“I’m just saying don’t judge my life.”

“I wasn’t, Hallie.”

But I have. I’ve always viewed settling down as the antithesis of everything I ever wanted in life. Until Adler Beck confused things.

She’s dubious. “Sure.”

“Just because I don’t see myself with a husband and kids doesn’t mean I judge you for choosing those things. You’re my sister. I’m happy for you.”

“I know you don’t. I—I’m sorry. I’ve just been stressed making sure everything is all set for the wedding.”

I grasp the peace offering. “I’m here. I want to help. ‘Thrilling’ is exhausting.”

Hallie gives me a smile that seems genuine. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“I doubt it. I can just bring up your book club and its highbrow literature any time I want to get out of anything.”

Hallie snorts. “It’s how I found out who Adler Beck is.”

“What?”

“We end every meeting by ‘casting’ the book. Adler Beck was the frontrunner for the Duke. Photos were passed around.”

I let out an unattractive snort-laugh. “Are you serious? Did he get the gig?”

Hallie’s reluctant to reply, which tells me the answer before she verbalizes it. “Yes.”

“Wow. I can’t wait to tell him.”

“So, you’re talking to him?”

I turn my gaze back outside. We’re in Hallie’s neighborhood now. “No. I’m not.”

Hallie pulls into the driveway behind two other cars. We load our arms full of the paper bags from the farmer’s market and head inside.

The bungalow is homey. I’ve only ever seen photos, and Hallie’s redecorated since the ones I last saw. The living room is scattered with baby toys, but beneath the infant equipment is a smorgasbord of color. The rug is patterned in bold versions of every color under the sun, and she has covered the walls with vibrant prints. The framed pieces are interspersed with family photos, and I’m surprised to see how many I’m featured in.

“Hallie?” a male voice calls as we head toward the back of the house.

“Yeah. We’re back,” she announces as we walk inside what I immediately realize is the kitchen.

Her husband Matt is sitting at the round kitchen table, bouncing my nephew on his lap. An older couple I recognize as Matt’s parents are seated across from him, along with his brother Jackson.

“Saylor!” Matt greets me enthusiastically as he rises to give me a hug. “So good to see you.”

“You too, Matt,” I reply, although I could probably count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had that expand beyond pleasantries. “The house looks great.”

“Thanks.” He gives me a boyish grin. “Want to hold Matthew Jr.?”