“Hey,” he called to me.

“Hi,” I said, walking a few steps closer, trying to balance the donut boxes and the paper. “Morning.”

“I’ll take these,” Mike said, reaching for the donut boxes. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Hungry people are waiting.”

“Save me a strawberry frosted!” I yelled after him as he walked up to the house.

“You’re up early,” Bill said as Mike passed him with a nod. He reached the truck and dropped the canvas bags into the truck bed.

“Donut run.”

He smiled. “Got it. Worth getting up for.”

“Are you leaving?” I asked. A second later, I realized this was a stupid question—of course he was leaving. The wedding was over, so there wasn’t much of a job for the wedding coordinator’s assistant. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to just keep hanging around our house.

“Afraid so,” he said. “My uncle’s organizing an anniversary brunch this morning in Hartfield. So he needs me there.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Right.”

“He’s going to send some people to take down the tent later,” he said. “I told him you have that TV thing this morning, so to maybe wait until after it’s done.”

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a quick smile. “That’s great.”

“Well,” he said, leaning back against the truck, “I know you’re staying around here, but if you’re ever in Chicago, you should look me up. Or Mystic. Or Albuquerque.”

“I actually don’t know where I’m going,” I said slowly, thinking about what Brooke had said. “I guess I haven’t made a final decision.” I thought about the folders on my desk again and shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m not really that excited about it.”

Bill just blinked at me. “Not excited about college?” he asked, sounding stunned. “But why not?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I finally said, since it seemed easier than going into everything that had come out last night—including the revelation that I’d been holding on as tight as I could to something that actually didn’t exist any longer.

“I really love it,” he said. “But that’s me. I only think that you shouldn’t discount it before you even get there. I mean, who knows? Maybe college will be the most amazing time of your life. Maybe it’ll surprise you by how great it is. Maybe there will be a Journey cover band and all the supermarket cake you can eat.”

I laughed. “You think?”

Bill smiled wide. “I have no idea. And that’s the really exciting thing.”

I nodded, feeling these words hit me somewhere deep inside. He was more right than he knew—after all, Cassie Grant’s story had already ended. And starting tomorrow, I’d be moving forward without a shadow version of my life trailing after me. “Thanks,” I said quietly, meaning it and hoping he knew that. I looked at the packed truck and realized that he probably didn’t have all morning to be standing on our driveway, giving me life advice. “Well, I don’t want to keep you too long.”

Bill glanced at his watch, then nodded. “I probably should head out.”

We just looked at each other for a moment, and I found myself taking him in, all his details—his dark hair, his snub nose, the way even when he wasn’t smiling he seemed like he was about to, like it was just waiting in the wings. It was like I was trying to memorize him—in case this was the last time I would ever see him.

“Well,” Bill said, after a moment, “it was nice to meet you, Charlie.”

I smiled back at him. “You too. Thanks so much for everything.”

Bill waved this away. “I was just doing my job.” He grinned at me. “Though I have a feeling if I do another wedding, it’s going to seem tame by comparison.”

“I should hope so.”

I took a breath to say something—what, I didn’t know yet—when he leaned down and kissed me on my cheek, such a soft and sweet gesture that I closed my eyes for just a moment, taking it in, before he straightened up again, a sad smile on his face.

“If you end up in Chicago, let me know,” he said, taking a step backward. “We can hang out.”

I smiled at him, even though I was feeling with every step he took away from me that I would miss him, this person I hadn’t even known three days ago. “I will.”

Bill smiled wide and nodded. “It’s a plan, then.”

I nodded as well. And then, not wanting to watch him drive away, not wanting to see his taillights disappearing down the road, I started toward the house. I looked back at the top of the driveway and saw that he hadn’t moved yet, that he was still standing there, a sad smile on his face. I raised one hand in a wave, and he waved back.

And then, feeling like I needed to make myself go, I turned around and headed inside the house.

CHAPTER 29

Or, The Family Behind Grant Central Station

* * *

OKAY!” JILL, THE SEGMENT PRODUCER, clapped her hands together and frowned at the group that had gathered to stand behind the cameramen. “I’m just going to say this once more. If you are going to be here during the filming—and, again, I’d love it if you would just watch it on TV, possibly in another room, or maybe even in your own homes. But if you are going to be here, I’m going to need quiet. All right? Are we understanding each other?”

She looked at the group in the back, some of whom nodded, but most of whom didn’t really seem to be paying attention, and I could understand the look of consternation on Jill’s face as she turned back around again.

Standing around, in various stages of hungoverness, were the assorted wedding guests who’d wandered down looking for breakfast and decided it might be fun to observe us all being filmed on national television. The Jennys were in robes and slippers and had broken out some champagne in the kitchen, having decided that the best remedy for the wedding guests’ hangovers was plentiful mimosas. They were sipping them now, while Priya, who’d gotten dressed in workout clothes but had not, so far as I could tell, actually worked out, was drinking coffee from a Grant Central Station mug with a picture of Waffles on it.

General and Mrs. Daniels were among the few who had gotten dressed, and they were standing in the doorway with Liz, who looked more dressed up this morning than she had at the wedding, and was craning her neck, trying to get the first glimpse of Jackson—apparently, she was a big fan—who was still in the trailer that was parked on our driveway.

Max was sprawled on one of the armchairs that had been dragged out of the shot, eating a glazed donut and wearing shorts and a hoodie. He seemed much less stressed, now that the secret about his cat was out—he was no longer staring up at the ceiling, worried, and running out of the room every five seconds. He had assured us that Maple Syrup was locked inside my dad’s study and wasn’t going anywhere, but he’d agreed to stay up in his room with him when the segment was being filmed, just to make sure. And adding to the chaos was my uncle Stu wandering around in his stolen hotel robe, talking to the cameramen and giving unsolicited advice.

I’d been sending as many texts to Siobhan as I could—she was heartbroken her rescheduled flight wouldn’t get her here in time—but since Jackson hadn’t emerged yet, these were mostly just pictures of his trailer in our driveway.

The last hour had been a blur of the Good Morning America crew taking over our house. I hadn’t realized that the crew who had come to set up on Friday were just the advance team—there had to be twenty people here now, everyone bustling around at speeds that seemed to get faster the closer we got to airtime. The last twenty minutes or so had been Jill trying in vain to get rid of the spectators and then getting us camera ready, which meant three makeup artists were basically working in a line, going remarkably fast. And considering that none of us had gotten much sleep, I was very grateful for their presence.

We’d all gone through makeup, even my dad, who protested this very loudly and sneezed whenever the powder brush came near him. It seemed like maybe it was good that things had been so busy and frenetic. It had meant that we didn’t have the time—or the privacy—to discuss what had happened the night before.