When we got back to the house, Ari was waiting with Ezra’s parents, a celebratory bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice.

As soon as I saw her, I flew into my sister’s arms. “He asked my permission instead of Dad’s,” she whispered to me. “And waited before he proposed to find a weekend I could come out to celebrate afterward. You’ve got yourself a keeper.”

I hadn’t cried until then, but those words did it. I’d found a man so kind, so caring, so thoughtful, someone who knew how much my sister meant to me and made her part of our union. A man who I knew would be a great dad to your future brothers and sisters. I vowed to myself then that I would do everything I could to make him feel loved, understood, inspired—the way he did for me.

41

When they got to Little Italy Pizza, which was incongruously located in Midtown West, Emily said, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s open twenty-four hours and is the New Yorkiest New York pizza around.”

“I’m in,” Rob said, letting go of her hand to open the door for her.

“Thanks,” she said, walking in front of him, forced to slide inches from his chest as she stepped through the door. The nearness made her feel like a magnet, her body pulled toward his, her willpower alone keeping them apart.

Rob ordered a pepperoni slice, and Emily found herself hungry, too, so she got plain cheese and sat down at a booth. Rob paused when he got there, as if he wanted to slip in next to her, but then thought better of it and sat opposite. Emily noticed one woman nudging the man she was with and pointing at Rob. Would Rob be able to go out for pizza like this much longer without a baseball cap covering his face?

“You know I was serious,” he said, “when I asked you to come tour with me. You’re so talented. You should share that with the world.”

Emily had been blotting the oil off her pizza with a napkin and looked up at him. “That’s sweet of you to say, but I’m not that talented. Not like you.”

Rob shook his head. “I don’t think you understand.” He pulled out his phone. “Here,” he said. “I want you to watch yourself perform. Pretend it’s someone else.”

“Rob—” Emily started. She didn’t want to watch herself. She knew it would be embarrassing to see. She probably made ridiculous faces or did something strange with her eyebrows. Her voice probably wasn’t as melodic or rich as she’d hoped it would be, her piano playing not as sharp.

“Just watch it,” he said. “Please. For me.”