“Enough.”
He rose and offered both hands.
I took them.
We returned to our family.
At five thirty, Marian began moving people toward coats.
Not because anyone wanted to leave.
Because I had asked for a reception that ended before exhaustion became the final memory of the day.
Guests hugged us.
Photographs multiplied.
Miriam cried into my shoulder and called me her boy.
Elias shook Reid’s hand, then ignored masculine restraint and pulled him into a hug.
Dr. Whitcomb kissed my cheek and told me my stress management had been exemplary.
“I expect that in writing.”
“Absolutely not.”
Priya gave me a wrapped box containing a set of resistance bands tied with a white ribbon.
“I hate you.”
“You’ll use them.”
“Yes.”
Leah and the girls stayed until the loft was nearly empty.
Emma looked at our rings and sighed.
“Now you’re legally impossible to get rid of.”
“That was the plan,” Reid said.
Clara hugged Marlowe instead of us.
“He’s tired.”
“He ate half a pear cake,” I said.
“He’s celebrating.”
When the last guests reached the stairs, Marian returned to the office carrying Reid’s overnight bag.
He frowned.
“What is that?”
“Your luggage.”
