Calm the fuck down. I promised I wouldn’t be with Gris, and I’m not. Having a kid is expensive, Clinton. I’m enlisting.”

Clinton’s jaw dropped. “What? What the f—? When? You’re going into the service? When did this happen?”

“I met a Marine when I was down in Maryland at the hospital with Gris. We got to talking, and I just . . . you know, I want to provide for my kid. I want him—or her—to be proud of me. I don’t want to work at the fucking glass factory my whole life.”

“What’s wrong with the glass factory?” asked Clinton.

“Nothing. You’ve lived here all your life. You’ll probably make assistant manager one day. Me? I’m just passing through. Muscle and grunt work. I don’t want it forever. I want more.”

“So you’re enlisting,” said Clinton.

“Yeah. Already took the entrance exam. Did okay too. Heading back down to Baltimore in three and a half weeks for my physical, and if all goes well, I’ll be shipped off to boot.”

“Hell,” said Clinton, a fast-growing admiration in his eyes. “You’re serious. Enlisting. You’re going to be a goddamned Marine, Seth . . . er, Holden.”

Because Quint had served in the Army, Holden knew that Clinton had a huge respect for military service, and Holden grinned at the reverent tone in his friend’s voice.

“Oo-rah,” said Holden softly.

“Damn, Holden. Good for you. That’s . . . that’s really great. Yeah.” He paused. “But what about Gem?”

“I’ll be sending my checks to her to help out with the baby. I’ll come home after boot and see them. And come on, Clinton, let’s just be honest here. I think we both know she won’t be alone by then. Not if you play your cards right.”

Clinton’s cheeks flushed, and he turned away, nodding slowly, looking out at the dilapidated gym, where a few guys were still working out. Finally he whispered, “I love her, Holden.”

“I know. Why don’t you fucking do something about it?”

Clinton’s head whipped up, and his eyes met Holden’s, searching them, wavering somewhere between hope and caution. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Hell, no.”

“It’s . . . okay with you?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Holden, taking a sip of water. “Make her happy. Fuck knows I can’t.”

“But your kid?”

“Will always be my k-kid,” he said tightly. A moment later he relaxed, nudging his friend in the side. “But if my kid’s going to grow up with some other guy in the picture, I know I’d want him to be you.”

Clinton grinned at Holden, then looked back out at the gym. “If she’ll have me, I promise I’ll love that kid, Holden. I promise you. Won’t treat it no different even if me and Gem have more.”

Holden nodded, something aching inside him as he realized that his child would likely grow up knowing Clinton better than him. But he’d still be the child’s father, and he’d still know that once upon a time he’d broken his own heart to bring that child into the world. He’d changed the entire course of his life. He would never tell his child the threats Gemma had made, but he’d always know that he alone had stood between his child’s life and death. Him . . . and Gris. And no one could ever take that away from them.

“When are you telling Gem?” asked Clinton.

“After the ultrasound,” said Holden. He took another swig from his water bottle. “She’s going to be p-pissed.”

“It’ll hurt her. But she’ll come around.”

In the pocket of his gym shorts, Holden’s phone buzzed.

“I’m gonna head out,” said Clinton. He stood and placed his hand on Holden’s shoulder. “Good, uh . . . good talk.”

Holden bobbed his chin at Clinton and watched him walk away before swiping the screen on his phone, his breath catching with a simultaneous burst of love and fear when the alert said he had a new text from Griselda. Was she okay? Was everything okay?

As his heart quickened, he tapped on the messaging icon.

Only there was nothing to read—just a picture she’d sent. On the delicate, white underskin of her wrist, the letters “H+G” had been tattooed.

He stared at the small picture, happiness making him warm, longing making him ache, his breath catching and heart pounding.

A moment later, another text appeared under the picture:

Keep your fingers over the letters.

IMYLCILYF.

***

Griselda knew she wasn’t supposed to text him. Hell, she’d been the one who asked him not to contact her, but something inside her had overruled that agreement just this once. She needed him to know that, in spite of the long month since they’d held each other, her love for him was as real as ever. She’d marked her body to prove that her love for him was undying.

Her heart thundered as she stared at the screen. It had been a risk to text him, of course. He might not write back because she’d asked him not to. He might not write back because Gemma was sitting next to him, or because he and Gemma had gotten closer. Glancing at her phone every five seconds, she stood in the upstairs hallway of the McClellans’ house while Prudence sang nursery rhymes in the bathtub. Sabrina and Roy were at an embassy event tonight, and Griselda was only too happy to babysit for them.

With sweaty hands she slipped the phone back into her pocket just as it buzzed. She fished it out again so fast she almost dropped it.

I love it.

I love you, angel.

IMYLCILYF.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned against the upstairs hallway wall. She let the marvelous feeling of connecting with her love infuse her body. Her innermost muscles clenched with longing, remembering the feeling of him buried deep inside her, the touch of his lips, his fingers, his body moving against hers. Her breathing became shallow and quick, and her heart throbbed. She missed him every moment of every day. Oh God, how she missed him.

“Zelda?”

Griselda’s eyes snapped open, and she peeked into the bathroom at her sudsy charge.

“Your face is all red,” Prudence said.

Griselda knew her smile must be blinding because Prudence looked surprised, then returned it, her eyes lighting up in excitement.

“You look like the happiest girl,” said Prudence, her toothless, uneven smile making Griselda laugh softly.

I feel like the happiest girl, thought Griselda. Right here, right now, for one small second, I am the happiest girl.

He still loves me.

He misses me like crazy.

He loves me forever.

“What do you need, Pru?”

“Can we watch Tangled after my bath?”

She chuckled because it had become her and Pru’s favorite movie that summer. For Griselda, it had come to mean much more than just a children’s cartoon. It was the unlikely pairing of two kindred spirits who fall in love, who change in order to be together, who almost die so the other can live, who finally secure their happily-ever-after. They shouldn’t find each other. They shouldn’t end up together. It shouldn’t all work out, but it does, and Griselda loved it.

“Of course,” she said, helping Prudence out of the tub and drying her off with a warm, fluffy towel. “Hurry up and get your jammies on. I’ll make us some popcorn.”

As she popped two bags of microwave popcorn, Griselda’s eyes lingered on the brochure from the University of the District of Columbia that Sabrina had affixed to the refrigerator. Griselda grinned, proud that she would be going there in September. She had filled out her application with Sabrina’s help, and just yesterday had been accepted into the College of Arts and Sciences. To celebrate, Maya had taken her out last night for a glass of champagne and to get the “H+G” tattoo on her wrist.

To distract her from the needles, Maya had, well, needled her.

“Girl, for the record, I think this code of silence is crazy.”

“I miss him so much, Maya,” she said, wincing as the little needles punctured her skin. “But I don’t want to influence him one way or another. If he wants to be with me, I’ll get that letter in a few weeks. If not, I’ll just have to move on with my life.”

“And you’ll be okay with that?”

“If he wanted to give his baby a family with a mother and father?” She took a deep breath, her heart hurting. “I won’t say it wouldn’t hurt. It would. Badly. But if that’s what he wants, that’s what I want for him.”

“I’d fight for him.”

“Come on, Maya. What would you have given to have your mama and daddy happy together? I can’t take that away from someone else.”

“You mean the baby.”

“Yeah,” she said, unable to keep the sadness she felt out of her voice. “If Holden and Gemma want to give their baby a family? I won’t stand in their way.”

“And you were also the one who insisted on leaving so Gemma wouldn’t abort it.” Maya shook her head. “You’re too good, Griselda Schroeder.”

“No,” she argued. “I’m not so good. But I know how it feels not to have a family. I wouldn’t wish that on any kid.”

“So part of you hopes he stays with Gemma?”

“No!” she said. “No. I can’t lie. I hope he writes to me. I hope he chooses me. You see? I’m not such a good person, Maya.”

“Yeah, you are. Most girls? They wouldn’t give a shit about some other woman’s baby. And they wouldn’t give him the space to figure out what he wants.”

The needle stung like hell, and her skin felt so hot, like sunburn. And this was just a small, quarter-size tattoo. Griselda winced, thinking about the huge tattoo on Holden’s chest, the angel wings that spanned his whole body. How had he borne the pain? The answer came quickly: Because it had been nothing next to the pain of losing her.

“I just want to be sure he doesn’t ever regret being with me.” She sighed. “It was really emotional seeing each other again, and we sort of jumped into a . . .” She blushed. “An intense relationship. I think we need a little time to be sure it’s what we want.”

“You need time?” asked Maya, raising her eyebrows.

“Maybe a little,” Griselda confessed. “I hate being away from him, but I think that’s good. It tells me this is real. It tells me it isn’t all about impulse and sex. It’s . . .” She shrugged. “It’s real. It’s what I want.”

Maya looked impressed. “Look at you, being all wise and shit. My little girl’s growing up.”

“It hurts to be apart,” said Griselda, laughing softly at her friend, “but it’s not all bad.”

“Oh, no? Most days it looks like it sucks.”

“Give me some credit! I got rid of Jonah. I’m enrolled in college. I’m taking help from people,” she said, giving Maya a pointed look. “You’re right. I’m . . . I’m growing, I guess. But all of that happened because of Holden. He was the . . . spark.”

“That started a fire,” teased Maya, thrusting her hips suggestively. The tattoo artist stopped what he was doing and stared at her. “I’m taken,” she said, giving him a look. “So while you’re doing all this growing, what about Holden?”

“He’s growing too. He’s going into the Marines. He’s not going to keep fighting other men in a field or working somewhere he hates. He’s got a plan, a purpose. Direction. You should have seen his face when he told me about it. And you know what? All of that happened because of me. You see, right? We’re good for each other.”

“I see,” said Maya.

The tattoo artist slathered his work in Vaseline and told Griselda to stay seated for a few more minutes while he wrote up her bill and found a sheet of instructions for tattoo care.

“When will you see him again?” Maya asked.

“If everything goes according to plan? November.”

“Thanksgiving,” said Maya, grinning back at her friend.

Thanksgiving.

Her longing and anticipation for her future—for their future—made her heart race as she waited for the tattoo artist to return with her bill. She’d have so much to be thankful for this year. If he chose her. If he chose them.

Prudence bounded down the stairs just as Griselda poured the popcorn into two bowls. She then filled two sippy cups of lemonade since Sabrina didn’t allow Prudence to have an open cup in the media room.

As the movie started, Prudence snuggled against Griselda on the couch, and Griselda dropped her eyes to the tattoo on her wrist, thinking,

Keep your fingers over the letters, Holden.

I will too.

***

It was a girl. He was having a daughter.

What an awesome sight to see her there on the screen, the outline of her body and the bubbles that rose from her mouth as she bobbed around inside Gemma. He’d seen her skull, her spine, her legs and feet, heard her little heart thumping, galloping like a race horse. She was a living miracle, and she was his.

He and Gemma hadn’t said much to each other in the way to the clinic, or in the waiting room, but as the technician turned up the sound on the monitor, Gemma grabbed his hand, and he squeezed it, grinning down at her. Whatever differences they had, this little baby belonged to both of them, and Holden already loved her.

In the truck on the way home, Gemma looked at the pictures they’d been given, and turned to Holden with a smile.

“I’ve been thinking of names,” she said. “What do you think of Karisma?”

Not much, thought Holden, saying nothing.

“Or Destiny? Or Jasmine?”

Holden swallowed, fighting the urge to tell her that he didn’t like any one of those names.

Gemma sighed loudly, obviously annoyed with him. “Clinton likes Hannah.”

“‘Hannah’s good,” said Holden.

“Yeah?” asked Gemma, placing her hands over her belly. “What do you think, l’il one? You like Hannah? You want to be named by yer Uncle Clinton?”

“Uncle Clinton?”

“It’s what he calls himself. I don’t have no sisters and brothers, and neither do you, so we may’s well take family where we can find it.”

“Hannah what?”

“Hannah West?” asked Gemma.

“My real last name’s C-Croft.”

Gemma shrugged. “Okay. Hannah Croft.”

Hannah Croft. Hannah Croft. The name was so magical, so amazing, he almost felt like laughing.

Gris, I’m having a baby girl, and her name is Hannah. Hannah Croft.

“So, uh, maybe we could try a little harder? For Hannah?” asked Gemma, reaching over to place her hand on Holden’s thigh. “We could be a real family, Seth—um, Holden. We could get a place, raise her together . . . maybe even get mar—”

“Stop,” said Holden, pulling into the parking lot of the city park with a screech and gently taking her hand off his thigh. He faced her, keeping his voice gentle. “No, Gem.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “I made you happy once. At least a little happy. You let me stick around!”

“You deserve better than someone who lets you stick around. You deserve to be loved.”

“Then love me!” she said with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I did that terrible thing, saying I was gonna have an abortion. I never woulda done it. I was so mad at you. I was hurt, and I wanted to hurt you. Whenever you were drunk, you’d talk about havin’ kids one day, and I just thought . . . I thought . . .”

Wait. What? It all came together in a rush, as Holden held his breath, staring back at her in shock.

“You did this on p-purpose,” he said, his voice low and bewildered in his ears. “W-we didn’t forget to use a condom . . .”

Her cheeks flared with color, and she shrugged slowly, in defeat. “I wanted you to love me. I thought . . .” Her words trailed off, her expression miserable. “Before I put it on you, I poked holes in it so it’d break.”

Holden nodded, surprised that he didn’t feel angry with her. He just felt sorry—terribly, awfully sorry for her that she was so lonely for someone to love and to love her back that she’d tried to trap him.

“I’m leaving, Gemma,” he said gently.

The tears in her eyes slipped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You don’t have to leave! I’ll leave. I’ll go back to my mama’s house, and I’ll—”

“Gem,” he said, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay.” He held her hand, looking down at the black-and-white picture of his daughter. “I’m not leaving because of what you just told me. I’m enlisting. It’s been in the works since June.”

She gasped, sucking in a ragged breath of surprise. “The military?”

“Marine Corps.”

“Oh,” she sighed, sniffling. “Yer leaving?”

“Yeah,” he said. “In a couple of weeks. But I’ll send home a steady paycheck for you and Hannah. I can offer her great benefits. Health care. Education. She’ll never want for anything, Gem. I’ll be sure of it. You either. I’ll take care of both of you.”

She sniffled again, tilting her head to the side. “The Marines. That’s . . . well, that’s good, Holden. That’s something. Good for you. Hannah’ll proud of her daddy for serving.” Suddenly Gemma’s lips lifted into a smile, and she gasped lightly. “She kicked!” She laughed, looking up at Holden. “You want to feel her?”

He glanced down at her belly, nodding. She guided his hand to her rounded, swollen stomach, flattening it over the yellow T-shirt she wore.

“Just wait,” she whispered.

A moment later, his tiny daughter kicked her foot into his hand. He looked up at Gemma in amazement. “Oh, Gem! Oh, wow! She’s really in there!”

Gemma smiled back at him, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand and nodding. “I’m sorry, Holden. I’m sorry I did this to you.”

Hannah kicked again, and Holden looked up at her mother’s teary face. “I’m not.”

“Someday . . .  you think we could at least be friends?” asked Gemma.

Holden smiled at her and nodded, removing his hand and starting the truck again. “Friends. Yeah. I think so.”

***

“Sure you won’t come with us?” asked Sabrina, sitting on Pru’s bed and watching as Griselda packed her daughter’s suitcase for the McClellans’ annual August vacation on Cape Cod.

“Thanks, Sabrina, but not this year. School starts in a week. I think I better go over that syllabus again, buy the books, supplies . . . you know.”

“College girl,” said Sabrina, grinning. “I’m proud of you, Zelda. So proud.”

Griselda’s cheeks flushed as she glanced at her boss before heading to Prudence’s closet to find her favorite flip-flops. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Have you been writing stories this summer?”

She had been. Inspired by Tangled, she’d stayed busy, writing her own fairytales a little bit every night, and filling up four composition notebooks on her shelf.

“I have. I promised . . .”

“Holden?” asked Sabrina.

Griselda nodded, tucking the flip-flops into the suitcase pocket.

“How is he?”

Griselda shrugged. “Good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Griselda tugged her bottom lip into her mouth. “We decided not to talk until he headed to boot camp.”

Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “That must be hard.”

“It is,” said Griselda.

And now was the worst of it. Every minute, every hour, of every day, she hoped for a message from him—something, anything to let her know that he was on his way to boot camp and she was still first in his heart. It had been weeks since she’d texted him with the picture of her tattoo. Weeks without a word. Was he still hers? Did he still miss her like crazy and love her forever?

“When does boot camp start?”

“Any day now, I suppose.”

“Aha. You know, I could have Roy find out if he’s—”

“No,” said Griselda, looking up to seize Sabrina’s eyes. “You’re so good to me. But no. If he enlists and wants to let me know, he’ll be in touch.”

“You have a lot of strength.”

Smart and strong. Strong and smart. She was doing her best to be both, to live both.

“How’s Maya? She hasn’t been by lately.”

“She’s good. She’s an awfully good friend to me.”

“She is,” said Sabrina. “I like her very much.”

Griselda grabbed Pru’s favorite bunny, Nermal, off her bed and put him in the center of the suitcase before zipping it closed. “I think that’s everything.”

Sabrina sighed. “Car should be here any minute. Guess I’ll go get my purse.”

Griselda picked up the suitcase and started down the stairs just as the doorbell rang, no doubt the car service driver, ready to take the McClellans to the airport.

“I’ll get it!” she called to Sabrina.

Setting Pru’s suitcase next to the other bags in the front foyer, she opened the front door. But it wasn’t the limo driver. She gasped, hurtling herself into Holden Croft’s muscular arms.