I kill the call and advance toward the slightly open door of my daughter’s hotel room. I peek inside, letting my heart fill with warm, unfiltered joy.

Grayson and Kiki are on the couch. She is trying to tame his impossible hair, which he got from me, and for once in their lives, they aren’t fighting.

My older daughter is sitting in front of a vanity, a makeup artist and hair stylist fussing around her, holding my wife’s hand.

My beautiful, gorgeous wife’s hand.

“Just remember, you’ll always be my little girl, even when you’re eighty,” Rory says.

Tamsin looks up and smiles at her. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“What for?” Rory smiles.

“Making a family out of Dad and me. Giving me the only thing I truly wanted. Filling a void that couldn’t possibly be filled by anyone but you.”

It’s crazy, but I feel the exact same way about Rory.

I’ve never told my wife what her father said to me when I was a wee lad. I didn’t want to blend her tarnished memory of him with something so pure as our love. But one day, when he was teaching me how to play guitar, he turned around and said, “You know something, Mally-boy? I think one day you’ll be my son-in-law.”

“I’m not going to marry Kiki.” I scrunched my nose.

I didn’t like her that way—that much I knew, even when I was about ten.

“No, not Kathleen. I’m talking about Aurora.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“Not yet.”

“She lives in America.”

“Love is bigger than this planet, son. Much, much bigger.”

We were destined, Rory and I.

I knew that with each flickering light when we were together that first time she came to Ireland.

Each slammed door.

The spontaneous drizzle.

Unexpected snowflakes.

For years, I knew Glen was up there, eventually with Kiki by his side, playing matchmaker.

I look up toward the ceiling and smile at the old bastard. He couldn’t take care of his child while he was living, so he atoned for it after he died.

“Thank you.”

Acknowledgements

This year, I decided to grant myself the indulgence of writing one, completely crazy, utterly out-of-character book for me. And boy, did I show all my crazy. I wrote the points of view of a cow, a napkin, and a chocolate bar.

#NoRegrets.

This book was supposed to be a rom-com treat for Christmas, but somehow ended up as something else completely. Still, I embraced it, and so did the wonderful people who helped me through this process.

I would like to thank my editors, Angela Marshall Smith, Paige Maroney Smith, and Jessica Royer Ocken for being so unbelievably amazing, talented, and meticulous with each of my manuscripts.