“Happy birthday,” Emily says. She comes back out onto the patio, the cake balanced in her hands, the candles lit. “Ready? One, two, three—”

The birthday song rises above the table and my heart beats harder. That thing I said to Emily in Paris—about moving back to Eben Cape—I don’t know if I meant it, back then. I was just floating the idea. Now, it seems real, and I can’t explain it. My life is in LA. My job is in LA. All those auditions and meetings and lunches are what build my career. But as we sing to Paige, I remember the argument in my mind. Not everyone has to live in LA.

Why would I want to be anywhere but here?

I lift up my phone at the last second and take a photo of her blowing out the candles. Emily stands behind her, one hand on her ponytail and a pure, genuine smile on her face. The second it snaps onto my screen, I know I’m going to keep it forever.

Emily cuts the cake. Paige gets the piece with her name on it, even though it’s in the middle. I get a corner piece with a delicate frosting balloon.

It’s light, and sweet, and afterward Paige leaps out of her chair. “Zip line,” she says, clapping her hands. “Uncle Beau. Uncle Mateo. Zip line. Zip line!”

Beau stands up and points at me. “Zip line.”

“Well, when you say it like that, how can I refuse?”

Paige laughs and sprints over to a tree.

“We need a bigger one,” I tell her.

She peers up at it. “Why? It looks big enough to hold me.”

“How will I go on the zip line, then?”

A broad grin. “You can’t go on the zip line. It’s for kids.”

I put on my best horrified face. “You’re saying—that I can’t go on the zip line? Ever?”

“Never,” says Paige, but then she bursts out laughing.

I’m right, anyway. The tree was too small. We pick two trees that look like they could support the weight of two full-grown men, which is about the level of safety I want out of this zip-line thing. Beau drops one end by one tree, then paces over to the other. It comes up about three feet short.

“I don’t think you have enough zip line there, buddy,” I call to him.

He glares at me. “You don’t?”

“No. I think you’re pretty bad at measuring.”

“You picked the tree.” I can feel in the air how badly he wants to call me an asshole, but he won’t, not in front of Paige.

“Pick another one over there. A closer one.”

He puts one hand to his head. “How will I ever choose without you?”