I lean back in my desk chair and sigh. My coffee is cold, and I skipped breakfast due to an urgent call from Catherine.

My phone buzzes beside me with a new text.

A picture appears of her with baby spit-up down her front, baby Eli in her arms.

I laugh.

I stare at my computer screen, reading the title of my next blog entry for Tales of Being Single.

“You look focused.”

I glance up to discover Levi leaning against my doorjamb. His bright-blue eyes roam over my face, stopping on my eyes.

“I was just finishing my final blog post.”

Levi pulls his chin back. “How’s it going?”

I shake my head. “It feels too much like the pages of a self-help book. I don’t want for it to be that. I’m trying to be the opposite of that.”

He chuckles, pushing away from the wall and walking toward my desk. He stops and sits in the chair across from me. “You don’t have to end it. You could continue it.”

“Change the name to Tales of Being Engaged?”

He flashes his smile, making my heart hiccup. “That does have a nice ring to it. Pun intended.”

I lean back in my chair, laughing.

“But you’d have to change the name in another couple of months to Tales of Being Married, so maybe you should just call it Tales of Being Brooke?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s done. It feels right to be ending it. The blog helped hold me accountable and focus on doing things, but I don’t need that anymore. I haven’t for a while.”

Levi sits back, kicking one ankle over the other. “You could always start another one. Talk about wedding planning and the process of becoming the owner of a business.”

I shrug.

“You don’t have to have an answer tonight,” he says. “But we do have to get going. I’ve been inundated with texts from Felicity confirming we’re bringing food tonight.”

“Aren’t you sweet to say ‘we’ instead of ‘you.’” I lock my computer and reach for my purse.

“Technically, the food arrives with you,” Levi says, standing as I round my desk.

I thread my arm around his waist and place my left hand on his chest, leaning close to kiss him. “I like technicalities.”

He takes my left hand in his as our lips meet, clearing all my thoughts of this day and the blog and impending wedding plans.

He covers the solitaire on my left ring finger with his thumb, shifting it from side to side. “How many more days till I get to call you my wife?”

“Forty-two.”

“If we’re an hour late, will she really notice? I mean, she’s got three kids now. She probably wouldn’t notice if the house was on fire.”

“We’re talking food here,” I remind him.

Levi runs a path with the tip on his nose from my neck to my ear, where he catches my lobe between his teeth. “Forty minutes?”

My phone pings from my desk. It pings again. Then my desk phone rings.

“Is that her or my mother?”

I shake my head. “I never realized how similar their stalking habits are.”

Levi chuckles, his hold on my hand and waist tightening as his lips graze my neck. “Thirty minutes.”

My phone rings again.

“She won’t stop until you feed her. She knows you made a lasagna.”

Levi steps away from me, closing my office door with a quiet click before locking the door. My office didn’t originally come with a lock. That, like many things in my life, is something that he altered. He said it was so I could keep his mother out, but I’ve come to appreciate Catherine’s random stops in my office that she doesn’t work so hard to camouflage as a work excuse and more as a time to sit and talk to each other. She can still be abrupt and even rude, but that’s to be expected. It would likely be eerie if she were to be completely civil. Instead, the lock is used for when Levi stops by early or late and most of the staff has gone home, and he flashes that dimple at me and listens to how my day was. Sometimes it’s used for when he drops off food. And other times it’s used when he shows up and tells me I’m beautiful and he's been having naughty thoughts about me all day. “You’re wearing my favorite dress.” He saunters closer to me, his eyes dark with intention.

I laugh. “You used that line last week.”

He smiles. “A man can have more than one favorite.” His hand slides along my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress up.

“Next, you’re probably going to try a line like telling me my eyes are beautiful or that you lost your number and need mine.”

“Actually, I was going to ask you for a quarter because I need to call my mom and tell her I met the girl of my dreams.”

A laugh bursts through my lips. “Still sticking with the classics.”

Levi drops his next hand to my other thigh, lifting my dress even higher. “Twenty minutes. That’s all I need to get you off, and then when we get home, I’ll show you that mirror in your pocket that shows me in your pants.”

I laugh harder. “That’s the worst pickup line ever.”

He chuckles. The sound is low and throaty as his fingers skim higher on the back of my thighs, lifting the skirt of my dress up to my waist. “That’s only because I’m distracted. Dirty thoughts have taken over, and all I want to do is tell you to bend over your desk.” He grips my backside with both hands, burying his face in my neck. “I need you.” He pulls me closer so our chests are pressed together. “I need to hear you scream my name. I need to hear you moan. I need to see you get off.”

My heart rate triples in speed, desire heating my belly as I stare up at my fiancé. “I’ll tell her I got stuck on a call.”

The ghost of a smile passes over his lips, and then he’s kissing me. One of his hands braces my neck while the other slides into my panties.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses. “I’m always going to need you.” He kisses me deeply. Greedily. “You’re my goddamn air, Brooke.”

I know what he means. Know how his presence makes it easier to breathe. Easier to just be.

He dips a finger inside of me and steals what’s left of my strength with another kiss, and I’m spiraling. I forget about time and responsibilities … and focus only on now and Levi.

“Tell me again.”

Felicity stops straightening my gown, her gaze meeting mine. “You don’t need me to tell you again. You know weddings better than anyone.”

I shake my head. “I know how to plan weddings.”

She sighs, her chin falling back with exasperation. “Don’t lock your knees. Breathe from your belly. Smile. Right, together, left, together…”

As she lists the reminders again, I peek around the corner, catching sight of a flood of people seated in chairs. “God, there’s so many people here. Who are they all? I don’t know this many people.”

“Your new mother-in-law does.” She smooths a piece of hair I keep trying to brush away. “Leave your hair alone. It’s perfect.”

“It feels weird. Too tight. Too crunchy.”

She laughs. “It doesn’t look either.”

Serena leans closer, her bouquet of white hydrangeas grasped tightly in her hand, hiding the beautiful blue satin ribbon that wraps the stems and the pearl pins that fall in a perfect horizontal line. “The limo’s going to be late. It broke down, and there’s an accident…” She pauses when I don’t react.

Soon after my birthday, I returned to Glitter and Gold, where I negotiated a healthy salary increase as well as changing my duties so that I only plan weddings, with a few minor exceptions that include things for close friends and family, including the bike repair shop my brother decided was his new passion and the doughnut shop Jerry and Levi opened together. It’s Levi’s first restaurant. The idea to open it had taken me by surprise, but then again, most things that involve Levi do.

I also implemented new policies at Glitter and Gold to streamline processes and improve employee satisfaction, and now, eighteen months later, we have a full staff of eleven, and our attrition rate is at an all-time low. I know their names and what doughnuts they love. I even go to yoga with a couple, and Serena and I go to lunch together most days. She’s still a bit scatterbrained, but she’s kind and generous, and before I’d stopped isolating myself to the four walls of my office, she began infiltrating my time and creating a space on my calendar, requesting I mentor her. I didn’t expect to become friends, but I also never expected to fall in love with my boss’s son.

Slowly, I’m learning expectations are the killers of creativity, time, and hope. They set you to focus on what is coming rather than being present, and though it’s far outside of my comfort zone, I’ve slowly learned to lower and rid many that I’ve had.

“Does your scalp always hurt?” I ask, lifting a hand to the crown of my head where Serena spent the better part of an hour teasing my hair to give it what she called “the right lift.”

She shakes her head.

“What?”

She shakes her head once more. “Do you want me to call someone else?”

I shrug. “We could always take an Uber.”

Serena’s eyes narrow, but before she can say anything, Catherine appears. Her eyes are bright, sharp enough to cause physical pain—she’s upset. “There’s an issue with the cake.” She purses her lips.

Felicity grasps my arm in attempt to offer her support before Catherine continues.

“Apparently, they had the wrong address.”

“That’s okay. We still have the doughnut cake.”

Catherine’s eyes grow round. “I thought we agreed doughnuts aren’t a wedding food. They certainly don’t replace a wedding cake.”

I don’t mention that “we” translates to “she” and that she also decided I was getting married indoors, which also isn’t happening.

“It’s okay.”

The three of them stare at me and then at each other.

“It’s okay,” I say again. “It doesn’t matter. This is a good omen.”

Catherine places a hand to her forehead as though my words have brought on an instantaneous migraine. “You say that now, but—”

“It’s how things work. It’s the balance.”

“Oh God,” Felicity places a hand on her face as well. “This isn’t yoga class; it’s your wedding.”

“When I met Levi, things went great, and then turmoil set in. If my wedding has turmoil, our marriage will be bliss.”

Felicity slides her hand down to her neck, which she stretches in attempt to gain patience. I know because I lived with her for over a year, and while I’d thought I knew everything about my best friend, I discovered I didn’t.

“Everything is done. No one is going to notice if the chair covers are off, or if the ribbon isn’t perfect, or if the cake doesn’t arrive. The only people who know these details are us, and no one will even care.”

“You’re being entirely too calm,” Felicity says. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and be upset that we didn’t do everything to make this day perfect.”

I stare at her for a moment, finding traces of our childhood and more recent memories in her familiar gaze.

“You’re sure?” she asks again.

“Positive.”

She nods. “Let’s go.”

Catherine fiddles with an earring, obviously torn on how to proceed. I understand. It’s difficult to always strive for perfection and then accept that sometimes perfection isn’t what we’d originally thought it was. Sometimes perfection is what we didn’t see. What we didn’t know. Sometimes perfection is the fallback.

Slowly, she nods. “Okay. Let’s go.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Doughnuts,” she mutters. “I still get Christmas Day.”

“And I get Christmas Eve and Thanksgiving.”

She juts her chin forward. “Thanksgiving?” Shock coats her voice.

“It’ll be easier for Levi since he’ll be cooking.”

She pulls in a deep breath. “You look beautiful. I’m only conceding because if I stand here much longer, I might get teary, and then someone might think I’m actually kind and try asking for favors.” She straightens, running her perfectly polished nails down her sides. “But we discuss Thanksgiving when you get back from your honeymoon.” She moves to where an usher is waiting to take her to her seat.

“The more I’m around her, the more I understand your original reluctance to date Levi,” Felicity says.

My laughter twines with hers.

The music begins, setting my heart into a drumroll. I grip Felicity’s hand, my bouquet suddenly heavy at my side.

She squeezes my fingers. “I love you, Books.”

I squeeze hers even tighter. “I love you.”

Gemma and Theo appear. She has a small wicker basket around her wrist, and Theo is balancing a pillow with a fake ring after last night’s fiasco, which involved Jerry and Levi wading through a nearby pond when my wedding ring fell in after Theo chased the ducks.

Then Serena disappears, and then Felicity, leaving me to remind myself to breathe and remain calm.

The music plays slowly, the processional both entirely too slow and too fast.

The song changes to Canon in D Major by Johann Pachelbel, and Julia, the wedding planner at Glitter and Gold who has been leading my wedding plans, ushers me forward with a wave of her hand. She straightens my veil and smiles. “Your turn.”

I take a deep breath and step forward, walking out of the small building where the bridal party got ready. Everyone is standing, their heads turned toward me. Flashes go off among the sea of smiling faces, and some gasp; others cry. I spot my brother in the front beside Grammy and then see Dan holding baby Elijah, and Catherine, and others who have come to share this moment with us.

Then I stop working to recognize faces and move my attention to the front, where my entire world stands in a black tux, waiting for me.

Levi.

My heart settles, and my breaths even.

This is it.

This is my forever.

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I shove another box into my backseat, using more force than necessary as I hear Steven approaching, whistling some happy show tune. His dress shoes slap against the pavement of my parents’ driveway as he ascends toward the house. I don’t need to look up to confirm that it’s him. The whistling is a dead giveaway.

I’ve never put much thought into whether or not I care for the sound of whistling. However, I now know I loathe it. At least these days I do. Which causes me to briefly ponder if it has always grated on my nerves or if it’s just one more thing life is ruining for me.

Glancing over the hood of my car I catch sight of him, and my eyes turn icy, glaring at his short, stocky stature. He doesn’t ever seem to mind my moody attitude or death glares, and today is no different. He smiles and gives me a slight head nod, causing a brief break in his stupid song that he continues to whistle as he makes his way past me, infuriating me all the more.  I’m sure he’s relieved to see me going, and the revelation almost makes me want to defiantly rip the same box I’ve just loaded back out and stick around—almost.

My jaw clenches as the sudden impulse to hit Steven courses through every cell of my body. I want him to feel just a small taste of the pain that I’m feeling, like life has shredded every single one of his nerve endings, exposing them to every callous element that life can offer, reminding him that the pain can indeed always get worse.

The need overwhelms me and I have to consciously fight to keep myself from going after him. I’ve never been prone to acts of violence. In fact, I’m opposed to them, finding them both barbaric and unnecessary, yet every muscle in my body strains with the desire for my fist to connect with the cocky smirk he wears like an old suit that doesn’t fit quite right. I want him to go away and leave my family alone. He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t one of us. Yet he struts around like he’s been here every day of the last twenty years of my life.

Surely Kendall and Abby understand this hatred I feel, maybe even Kyle does. They know me better than most. Or at least they used to.

No one seems to understand me these days though. They don’t understand I just need some space. I need to get out of here.

I don’t belong here.

Not anymore.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. My quiet strides are the only sounds this morning aside from the music pouring softly through my earbuds. Along with the exertion of my muscles, it makes me feel nearly euphoric. Some people meditate to find peace and tranquility, me—I run.

Rounding the corner, I take a deep breath of the already warm Southern California air and focus on a growing shadow. Slowing my pace, I look up and see a guy in his early twenties, standing around six feet, with sandy blond hair sticking out in an organized disarray. His black mesh shorts and bright green cut-off T-shirt reveal toned muscles. He’s looking at me and talking, but my music’s too loud to make out his words.

I’m careful to maintain a ten-foot gap between us before I pull an earbud free and roll it between my fingers. “Sorry?” I ask, noticing his raised brows over eyes which are the very definition of hazel with dark blue edges that lighten to green and darken to a soft amber.

His grin spreads into a smile. “I said you must be Ace.”

I look him over again. I was away all of last year for college, but returned home nearly every weekend.

Nothing about him is familiar.

“Must be?” I wish I’d brought my family’s Newfoundland, Zeus, with me—not that he’d do anything more than possibly lick this guy to death. Still, his one hundred and seventy-five pounds usually serves as a deterrent to most.

His smile grows wider, pronouncing a small, jagged scar running from the edge of his bottom lip and stopping midway to his chin.

He doesn’t exactly scream axe murderer, but I’m guessing most don’t.

He takes a step closer and I quickly look around the empty park.

“Sorry, my name’s Jameson. Jameson West…” he says, sensing my unease. “Sharon told me about you girls. You’re a Bosse, right? One of the five sisters?” Rounded hazel eyes await my confirmation.

I stare at him, waiting for what always comes when it’s brought up that I’m one of five—the same trademark comments and questions. Had they been trying for a son? No. Do you girls fight all the time? Not really. Do you all look alike? We don’t, other than having our mother’s blonde hair and being built fairly similarly.

The questions don’t come. Instead, awkwardness taints the air between us as I wonder how he knows Sharon.

“She said you’re all blonde,” he adds, breaking the silence and lifting a hand to his own hair, as if translating the words for me. “That’s what gave you away.”

Sharon’s our next door neighbor and my mom’s best friend. She and her three sons have lived beside us for a decade. She also works at Saint Andrews Hospital with my father where they’re both thoracic surgeons. Sharon specializes with lungs, and my father, the heart. She and my dad have shared a close professional relationship for years, but my mom and Sharon didn’t become friends until the last few years when her youngest son, Max, moved away.

They started a book club and began playing Bunco with a group of women, which evolved into spending most of their free time together with a bottle of wine … or two, accompanied by lots of giggling and gossiping. The reality that we never really outgrow this behavior both relieves and concerns me greatly.

Raising my eyebrows, questions of what Sharon’s told him run through my mind. “At least half of Southern California is blonde.”

His smile turns playful. “Mr. Janes also mentioned you’d be down here when I passed his house on my way down. Told me I should watch out for you because it’s not safe to be running alone.” He turns his head, making a point of looking around the empty field.

Does he know all my neighbors?

“I’m Max’s friend.” Jameson takes another step, bridging what’s becoming a very small gap between us, and extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, noting how rough and callused his palm is. “Are you visiting Sharon alone?”

His eyes widen. “No,” he answers automatically. His ivory cheeks color with a faint blush as he shakes his head, keeping his smile in place. “No. I transferred down here with Max from the University of Alaska. We’re here for the summer until school starts.”

This surprises me. True, it’s my first full day back home after visiting my grandparents with my dad and sister, Kendall, in France for the past two weeks, but I’m shocked my mom didn’t mention Max returning. It isn’t like her at all.

“I met your mom yesterday. She mentioned you and your sister … Kylie?” His forehead creases, lacking confidence.

“Kendall.”

Jameson’s lips quirk in an apologetic grin as he nods. “Kendall. That’s right. She said you two would be able to show us around since so much has changed in the past couple of years.” The brightness of his eyes tells me he’s teasing, but I’m certain his words hold truth. My mother is a southern debutante, born and raised in the great state of Texas—a nationality in of itself in her book. Being hospitable and polite is ingrained so deeply in her, she isn’t always aware of boundaries.

“Yeah, absolutely. We’d be happy to help in any way we can.” It’s also ingrained in us girls.

Thanks, Mom.

He motions to the track with a nod. “Mind if I run with you?”

“Sure,” I reply on instinct, even though I do mind. Running is something I prefer to do alone or with Zeus.

My music remains off as we set off at a slow jog. After a few laps, our pace increases. Surprisingly, measuring my strides against his longer ones is invigorating and a welcomed challenge.

We run until we’re winded, then slow to a jog and make our way up to my neighborhood.

Stopping in front of my house brings the return of awkwardness as he stands beside me, his destination next door. “I’ll see you around,” I huff.

Jameson smiles gently, like he knows I’m uncomfortable. “Yeah. I’ll see you soon, Ace.”

Upstairs, the sun seeps through my shades, revealing Kendall sprawled across my bed, fast asleep. Even at twenty-one she has a strong aversion to being alone for any length of time. A side effect of growing up in a large family.

After showering and pulling on clean clothes, I climb in beside Kendall and quickly find sleep.

The familiar murmur of voices floating up the stairs wakes me. Kendall’s disappeared and the sun casts long shadows across my room, mocking me for sleeping most of the day away.

It’s Sunday, which means it’s family night at my parents’ house—a weekly tradition we rarely miss.

“Oh, you guys brought macarons home,” my sister, Savannah, sighs.

“Those are the chocolate hazelnut ones.” I point to the back corner of the box, indicating her favorites.

“Oh, Ace!” Savannah’s bright blue eyes shine with tears as she stands and wraps me in a tight hug. Pregnancy hormones have increased my second to oldest sister’s constant need for affection. “I’m so bummed I didn’t get to go with you guys! I want to hear all about it!” She pulls back and eyes that match our mother’s and sisters’ slowly scrutinize my face before lifting to my brown ones, concluding her brief assessment.

Smiling with assurance, I run a hand across her belly.

“Do you think much has changed since last summer?” Her husband, Caulder, asks, walking in step with my other brother-in-law Kyle from the den.

Kyle’s eyes widen as he nearly stumbles to break his stride and separate himself from Caulder, knowing his question won’t be well received.

Savannah focusses on Caulder with in an icy glare. “I still want to hear about it.”

Caulder’s brown eyes turn somber. “I’m sorry, babe. You’re right…” he places a hand on Savannah’s six-month bump, “and in a couple years when baby Alex is big enough, we’ll all go.”

“More like Alexandra,” I tease, selecting a pink macaron from the box.

Caulder shakes his head. “It’s a boy,” he insists. “He likes good music, riding in my truck, and he goes crazy when he hears motorcycles.”

“Uh oh. Alexandra’s already into bad boys. You better be prepared,” I sing, winning a smile from Savannah and a scowl from Caulder.

“Y’all really should just find out, I’m tired of buying yellow,” Mom adds from where she and my dad are preparing dinner.

“I think Ace is right. Baby is definitely a girl,” Savannah says, looking down at her growing stomach in adoration.

I grin, gazing up at Caulder with a gloating expression which he returns with an eye roll.

Caulder’s the newest member of our family. He and Savannah celebrated their second wedding anniversary just last month. He grew up with a sister, however, there are days it’s apparent that having a single sibling in no way prepared him for our large family.

Kendall initially had a difficult time understanding our older sister’s draw to Caulder. Savannah’s always been sweet and soft spoken, with a strong draw to children that led her to teaching kindergarten. Caulder’s very serious—to the point of being almost stiff and awkward at times. However, I’d known from the moment I met Caulder that he and Savannah would be perfect for one another. They’re like yin and yang: Where she sees possibility, he sees risk; where she leans toward new ventures, he gravitates toward familiarity. But neither stifles the other; they balance each other.

“Is Abby coming tonight?” Mom asks.

At the mention of my best friend I turn toward my mom. “Yeah, she leaves Tuesday. So she’s staying the night.”

“We’ve got to get her to call you Ace. I still look around to see who in the hell she’s talking to when I hear her call you Harper,” Kyle says, prodding through the macarons.

“It is my name.”

He looks up from the box with a hint of sadness rounding his eyes. “But you’re Ace.” Prior to college everyone called me by the nickname, but this past year at college when others heard my name listed off attendance sheets, I became Harper.

Kyle’s known me since I was six, long enough to warrant the confusion. We met when my oldest sister, Mindi, had taken me to the park near our house with a couple of her friends as an excuse to watch the high school boys’ football practice. I had quickly grown bored of the mundane task of sitting still and not bothering them, and eventually left in search of something more entertaining. It didn’t take long before I couldn’t see Mindi or the direction from which I’d travelled. I was crying and wandering aimlessly when Kyle found me. He took my hand and we set off to find Mindi with a trail of his bad jokes in our wake.

When we found her, she was so worked up—fearing something had happened to me—she hadn’t even realized I was still gripping Kyle’s hand when she flung her arms around me. However, her stress seemed to dissipate faster than it should’ve once she noticed him. They began dating the following week, and he became a permanent fixture in our house and family albums, becoming like a brother to me and the rest of my sisters, and a son to my parents.  

Kyle and I have always had a special bond, sharing a passion for running, soccer, and my family. Where Savannah is sweet, and probably too nice, Mindi has the tendency to be a bit dramatic, rivaling Kendall with being both bossy and loud. In addition, she was born a perfectionist, something I’m intimately familiar with since it’s one of the few traits that I, too, received from our mom.

“Where’s Mindi and the girls?” I ask, noticing Savannah looking precariously close to tears again.

“They’re at a birthday party. What four-year-old has their party at a nail salon?” he grumbles. “I mean, seriously.”

“Mom!” Kendall yells, making both Kyle and I sink back farther into the kitchen. Kendall’s well-known for needing her sleep, and her tone makes it apparent the jetlag is hitting her hard. “Have you seen my jean shorts with the lace pockets?”

“Kyle, the girls are here,” Mom announces, shoving a bag of pink, heart-shaped marshmallows in my hands. “She’s been cravin’ these, and she’s been in sort of a mood lately.” Her blue eyes widen, serving as a warning.

I raise my eyebrows and nod before following Kyle outside, hearing my mom yell a response to Kendall before the door closes behind us.

Mindi’s working to unlatch my three-year-old niece, Jade, from her car seat as we approach, allowing a large gap between us. Unlike Savannah, Mindi hates all physical contact while she’s pregnant.

“You need to stop wiggling! I don’t know why the sky’s blue. It just is.” My oldest sister’s struggling to maintain her patience.

“Hey, Min.” I try my best to sound friendly.

“Auntie Ace!” Jade’s words sound like a song as she’s freed from her car seat.

“Auntie Ace, can I go let Zeus out?” Mindi and Kyle’s oldest daughter, Emily, asks, hopping to a stop in front of me, her bright blue eyes round, shining with excitement.

“Yeah. He’s in the backyard.”

Both girls race across the lawn, their blonde hair dancing behind them. They shriek and giggle as Kyle chases them to the back gate.

“Are those…” Mindi rips open the bag of marshmallows before I can complete the pass and shoves two in her mouth. Her forehead relaxes, and her eyes close with contentment. “Thank you,” she garbles, covering her full mouth with her fingers.

A loud muffler rips through the air. Mindi and I turn, seeing a shiny black motorcycle pull into the driveway beside ours.

“Who’s that? Is that Hank? Oh my God, I look so fat today! Please don’t let it be Hank.” Mindi’s voice is a plea as she sidesteps so she’s mostly behind me.

“Max! Welcome home, son! It’s good to see you.” My dad calls before the helmet fully reveals Max’s face.

“Hey, Mr. Bosse. It’s good to be home and feel some sun.”

“Dear lord, what do those boys drink? I want some,” Mindi whispers, eating another marshmallow.

Max has been my neighbor since I was nine. He’s only two years older than me—the same age as Kendall—however, he’s never paid attention to any of us. Kendall had made it her personal mission to bait him one summer, spending an exorbitant amount of time and energy on trying to catch his attention. Me, being the youngest, and her partner in crime, had assisted in many of her missions, but he never did more than give us the briefest of acknowledgments. Eventually, she lost interest.

I blame the fact that I paid too much attention to Max over the years, because of my role in playing her wingman, but that’s only a half truth. Something about him has always intrigued me. He always remained slightly distant, looking at everyone with an edge of suspicion.

When Kendall and Max started high school, two summers after her failed attempt to catch his attention, Max began dating every girl in their class. She was bent out of shape for a while then brushed it off, calling him a manwhore, and focused her sights elsewhere, but I continued to watch.

Max has always been attractive, hence the many girls going home with him. He’d always been more built than the other guys in school. I’d quickly learned it was partly out of necessity; he and his two older brothers—who we used to refer to as Hank the Tank and Billy the Bully—would work out constantly, then beat each other senseless. Mom used to scream for Dad to go break up their knock-down, drag-out fights, certain that one of them was going to kill the other. They never did; however, gashes and bruises were frequently worn.

Before becoming better friends with Sharon, my mom deducted it was because Max and his brothers didn’t have a father, and therefore they were competing to hold the alpha male title. She was probably right to some degree, but we try not to encourage our mom—the non-therapist—to psychoanalyze things.

Now Max’s arms and chest both look broader and more defined, covered with a fitted black T-shirt. Jeans hang loose on his hips. The sight of his strong jaw and cheekbones has my fingers constricting with the desire to trace the contours. And though I’m a good fifty feet from him, I can see—or maybe have just memorized—the piercing clarity of his deep blue eyes which are such a beautiful and rare color, I’m sure Crayola would be inspired to replicate the hue.

It’s been three years since I’ve seen Max, and the sight of him is as distracting as it’s always been.

Emily wanders over to us, and I sweep her up and head inside to stop myself from staring at Max for any longer.

“Did I hear a motorcycle out there with y’all?” Mom asks, taking Emily and hugging her.

Emily nods, her whole body bouncing with the movement.

“Yeah, Max is home,” I tell her when her gaze meets mine for confirmation.

“Oh good! Sharon was worried he wouldn’t be back in time. I’ll have to make sure your daddy took enough meat out to grill. I bet those boys can eat a ton. I guess he had to go into San Diego to file something for school. Did you see Jameson and Landon out there, too?”

My mind reels, trying to take in everything she just said, focusing on the part of them eating a ton.

Is she saying that they’re coming over?

I shake my head slowly in response. “Who’s Landon? And what are you talking about?”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile, but before I can ask anything more, Mindi makes her way inside, loudly complaining about how hot she is.

My dad follows behind her. “Ace, I’m grilling. You want to give me a hand?”

I nod and follow him through the house to our backyard. “Are Jenny and Lilly coming tonight?” I haven’t seen my sister Jenny or her daughter in nearly a month.

“No, it sounds like Jenny and Paul are going through quite the rough patch again,” Dad answers with a sigh. Opening the lid of the already hot grill, he begins to scrape it clean.

“Dave!” My mom yells. She’s smiling her too happy of a grin, a sure sign that she has something up her sleeve.

My tension rises as the reality of her smile emerges from the house. Sharon’s following my mom, and right behind her is Max. My fingers constrict on the cushion of my seat as I work to avoid him and focus on Zeus, who’s close on his heels.

Instantly feeling a rush of self-consciousness, I peer down at the emerald green shorts I’d thrown on this morning after my shower. Thankfully it was hot today, requiring shorts opposed to my trademark Sunday sweatpants.

“Sharon, I’m so glad you guys can join us! Ace and I are just getting the grill ready!” Their long friendship that’s progressed from professional to personal is apparent in her warm smile.

To this day it’s not an uncommon occurrence for a woman to approach my father and shamelessly flirt with him, much to my sisters’ and my mortification. I know my father’s attractive. He’s half Puerto Rican and half French, and it’s obvious that he stays fit when looking at his caramel skin. Flecks of gray sprinkle his thick, nearly black hair, which only adds character to him, and he has the warmest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. People often say I have his eyes, but I know without resentment that I don’t. In addition to his good looks, my father is the smartest person I know. But there’s just something inexplicably weird about having someone hit on your parent, even when they adamantly decline any advances. We all tend to be a little sensitive to this subject, but Sharon has always made it overtly clear that her friendship is completely benign.

“I can’t believe you guys are out here cooking! You must be exhausted,” Sharon says, turning to Max. “David, Kendall, and Ace just got back from France.”

“It may be an early night for me,” Dad admits with a grin.

Mom places a hand on Dad’s shoulder and takes a step forward. “Eric called,” she tells me, handing me my renegade cell phone. “He said he’s running late … again.” Her lips press into a thin line, and her artfully sculpted eyebrows rise, showing her displeasure.

“How is Eric?” Sharon asks. Before I can respond, she turns toward Max again and explains, “Eric is Ace’s boyfriend.”

Max rakes his large hand over his short cropped hair which is nearly black, then pushes it forward again before dropping his hand loosely to his side. His blue eyes are focused on me as though awaiting a response, and it takes me a couple of awkward moments to recall one had been asked.

“You know Eric, he’s always busy,” my dad offers, apparently sensing my inability to speak.

“Busy for sure!” Eric appears on the patio dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and polo, wearing a familiar smile. “I’m Eric, Eric Boyd,” he says, extending his hand to Max before any of us have the opportunity to introduce the two.

“Max,” he offers, accepting Eric’s hand in what could quite possibly be the most uncomfortable handshake ever as Eric vigorously shakes their joined hands with forced enthusiasm.

“Your mom mentioned you fish,” Eric says.

Max keeps his eyes trained on Eric and nods. “Yeah. Do you?”

“No. I don’t really have time for much these days.” Eric turns to me and his grin grows into a full smile before he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his chest. “I’m going to have to confiscate all these old T-shirts when you move into your apartment this fall. I can’t believe you still have them.”

“I can’t believe she still wears them,” Kendall chides. Kendall’s always up on every fashion sense, from hair to clothes to the latest nail trends.

I look down at my old track shirt, worn and washed to the point it’s now soft and comfortable and shrug with indifference.

“Hey, Ace, can I borrow you a sec?” Kyle calls from the open patio door.

With the easy excuse to leave, I head inside.

“Want to try your skills at another window? The neighbor locked himself out.” Kyle’s eyes narrow with thought.

“Last time you crawled through a window, you nearly got your face bitten off by a Doberman.” Savannah eyes me warily, standing in front of the door as a barricade.

Max follows our same path, stopping beside Kyle. “Which neighbor?” He tucks his cell phone into his back pocket.

I should be paying attention to Kyle’s answer, but I’m too distracted wondering who Max might have been texting, wondering if it was a girl, and if the same parade will return now that he’s back.

“You should be safe then. He doesn’t have any dogs.” Max winks at Savannah, causing an irrational pang of jealousy in my chest. “Come on, we’ll see if I can fit.”

Savannah slowly moves, allowing us permission to exit, looking slightly dazed by Max’s charm.

“You won’t be able to fit, dude. It’s a bathroom window,” Kyle explains.

Max doesn’t seem to find it necessary to respond as we cross the street to the Janes’s and loop around to the backyard.

“All right, Jack, I think I found our ticket in,” Kyle announces.

“Hey, Mr. Janes.” I smile in greeting.

“You went and got the prettiest one. What, are you trying to make me feel even worse?” Jack replies gruffly.

I doubt he can actually tell us apart; he has a tough time recalling how many of us there are.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes, I was often used to test theories, and small spaces,” I tease.

“How come I haven’t seen many of you around lately?”

“They flock to the malls, like moths to the light,” Kyle jokes as his gaze traces the side of the house, landing on our point of entry—a small open window that sits at least eight feet from the ground.

“Mr. Janes, where’s your lovely wife?” Max’s eyes are fixed on the same spot.

“Oh, she’s inside, asleep in front of the TV with her hearing aid turned off,” he grunts, shaking his head.

“Kyle! I think something’s wrong with Emily!” Mindi’s yelling has us all turning to Kyle.

“She’s pregnant, and it hasn’t been a good day. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I should probably go check. Do you guys think you can handle this?” Kyle looks from me to Max apologetically before Mindi starts screaming his name again.

“We’ve got it covered,” Max assures him.

Kyle gives a weak smile and dashes out of sight.

“That isn’t from the pregnancy; she’s always been like that,” Jack mutters, making me swallow a laugh.

Max however doesn’t react. Instead, he gets closer to the side of the house, then jumps and grabs the windowsill. The muscles in his biceps and forearms become more prominent as he pulls himself toward the window, making the move look easy, almost graceful. I take the opportunity to study his left arm and the many tattoos that create a sleeve down to his elbow—a new addition to his appearance since leaving for Alaska. Max twists and tries to maneuver himself forward, but it’s quickly apparent that there’s no chance his shoulders are going to fit through the gap.

He lowers himself back to the ground with a soft thud and looks over to me. “Sorry, it looks like he was right. You sure you want to try this? I can go see if I can maneuver the locks or check other windows.”

“Kyle tried all that before going to get you kids.” Jack scratches his thinning gray hair. “I can just wait on the porch. Eventually, Ethel will wake up.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes. It’s no problem,” I assure him and turn my attention to Max. “I’m going to need your help though. I don’t think I’ll be able to pull off that Spiderman move.”

Max smirks and my breath catches, seeing his eyes grow bright with humor. I consciously force myself to exhale, and then inhale again as I divert my attention back to the window which appears higher as we get closer.

“All right, prepare to feel like Spiderman,” Max says, creating a stirrup with his hands.

I place my foot on his woven fingers and reach up as he lifts me into the air, high enough to grab the windowsill. Gripping the siding with both hands, I shimmy my way through the narrow opening.

I’m directly over the bathtub, which is exactly what I’d feared, because getting down will prove to be more of a challenge to enter without face-planting in the bathtub. The cool tile tickles my fingertips as I stretch, reaching toward the inlet where their shampoo and soap sits. My fingers, still clutching the window, relax, attempting to give me the extra height, but my grip slips entirely, causing my muscles to tense and a scream to race through my lips. My stomach scrapes painfully against the windowsill as my hands rake across the small space I’d been trying to reach in an attempt to brace myself, sending everything to the floor of the tub with an alarming crash. My scream echoes back at me as I feel Max’s hands grip my ankles, stopping my descent.

I sigh in relief as the soap bottles roll, clanging around the empty tub with the same loud volume that my heart beats.

A breeze rolls across my bare legs, and my skin feels more sensitive to the cool air with the blood pulsating through my limbs from the adrenaline, making me acutely aware of my short shorts, and uncomfortable positioning that has my butt and hips propped in the air.

Worst idea ever.

“Are you okay? I’m pulling you out. This was a bad idea!” Max calls.

“I’m okay.” Just a bruised ego. My voice sounds strained and too loud from the pressure of the windowsill and the tile wall cutting into my stomach. “I just need help backing out a little.”

Max slowly pulls me backward until I assure him I’m good. Then I carefully work to readjust myself, making sure to grip the house and windowsill so tightly my fingers ache while moving both feet so they dangle toward the tub so I will hopefully be able to jump the few feet inside and not slip.

My nerves from the near face-plant has my breath coming up short and praying this doesn’t look as ridiculous outside as I fear. My heart stops again as the bathroom door flies open and a flurry of purple and teal rushes into the bathroom. Thankfully, my fingers are locked around the windowsill and frame from the first mishap, otherwise I would likely be on my backside in the tub right now. My focus clears to see all five foot nothing of Ethel Janes standing a few feet from me, staring me down from the end of a shotgun barrel aimed directly at my chest.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’d better get out of my house before I shoot you!”

My gaze sweeps over hair that’s tightly pulled up in curlers and her purple and teal housecoat, zeroing in on knotted, arthritis-bent fingers looking unsteady as they shakily rest on the trigger.

“Ace!” Max yells, grabbing at my backside from the ground.

“Ethel, put that goddamned gun down before you shoot yourself!” Jack yells.

I’m immobile from fear as I watch the wheels turn in her head.

“Ethel, it’s just Ace. She’s tryin’ to help. I locked myself out again!” Jack continues.

Ethel’s eyebrows knit in confusion, like she isn’t positive it’s really her husband yelling at her. I fight to create a coherent explanation over the fear screaming in my head.

“H-hi … hi, Mrs. Janes. I haven’t seen you in a while, but it’s me … Ace. I live a few doors down. David and Muriel Bosse’s daughter.” I work to keep my voice soft as I search her face for any sign of recognition.

“Dammit, Ethel, let the poor girl in and come unlock the door!”

“I’ll uh … I can go back out this way.” I motion to the window.

Sneering, she maintains her aim. “You do that.”

Scrambling to get myself back outside goes much faster than it had getting in as I continue watching her, noticing that my moving seems to increase her level of unease. My upper body and one leg are out and my mind’s so focused on trying to keep my grip tight so I can pull my next leg free, I barely notice Max’s hand clasping around my freed leg. Leaning back so I can pull my second leg free, a deafening blast erupts from behind me and I lose balance. I half lunge, half fall from the window.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I prepare to feel the slam of the earth.

Two strong arms envelop me, knocking the air from my lungs. They feel more like two-by-fours than flesh.

Max drops me to the ground and lays himself over me, resting most of his weight on his hands and feet while his eyes dance rapidly over my face.

“Ethel? What in God’s name are you doing?” Jack yells angrily.

“Are you all right?’ Max continues scanning my face.

I nod several times, and Max nods in return, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“She’ll be fine. Ethel couldn’t hit a fish in a barrel. But look at the hole she made in my house!” Jack groans as he elaborately waves a hand at the house.

Another deafening blast erupts above us, and I barely catch sight of Jack cowering in surprise before Max’s body shifts over mine again, blocking my vision with his shoulder.

He slowly lifts himself so he’s crouched on his hands and feet, staring up to see the new hole a few feet from the first.

“Holy hell, Ethel, what are you doing?” Jack shouts.

A loud clamber has me wondering if Ethel’s just managed to give herself a heart attack or worse—shot herself. Seconds later, her face appears out the window, obviously stepping on something to look out. She appears unharmed, eyebrows deeply furrowed as her eyes lock on Jack. “Jack? How’d you get out there?”

“I’ve been out here. Weren’t you listenin’? I locked myself out. Had to get the neighbor kids to help me. What are you doin’ with my gun, Ethel?”

“Taking five years off my life,” I whisper, dropping a hand to my forehead and closing my eyes as I release a loud sigh.

A soft chuckle makes the hair on my arms dance with his close proximity. I open my eyes to his piercing cobalt blues inches from my own, close enough I can see the flecks of lighter and darker blue around the edges creating a mesmerizing maze of blues.

“You’re sure you’re all right? That first shot only missed you by a little over a foot. What in the hell are they doing with a shotgun?” Max’s demeanor seems to shift as he climbs to his feet. His body is rigid as his focus turns from the house to me before he shakes his head and rakes his eyes over my body several times ensuring that I’m indeed fine.

“You cut your leg.” He steps closer.

“It’s not a big deal. I can hardly feel it.” Sitting up, I look at the small gash across my shin. “Once it’s cleaned, it’ll be nothing.”

“ACE! ACE!”

I quickly stand, hearing Kyle’s voice.

“What in the hell’s going on? Are you guys okay?” His chest rises and falls with labored breaths as he stops in front of us with Caulder behind him.

The police officer is apparent in my brother-in-law as Caulder steps forward with his hand clutched to the gun holster he always wears on his right hip.

“We’re okay. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Kyle doesn’t even look at me as I try assuring him. He’s looking past me, eyes widening at the sight of the Janes’s house. His mouth opens, but words don’t come and I take the opportunity to attempt to smooth things over.

“Let’s go. I’m starving,” I lie, placing a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and the other on Caulder’s. I gently push them forward, hoping to diffuse the situation before Caulder starts issuing citations and gun safety advice.

“I’m really sorry about that, kids. She’s been hearing all these stories on the news about people breaking into homes and all the terrible ruckus they’re causing. It’s got her a little on edge.” Mr. Janes shakes his head and grimaces.

“You guys should consider mace or another form of protection ... maybe calling the police,” Caulder suggests, turning around and looking between the gun holes in the wall and to me. “You could have easily killed someone today.”

“Bye, Mr. Janes,” I call over my shoulder, giving my brothers another shove in the hopes of moving them before any of the Bosse women make their way over. They would lose it.

I can feel Kyle’s reluctance under my palms as his muscles strain against me and realize my efforts are likely futile.

“She forgot who I was. She’s not doing well. I’m fine. Really. Please, let’s not make a big deal out of this.” I keep my voice quiet so Jack can’t overhear me. He still isn’t ready to come to terms with the fact his wife is starting to have more frequent lapses caused by dementia.

Caulder’s eyes close as realization seems to register. He’d told me about responding to a call last month about an elderly lady who was found at the grocery store and couldn’t recall where she lived, only to discover it was Ethel.

“Please?” I beg.

Kyle’s eyes focus on mine for a moment, then move to Max, who looks like he’s also waging an internal battle.

I give Kyle my best pleading look. He takes a deep breath, releasing it with a quick whoosh. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and shakes his head as we make our way to the front yard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had you do that. It was a stupid idea. No more windows.”

“What in the hell happened?” Savannah cries, making her way down the driveway to meet us.

“The Janes’s need a hide-a-key.” I force my smile to appear genuine. “Did you guys bring your suits? Dad said he wants a rematch,” I say with practiced deflection.

“What in heaven’s name was goin’ on over there? Were those gunshots we heard? Eric thought it was just a car backfirin’, but it was so loud!” My mom rushes to us, her eyes bright as they scan over the four of us, stopping on my leg. “What happened?”

“It was nice of him to check,” Max murmurs as he walks past us and disappears into the house.

Mom and Savannah look between Kyle, Caulder, and me, waiting for an explanation.

“Apparently, she startled Mrs. Janes when she climbed through their bathroom window…” Caulder starts, his voice turning factual as it does anytime he discusses work.

“Why were you climbin’ through their window?” Mom ushers me into the house as I shoot Caulder a warning look.

“Mr. Janes locked himself out again,” Kyle answers. “I couldn’t fit, so I came and got her.” His expression is filled with guilt.

I open my mouth to assure them once again that I’m fine, but my words cease when my dad barrels into the foyer, soaking wet in his swim shorts. His eyes quickly glide over the small group of us and then close in relief. He lets out a deep breath and wipes a hand across his brow.

“Why didn’t you guys get me?” It’s not often that my dad looks angry, but right now his temper is spiked higher than we usually ever see it as he looks to my mom and sister. He turns his full attention to me. “You got shot at?”

“What?” my mom cries. “Who in God’s name shot at you? Are you all right?” My mom’s southern accent has thickened as it does anytime she gets worked up.

“It wasn’t at me,” I enunciate for clarification. “I don’t think she knew what she was doing, and I’m okay. Really.”

Generally, my dad doesn’t look much older than forty, but with the current stress etched across his face, he suddenly looks much closer to his sixty years. “What happened?”

I briefly summarize the excitement until Emily and Jade race in, both in their bathing suits, trailing a path of pool water as they giggle and squeal and latch on to my dad’s legs.

“Gampa, gampa,” Jade calls, looking up with her blonde hair matted to her bony shoulders, successfully providing interference for me.

As the others work to clean up the puddles of water and usher the girls back outside, I excuse myself to the restroom to clean my small battle wound.

“Harper, I’ve got to run. There was some kind of printing issue and things weren’t delivered to Mobile on time, and they’re about to shit a brick.” Eric appears in the doorway, eyes focused on the screen of his phone, while his thumbs rapidly trace over the keypad.

After a few moments of silence, he looks up to see me watching him.

“Babe, that’s disgusting. You’re getting blood everywhere, and your feet are filthy.” His face pinches as he remains leaning against the doorjamb.

“Yeah, why aren’t you bleeding out in the yard?” Max’s deep voice drips with sarcasm as he appears behind Eric.

Eric turns, following my gaze before stepping to the side and returning his attention to me. “What were you guys doing? Where did you go?” A hint of accusation has him tilting his chin and staring at me for a second. “Never mind, you can tell me later, I have to go. Harper, I’ll try to call you, depending on how this all goes.”

Max doesn’t turn as Eric strides away. Instead, he steps further into the bathroom. “He just called you Harper.”

The irony that this is the second time this conversation has occurred today isn’t lost on me as I give a similar response. “It’s my name.”

Max’s eyebrows rise and then furrow. “Yeah, I just never hear anyone call you by it.” He takes a few steps closer to me. “How’s the leg?”

“It’s nothing. I just hit the side of the windowsill when I made my graceful exit.”

Max’s forehead creases, not appreciating my joke.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hopping down from the sink.

“Yeah.” His answer is automatic. “Yeah,” he repeats, sounding less sure this time as he reaches his heavily tattooed arm back and rubs it over his head a few times. The muscles in his arm and shoulder ripple with each pass. “I mean, that was just crazy. It scared the shit out of me when you fell. I thought she shot you.”

Nothing seems like an appropriate response.

He nods a couple of times, moving his gaze, wandering around the small space just as mine does, looking for a safe place to land.

“So I heard you moved back home,” I say.

“Yeah, I transferred back to San Diego Sta—”

The obnoxious continuation of a car horn breaks his sentence and attention. Max backs out of the doorway, looking over his shoulder toward the now vacant foyer.

I follow him out the front door and into the driveway in the direction of a red vintage car that emits another blare of the horn. Jameson climbs out of the driver’s seat wearing sunglasses and a wide smile.

“Asswipe, you’re lucky I was over here! What are you doing?” Max asks with a laugh, clasping a hand to Jameson’s shoulder.

“Landon made me do it. He was really excited to see you; told me he couldn’t wait another second. Besides, I knew you were over here; your mom’s been reminding you of this all week.” He smiles at me. “Hey Ace.” Then turns his attention back to Max. “I can’t believe I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve never told me about your neighbors. You’ve got some ‘splainin to do, Lucy,” he says with a horrible Spanish accent. He’s animated and goofy, leading me to wonder if he’s been drinking.

“When did you guys meet?” Max looks to Jameson.

Jameson laughs, punching Max in the bicep a couple of times. “Why? Scared?”

The passenger door of the car opens, halting conversation. A guy I presume is Landon steps out. He, like the other two, is attractive, with broad shoulders and reddish brown hair that he wears short. His red T-shirt exposes several tattoos that artfully wrap down both of his forearms, and his face is warm and inviting with bright green eyes and an infectious smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to let him out of the car unsupervised. I was finishing a call with my mom to let her know I arrived.” Landon’s deep, throaty laugh fills the air as he turns his attention to me.

“That’s all right. Jameson was going to make an ass of himself eventually, better to get it out of the way,” Max teases, locking his arm around Jameson’s neck in a headlock.

“Hi, I’m Landon.” He extends his hand to me.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ace.”

A dark blue Jetta pulls up beside us, and I can feel Abby’s stare. We met last year after realizing we shared three classes and an addiction for Antonio’s Pizza House. We became pretty much inseparable after enduring our first semester finals and the hordes of hours we dedicated to them.

Being a New Jersey native, she applied to schools only on the West Coast in an attempt to gain some separation from her large extended family and any possibility of joining her family’s business—a string of bars they own along the Jersey coastline.

My family took Abby in as a sixth daughter and sister after the first weekend I convinced her to accompany me home. She then returned almost every weekend after, falling just as much in love with them as they did with her.

She opens her car door and steps out with a bright smile on her full lips. Abby’s beautiful with long, dark brown hair that falls in natural, thick waves, and honey-colored eyes. She’s a bit taller than me, at five-eight, and built slightly thicker, which she hates and blames it—and her slightly long nose—on her Scandinavian genes from her mother and the rest of any unflattering features or bad habits on her Italian genes from her father.

“Guys, dinner’s ready. Let’s go, let’s go!” Dad calls, stepping out the front door. “Hey, Abby, did you bring some friends?”

“These are Max’s friends,” I tell him. The adrenaline from the window incident is mixing dangerously with nerves from knowing these guys are all heading to my backyard for family night.

“Oh, that’s right.” Dad smiles warmly, approaching us. “Landon and Jameson, right?”

He steps closer as they return greetings and offers his hand to each of them.  “Come on back. We’ve got lots of food and drinks. If you’ve got your swim shorts, we have pool basketball, but watch out…” he points to me with a wink “…this one here cheats.”

“Oh, we didn’t mean to impose, sir. We’ll go pick something up and let you guys get back to your meal,” Landon respectfully declines, and I watch Abby swoon a little as he addresses my dad so formally.

“No, no, no. You guys are expected. Just avoid the two pregnant ladies if you know what’s good for you.” Dad waves them through the front door where he pauses, waiting for Abby and me.

“I brought you a new ale. My dad says it’s the best one yet. We’ll meet you back there!”

As soon as the door closes, she leans closer to me. “Who are they?” Her words are a barely controlled whisper as she bounces on her toes, her eyes still focused on the front door. “Why have you been hiding them?”

I shake my head to conceal my laughter. “The guy with the dark hair is Sharon’s son.”

“He’s your neighbor?” she cries.

“He’s been up in Alaska for the last few years.”

“Is he visiting?”

“He moved back, I guess.”

Abby’s eyes grow wide. “Sounds like the perfect time for a reunion.”

“I barely know him. I wouldn’t doubt if this is the first and last time I see him for a while.”

“What do you mean you barely know him? He’s hot!” Her voice rises with suspicion.

I shrug, unsure of how to explain my nonexistent relationship with Max. “He never really talked to any of us.” Lifting my shoulders again, I attempt to show indifference.

“Oh good, so you’re both mental.” Pulling open her car door, Abby retrieves a paper bag which clinks as she lifts it. “If you barely know him, then what is he doing over here? And with his hot friends!”

“It’s been a really strange day,” I explain, shaking my head as the reality of the last hour plays through my mind in a quick burst of images. “Max came over with his mom. And then Kyle came to get me to see if I could fit through the Janes’s window because Mr. Janes had locked himself out, even though Ethel was still inside.”

Her chin drops with boredom as I ramble.

“Anyway, Max helped me climb through a window so I could unlock the door, but Ethel woke up and…”

Abby motions with her hands for me to get to the point. I glare at her.

“She shot at me.”

“She shot at you? With what? Hairspray?” She lifts her eyebrows, contemplating what would be used in this scenario, having seen my elderly neighbors a few times.

“No, not with hairspray!” I retort, rolling my eyes. “With a freaking shotgun.”

“You’re lying!” Abby’s eyes grow round with disbelief.

“I’m serious! My ears are still ringing, and my heart’s running a marathon.” I extend my arm out to her with my palm up for her to take my pulse.

“You’re shitting me! I can’t believe she shot at you! What happened?”

“Well, naturally, I gracefully fell out of the window.”

“Oh my God! Are you all right?” She eyes me scrupulously. “She shot at you and you fell out the window? Oh. My. God!”

I shake my head, motioning with my hands for her to lower her voice. “I’m fine. She missed me by a few feet, and Max caught me before I hit the ground.”

“Still!” She continues combing over me, then stops suddenly, lifting her bright and widened eyes to mine. “He’s like your hero. This is perfect!” Perfect comes out as a near squeal.

I roll my eyes at her enthusiasm and shake my head. “Max is… different.” I’m at a loss of words to explain my neighbor, so instead I close her car door and become the target of her narrowed glare.

“What?” I cry.

“I don’t know, but it just seems really odd that he’s lived next door to the five Barbies and never tried to get close to any of you.”

“I hate when you call me that.” I turn to ensure she sees my frown before continuing. “Ask Kendall. Max never paid attention to any of us, and he was in her class.”

“Come on, I want to see them again!” She tugs on my hand without further question. “Is Eric here?”

“No, he had to go. There was some sort of printing error,” I tell her, leading her through the house.

“Oh, how heartbreaking.”

She and Eric never managed to get off on the right foot. Even now, nine months later, the two can’t be in a room together without starting a petty argument.

I open the back patio door and survey the backyard. Jameson is standing beside Max and Landon, their backs toward us as they talk with Kyle and my dad. My dad’s grinning, and it’s clear by the animated way his hands are moving that he’s telling them a story.

Jade and Emily splash in the pool while Mindi sits in a lawn chair nearby, devouring what’s left of her marshmallows, and Savannah munches on tortilla chips at the patio table.

“This will be ready in about ten minutes, ma.” My dad makes eye contact with my mom from where he’s moved beside the grill.

“Okay, let’s do introductions really fast!” Mom says, evoking a groan from Mindi.

“Do you girls all remember Sharon’s son, Max?” Mom continues, ignoring Mindi.

“Mom, the Millers have been our neighbors for nearly a decade,” Kendall says, emerging from the screen door.

Jameson’s attention moves to her, following her to where she collapses on a patio chair. If I didn’t know from years of watching my sister suffer from jetlag, you’d think she was nursing a hangover with the way she’s squinting into the clear blue sky and shading her scrunched face with a hand.

“It’s been a couple of years.” I can tell by Mom’s tone that our hospitality skills are severely lacking tonight. “His friends, Jameson and Landon, are here for the summer. Boys, this is my oldest daughter, Mindi, and her husband, Kyle, and their daughters, Jade and Emily.”

Mindi gives a halfhearted smile that even with her obvious effort looks like a grimace as she pops another sugar-laced marshmallow into her mouth. Kyle offers a smile and nods, as though silently apologizing for both Mindi and the formal introduction.

“Savannah is our second oldest, and her husband, Caulder…” Mom tries to locate where he is and perks up, pointing to him as he steps out from my dad’s work shed.

“Our middle daughter, Jenny, and her daughter, Lilly, weren’t able to make it tonight but I’m sure you’ll meet them soon. And, this is Kendall.”

Jameson’s eyes have barely left Kendall through the barrage of introductions.

“And our youngest, Ace, and her best friend Abby. And then of course Zeus,” she adds with a wave of her hand as Zeus rests his head against my thigh.

Abby steals a glance in my direction, her eyes growing bright.

“Who’s ready to eat?” Dad announces, loading the last of the grilled chicken onto a platter that’s already covered with several steaks.

My family gathers without further instruction, creating a short line where plates, napkins, and silverware have been stacked.

I carefully balance my plate and cup with Zeus trailing so close I can feel his cold, wet nose on the back of my calf with every other step I take.

I sit beside Kyle and Abby, catching the tail end of a joke I’m sure Kyle’s been dying to tell without Mindi around, since it’s rather crude. Their laughter draws attention that even Zeus seems to acknowledge as he releases a loud sigh and stretches, resting his large head on my feet.

“He sure looks happy to have you home.” Sharon smiles at me as she takes a seat beside my mom.

“There is no doubt he’s her dog,” Mom says, glancing down at Zeus.

“He’s a mammoth.” Jameson joins my mom and Sharon, followed by Max and Landon. “How much does he weigh?”

“About one seventy-five.” Jameson’s mouth drops at my response, making me laugh.

“The way Mr. Janes talked about being concerned with you running alone with your dog, I pictured a Chihuahua.” Jameson earns laughter from the table, which he soaks in with a grin as he glances to Kendall, checking her reaction. She’s engrossed with her cell phone and nursing a beer, making her hangover facade a little more condemning.

“He’s a gentle giant. Mr. Janes is probably right,” Kyle teases, leaning forward in his seat to ruffle Zeus’s fur.

“That is the most faithful dog ever. If any one of the girls were in trouble, he’d spring into action,” Dad says confidently as he sits across from Max.

“Dad, Savannah and I had already moved out by the time you guys got Zeus,” Mindi challenges.

“He still knows you’re family.”

“What do you think, boy? Would you bite Marshall if he ever got a little too creepy?” Kyle jokes, referring to a neighbor down the street.

“If?” Kendall cries, finally setting her phone down. “Have you seen him lately? He’s surpassed the too creepy mark.”

“Kendall!” Mom chastises, “He’s just shy … and a bit awkward…” As she continues, it’s apparent she’s not buying her own words. “Y’all should probably stay away from him, but I’m sure he’s…” She drifts off and my dad gives a few dramatized nods, making us all laugh.

“So, Max, you still like cars?” my dad asks casually as he begins salting his salad.

My attention drifts back to Max as I wait for his response.

“And motorcycles, too,” he confirms. I wait for him to say more, focusing on his voice. It’s warm and deep, masculine and rugged. I didn’t know a voice could sound rugged.

“You’ll have to come check out my old Chevelle. She’s turning out beautifully.”

“She’s orange, Dad.” Kendall’s tone is sarcastic, reflective of her distaste for the authentic color choice he made.

“Which is why she’s named Clementine.” Dad grins.

I love that old car. I’ve spent countless hours watching my dad create her from just the body, slowly adding parts and pieces until she became a working vehicle.

Abby knocks her knee against mine, drawing my attention. She raises an eyebrow then nods toward the patio table to question my interest that’s apparently not as inconspicuous as I’d hoped.

I quickly shake my head and work to move my focus to what she and Kyle were discussing. With some effort I engage in their conversation and avoid my curiosity as to what Max and my dad continue conferring about.

Shortly after eating, Max stands with his empty plate. “We’ve got to get going or we’ll be late,” he says so quietly that if I wasn’t turned around listening to Kendall and Jameson bantering with one another, I would’ve missed it.

“I’m sorry to eat and run, but we’re supposed to be meeting some people,” Max says to our parents.

“Don’t worry about the plates,” Mom says, waving her hand across the table. “It was so good to see you and Jameson, and to meet you, Landon! Sharon’s been so anxious to have you boys home this summer. Please feel free to stop by anytime.” Mom delivers an Oscar-worthy smile.

I feel relieved and strangely disappointed with their early departure.