I took a deep breath, scrubbing a pan with renewed vigor.

“I will be there,” he had promised.

“Did you know Beth’s song got, like, a million hits on YouTube?” Amy asked.

I smiled over my shoulder at Beth. “Because she’s amazing.”

Beth blushed. “Not because of me. Because of Colt.”

“But it’s your song,” I said. “You wrote it.”

“You’ll be a celebrity when you go back to school,” Amy said.

Beth focused on drying a pot. “I’m not going back to school this semester.”

“What?” Meg asked.

“Of course you’re going back,” I said.

“Why?” asked Amy.

Beth raised her chin, anxious and defiant. “Colt asked me to go on tour with him, and I said yes.”

“I thought you threw up every time you went on stage,” Meg said.

I looked at her sharply. Beth hadn’t told me that.

“Colt says I’ll get over it. I want to be stronger. To be more . . . To be more, like Momma said.” Beth’s gaze sought mine. “Be happy for me. Please?”

Amy was right. As much as I wanted to protect Beth, we couldn’t stay in our little pigeonholes forever. Let Beth follow her heart.

And I would follow mine.

“Of course we’re happy for you,” I said staunchly.

The doorbell chimed.

“I’ll get that,” Amy said.

I dropped the pan into the soapy water, my hands suddenly shaking. “I’ve got it.”

I dashed across the living room. Flung the door open. “You’re here!”

“I told you I would come.” Eric cupped my face in his large, warm, rough hands. I caught my breath. He smelled of grass and sweat and cold. He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, kissing me as if his sons weren’t standing right there on the porch, as if my family weren’t watching from inside.

I curled my hands around his thick wrists and held on, kissing him back with my heart on my lips.

“Who is this?” my father asked.

I broke away, feeling my face flush. Taking Eric’s hand, I led him into the living room, nearly bursting with pride and love and worry. “This is Eric. Eric Bhaer. And his sons. Bryan.” I tugged him forward. “And this is Alec.”

They murmured greetings and shook hands with the awkward grace of the young.

Phee craned her neck to look at them. “You’re very . . .”

I stiffened. Please, please, don’t say something horrible.

“Tall,” Phee said.

“They’re growing boys, Aunt Phee.” I grinned at them. “Hungry?”

Bryan nodded, smiling faintly.

Alec flashed a grin like his father’s. “Starved.”

John stepped forward. “Right this way. I hear you play soccer,” he said, leading them back to the kitchen.

I loved my sister’s husband.

Phee switched her attention to Eric, taking in his dark skin and heavy stubble beard, the tattoos under his pushed-up sleeves. “What is it you do, Mr., ah . . .”

“Eric,” he said pleasantly. “I cook.”

“He’s a cook,” she remarked to no one in particular.