“Sullivan Mercer,”Tess calls.“Get over here, I have a question.”
I cross the yard,weaving through the gaps, past shoulders, around chairs.
I’m no longer the man on the edge of these things. I’m a mangoing to answer his girlfriend’s question, and the ease of that still undoes me.
“Settle a debate,”she says, sliding over.
“About what?”
“Shay says Henry asked her to marry him on a porch, and Jenna says Ethan said the words ‘I need to marry you’ on a porch, and I say it’s fundamentally cheating that all the Sutton men have asked their women to marry them on porches and there is now an unfairpressure on you.”
“Mm.”
“I’m saying”—Tess’s mouth twitches—“that I would like to officially declare a moratorium on porch proposals in this family.”
“Mm.”
“Henry, would you back me up?”
“Tess, I’m cooking.”
“Henry Sutton, you are a coward.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maggiewipes her eyes.“She fits in so well.”
“She belongs,” Jenna agrees.
Maggie places the damp tissue in her pocket.“She’s one of us.”
“She’s family,” I say.
The table goes quiet.
Tess glances at me,hesitation on her features.It’sthat little pause a woman gets when somethingshe’ssecretly wanted for ages is finally saidout loud, something shehadn’tdared to ask for.
“Sullivan.”
“Yeah.”I set my beer down. Idon’tknow why. My hands want to be empty.
“Don’t make me cry at a barbecue.”
“Okay.”
“It’s tactically unsound.”
I look at her. The yard behind her, the smoke off the grill, all of it falls out of focus. All I see is her.
“There are seventeen people watching.”
“Eighteen, with you.”
“Sullivan.”
“Tess.”My voice is rough.“Walk with me for a second.”
She gets up because she always does. She slips her hand into mine, and I lead her out from the yard, around the side of the house, past the apple crates, toward the path that goes down to the creek.
