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“This way,” Poem says. Her dark floral skirt swishes as she leads us through the entryway and out the back door, where my family has gathered in the backyard. “I only heard you guys knock because I was inside using the bathroom. Knocking at your parents’ house is wild work, by the way.”

“Emerson was being polite,” I reply. “Because he’s a polite man. Very considerate.” Very unwilling to marry me right this second due to my own stupid desires. How dare he be so perfect.

The polite man’s lips twitch.

“Almond is a little grumpy because we can’t transition our fake dating into a marriage of convenience tonight,” he explains to my gathered, confused family. “She currently believes I’m being a little too respectful of her.”

“Good,” Wolfe says, greeting Emerson with a wave from Dad’s big circular grill.

“Good,” Fox grunts at the same time. He tips his chin at Emerson and crooks his finger at Poem. She raises an eyebrow at him and crosses to the opposite side of the small yard from him, popping her bottom into a seat at one of three pushed-together picnic tables.

Fox rolls his eyes, saunters his jeans-clad behind across the grass, and places himself on the bench beside her.

Leora, standing beside Mom, who stands beside dad, who stands beside Wolfe, eyes me. “What’s the convenience?” she asks. “For the marriage?”

Emerson’s eyelids lower, and Fox shivers in disgust. “Do not answer that question out loud,” he orders. “Your face is more than enough. Yuck. Ew. That’s my sister.”

“Nice,” Poem comments, nodding approvingly. “Ten out of ten on the hot scale. Happy for you, Almond!”

“Are you really going to let your little sister get married before you?” Amia asks, running up to the group at the grill and frowning at her father. “You’re supposed to get married first! You’re the oldest!”

“Allegedly,” Fox cuts in. “He’s the oldest, allegedly.”

“I can’t say that word,” Amia replies with all the sass of an eight-year-old who plans to turn eighteen next birthday. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway, because I know that he’s the oldest—in my heart. Which means he should get married first. Everybody knows that.”

I dig in my purse for my emergency bag of her favorite gummy worms, find one, and pass it to her to help her push past the cranky.

She snatches it, crankily, and glares at her dad as she grips it with her little hand and violently chomps the head off.

“So much for being sneaky,” I mutter.

“Al, stop giving my child sugar when we’re about to eat.”

“Wolfy, stop making my niece wait so long for you to give her a legal mother.” I counter. “I want her to be my flower girl, and I’m worried she’ll protest on principle if she doesn’t get to be yours first.”

“I will,” Amia confirms with a vicious snap of her worm. “Try me.”

“Stop hanging out with Almond,” Wolfe orders, pointing a big, silver spatula at his daughter. “She’s teaching you bad habits.”

“What’s with men dragging their feet to get married, anyway?” I huff.

Emerson presses his lips together, and his chest shakes. “You’re the one who wanted us to Meet The Families,” he reminds me.

I frown. “You should let me know when I’m being really stupid. As my husband, that’s going to be one of your jobs.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Dad cuts in, leveling his gaze seriously on the large man next to me. “Do not for a minute believe her. She doesn’t want to know when she’s being really stupid. She never has, not since birth. Her teenage years were…” His eyes slide to me, assessing. “Difficult,” he finishes.

I scrunch my nose.

“I don’t think getting together with our families was a stupid idea.” Emerson shrugs. “It’s grown on me the past couple of days. I think it was brilliant, actually, and considerate and kind and respectful.” He smiles down at me softly. “I think it shows how caring you are and how much you love your family—and the capacity you have to care for and love the family that we make.”

I blush scarlet and abandon my ire. Flimsy as my hold on it was, the negative emotion slips away easily, and pleasant warmth takes its place in my chest.

“Why wouldn’t she be loving and caring and all that other stuff?” Amia asks, sticking her nose in the air. “Auntie Almond is amazing.”

Silence falls, not heavy, but happy. After a prolonged second where everyone stares at me while I stare at Amia, Wolfe clears his throat. “Well said, sweet girl.”

Amia spins in a circle, giving the adults around her a patented you guys are so weird look that every elementary child pulls out when the grown-ups are, indeed, acting weird.