She smiles at me and before she can talk, Violet grabs her left hand and holds it up. “She’s keeping busy with wedding planning!”

“Wedding? Well, shit, Sloane. You’ve been holding out on us.” I reach out to give her a hug. “Congratulations. When’s the big day?”

“November, I think,” is her soft reply, eyes darting back to where Jasper is still seated on his mount.

“This November?” he asks from beside me.

“Yeah.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, now keeping her eyes focused on me.

“Who is the guy? I’ve never even met this person.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling Blueberry nudge me from behind.

“Jesus, you guys.” Violet waves a hand in front of us. “Overbearing much? And you all wonder why I moved away so I could date? She’s in her twenties. She doesn’t need y’all to play bodyguard.”

Jasper and I scoff in unison.

Violet’s nose tips up and she ignores us. “I’m having dinner with them when Sloane takes me back to the airport on Monday, so I’ll be the one to pass judgment on him.”

It’s Sloane who laughs now, smiling and shaking her head a little. “You mean the one to meet him? Because you’re the one who isn’t overbearing? Right?”

Rhett butts in now. “Ooh. Called out. Looks like you aren’t so different from us after all, Fancypants.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet waves us all off with a grin. “Just show everyone that massive rock and stop picking on me. It’s making Cade smile and that’s just weird.”

Sloane lips tip up but her cheeks wobble. It’s not the way I’d be smiling if I were set to marry Willa in a few short months. She holds her hand out demurely, and sure enough, the stone is massive. Her family wouldn’t have it any other way.

A chorus of congratulations ring out around us. Everyone oohs and ahhs over the ring, and Jasper hops off his horse, giving the girls a soft smile. He ruffles Violet’s hair before congratulating Sloane.

She reaches for him, and he wraps her in a bear hug, resting the palm of his hand against the back of her head as she presses her forehead to his chest.

It reminds me of running my fingers through Willa’s hair, and I instantly search for her in the group of people. I find her easily, standing there smiling, wearing skin-tight jeans and holding our boy’s hand.

And fuck, it looks good.

“Vi, come meet Willa.” I don’t specify her role. I don’t call her my nanny because that’s not true. And I don’t call her my friend because that’s sure as shit not true either.