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“What would you have thought if he told you before the wedding?” she asks. “Would it have made you more or less anxious?”

My lips part, and I pause. “More,” I admit.

“And he told you he tried to track this guy down before but there was no other way to talk to him except at the wedding?”

I shrug then give a reluctant nod. I don’t want Rachel making good points when I just want to be angry and hurt.

“Do you believe him?” she presses.

I think about the pain in his expression last night, the urgency in his voice. I nod again.

Rachel’s face has turned pensive. She absentmindedly tugs on a lock of her hair. “That’s a pretty big deal, meeting a long-lost family member that he’s been trying to find for almost a year. I’m not saying what he did was okay,” Rachel says, holding up a hand before I can react. “His timing was absolutely abysmal. And I one thousand percent agree that he should have been honest with you, like, way, way before now. But … all things considered, I kind of get it.”

My eyes flash wide in shock.

“He panicked,” Rachel explains quickly. “You know a little something about panicking, don’t you?”

I press my lips together. I don’t want to see things from Agustín’s side.

Rachel takes my hand gently in hers. “Eloise, look at you. Look how happy you’ve been—not just this week, but over the past few months. I’ve never seen you like this before, and I’ve known you my whole life. You’re … fuller. Like you’re finally letting yourself live a life in vibrant color. And honestly, it’s been fucking magical to witness.” She wipes a tear from my cheek. “My darling, beautiful friend—falling in love is hard. It comes with a lot of risks. Because people are flawed. We make mistakes. We aren’t perfect. None of us are. I think you’ve tried so hard to live a life without risk. Without pain. Because of course, you suffered so much when you were so young.” My chest squeezes. “But El … these last few months … you’ve finally been living. Really living, not just existing. Are you going to throw all that away? Do you really want to go back to how things were before?”

I think about the video Agustín made. I think about how I looked in June versus how I looked at that dinner on the rooftop. I think about everyone on the ninth floor of the Archer. I think about a kitchen with blue and orange tiles, and a wrinkled grandma letting me use her tortilla press, and a family that welcomed me with words I couldn’t speak but could still understand.

I think about my life before I knew a hot chocolate smile. I think about the warmth of his arms, and the way his hand seems to fit perfectly in mine. I think about how grounded I feel when I’m with him—and how when he looks at me, it’s like nothing else exists in his universe.

“Do you love him?” Rachel asks me. “Because one thing I can tell you, speaking from experience: love is always worth the risk.”

My shattered heart rattles in my chest.

Just then, my phone buzzes. Rachel and I exchange a glance, and then I lunge across the bed to get it. It’s not a text from Agustín though. It’s from Miriam.

I open the thread and see a photo of everyone in her living room: Kate and Sanvi snuggled together with Hazelnut between them on that huge circular chair; Madame Boularès and Mr. Bloom together on the couch—he’s got his arm around her, and the Colonel rests his head in Mr. Bloom’s lap. Gretchen is beside them with Charleston in her arms, holding him like a big baby, her smile bright. Pip is on one of the sparkly poufs, baring his teeth. I see a cat tail peeking out on the floor behind him.

Miriam: We’re having a movie marathon today! The Pack is missing you guys. Barks and woofs to Eloise and Agustín! Can’t wait to have you both home!

More tears spring to my eyes and fall, silently, down my cheeks.

There is no home without Agustín. Going back to my old life isn’t an option—and Rachel is right. I wasn’t living. I was existing. And now I’ve felt the difference. I don’t want to go back to that sad, silent person I used to be. I don’t want to go back to a lonely life.

Maybe I need to start moving forward in this imperfect, messy world as an imperfect, messy person—and be okay with that. I look at each of my dogs, little pieces of my heart, and think about how overlooked they were, because they were old, or incontinent, or had an attitude. But to me, their flaws are what make them who they are. What make them more loveable, not less.

Maybe it’s time to extend a fraction of the grace I give to them to myself.

I am no less deserving of love for being imperfect.

And neither is Agustín.

“I know he’s made a mistake,” Rachel says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. “I’m not denying that. But I’ve also seen the way he looks at you. The way he speaks to you—and speaks about you. I don’t think he was putting on an act, El. Maybe this whole thing started because he needed that interview. But that wasn’t the reason he stayed.”

I meet her warm gaze. “I love him,” I say.

Tears fill her eyes. “I know.”

Panic seizes me. “Did I fuck this up?”

“No,” Rachel says. “But we gotta find him.”

I jump off the bed. “I bet he’s with his family,” I say, rushing over to the dresser and grabbing the first clothes I see. “Shit, I don’t know where they live. Oh wait! Can you text Enrique, our driver? His number is in my phone. He took us to their house.”