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Then Levi claps me once on the back and heads for his side of the property, while Christian herds Everly out in front of him as if marching her back to her house before she can ask six hundred more questions about France, marriage, or whether Aria is already pregnant.

Archer never came over to the house, though he might still be in Seattle, or somewhere completely different, knowing him. Security takes him all over.

He texted after the car pulled in:

Everything good?

I replied:

Yes.

He sent back:

Good.

From Archer, that’s the way he shows he cares—by checking in on your safety.

Wes, Colston and Levi could be anywhere but I’m glad they’re anywhere but here.

Then the front door shuts behind the last of them, and the foyer goes quiet.

Aria is standing in the entryway of my house when I turn around. I guess it’s our house now. She has her satchel over one shoulder and her eyes moving over the space.

"Your family is…" she starts.

"A lot."

"I was going to say wonderful." She looks at me. "But also a lot."

I pick up the bags the driver left just inside the door. Both of hers. One of mine.

She watches me.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Taking these upstairs."

"I can carry my own luggage. You’ve already done a lot."

"I know you can, but I’ve got it."

I start up the staircase and she follows.

Down the hallway, past the second guest suite—the one that was hers on our wedding night, with its own bathroom, its own closet, and a door that closes. A door that would have put distance between us back when distance still felt necessary.

I walk right past it.

Halfway down the hall, she stops.

"What’s that?"

I follow her gaze.

The west wing corridor is blocked off by opaque plastic sheeting taped from floor to ceiling. Behind it is the faint smell of fresh paint and sawdust. Through the landing window, a construction dumpster is still visible down on the service drive.

"Renovation," I say, and keep walking.

"Of what?"