“I’m forgetting myself. Wine or tea?” Ivy asked.
“Wine would be great, thanks.”
“Correct answer.” Ivy grinned.
“Jen.”
She turned.
“You made it.” Ryder pulled her into a quick hug. “Nice to see you not hypothermic.” He gestured to his brother. “You remember Caleb—from the helicopter? Last of the three musketeers.”
“I do.”
“Good to see you,” Caleb said. He pivoted, baby still in his arms, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And in one piece. Always a plus.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Jen said. “For everything.”
“Don’t mention it.” Caleb clapped Wyatt’s shoulder. “Wyatt’s solo-hero act made the day more interesting.”
“Don’t,” Wyatt warned.
Ryder grinned. “Touchy.”
“Can we eat,” Wyatt said evenly, “or are you two going to keep posturing?”
Ryder pressed a hand to his chest. “Wow. Hostile.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes.
Ivy laughed. “She’s got you rattled.”
Wyatt didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled out a chair and gave Jen a look like she was the only person in the room.
Dinner was noisy.
Plates passed hand-to-hand. Voices overlapping. Laughter bounced off the walls. Ellie sat in Ryder’s lap, systematically applying spaghetti to her face with impressive coverage.
“She got her mouth that time,” Caleb said.
“Progress.” Ryder beamed.
Ivy dabbed at Ellie’s chin with a napkin, but Ellie swatted her away. “Me do.”
“By all means.” Ivy handed her the napkin.
Ellie smeared the sauce more thoroughly over her cheeks and flashed her baby teeth. “Me clean.”
Grace snorted into her wine glass and looked away.
Wyatt’s family wasn’t polite or performative. It was people who loved each other—teasing, interrupting, showing up.
What would it be like to stay?
His hand found Jen’s under the table. She curled her fingers into his, his warmth sinking into her.
The dining-room door swung open.
“Don’t get up. I know I’m late.” The voice carried authority before the woman did.
