He nodded, grabbing my jaw and planting his lips on mine. “I fucking love you,” he whispered.

The doorknob jiggled, and then Shepley and America burst through the door, both holding bulging brown sacks and chatting about jalapeno cilantro hummus. They stopped just behind the couch, staring at us while we were in a frozen embrace.

“The fuck, Shep? Knock!” Travis said.

Shepley shrugged, the sacks moving up, too. “I live here!”

“I’m married. You’re a third wheel. Third wheels knock,” Travis said.

America snatched the keys from Shepley’s hand and held them up for Travis to see. “Not if the third wheel has a key,” she snapped. “By the way, Shep got Brazil to lend us his truck to get Abby moved the rest of the way in. You’re welcome.”

She turned for the kitchen in a huff, signaling for Shepley to follow. She was still angry about our elopement, not understanding that sneaking away in the night without telling anyone was the only way it could be. They opened all the cabinets and began unloading the sacks, filling the nearly empty shelves with cans and bags and boxes.

“I’ll help,” I said, beginning to push off Travis’s lap. He pulled me back down, nuzzling my neck.

“Oh, no,” America snarled. “You’re married now. Let the third wheels put away the two-hundred dollars in groceries they just bought.”

“Whoa! Nice, Shep!” Travis said, turning to look into the kitchen long enough for Shepley to shoot him a wink.

“I buy, you cook. That hasn’t changed, right, Trav?” Shepley said.

“Right,” Travis said, lifting his thumb into the air.

“You’re going to have to teach me,” I said, sheepish.

“To cook?” Travis asked. I nodded. “But if I teach you, I won’t get to cook for you as often.”

“Exactly. I want to help.”

He grinned, his dimple sinking into his cheek. “Then the answer is no.”

I pinched an inch of skin just beneath his arm, giggling when he cried out. America passed by the couch to the loveseat where the remote was barely poking out between the cushions. I thought about warning her that the large detective had kept it warm like a hen sitting on her nest, but before I could, America tugged on the remote until it was finally free. She pointed it at the television, watching as the screen flashed on, instantly displaying the local news. They were still reporting on the fire, the reporter standing in front of Keaton, black stains above the windows while yellow words scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

I touched my throat and swallowed, remembering choking from the smoke, and how terrifying it was to see the flames coming closer. I was confused, lost, and terrified, feeling that death could come at any moment until I heard Travis’s voice amid the screams and crying from main room.