“No, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just—” His phone dinged from the nightstand. A smile blossomed as he picked it up.

She wanted to ask him what it was, but of course that was none of her business, either. She got a thrill, though, when he walked over and showed her a picture. It was of Clara and Lynn, with a filter on it that made them look like cats. They had their arms around each other, and the word roomies had been scrawled across the picture.

“Aww,” Evie said. Clara clearly hadn’t told him her other big news yet, though. If she had, surely he would have—

Sawyer plopped down on her bed.

Why was he doing that? He was still looking at the phone affectionately, so maybe he hadn’t realized?

“What’s with the cat thing, though? I want her to project herself as the capable young woman she is, not a cat.” He looked up from the phone and made an apologetic face. “No offense to any cat lovers who might be present. Or cat palm lovers.”

“None taken. I mean, I love cats, even if they don’t love me back, but I don’t want to look like one. It’s the mysterious ways of the youth, I suppose.”

“Lynn and her parents seem good, right?”

She understood that he was looking for reassurance. “Yes, for sure. I think Clara probably couldn’t have done better on the roommate front.”

He blew out a breath and turned to her. “God, Evie. I’m a wreck. What am I going to do now?”

She knew he meant the question in the big, existential sense. But she didn’t know how to answer it in that sense. So she pointed to the TV and said, “Now you’re going to watch The Little Mermaid for the eight hundred millionth time.”

He kissed the girl.

How could he not? For one thing, he had a chorus of animated sea creatures egging him on.

He wasn’t really sure why he was suddenly listening to cartoons when the same advice from his best friends had fallen on deaf ears.

It probably had something to do with the fact that this latest opportunity presented itself while he was lying on a bed next to Evie Abbott—and not wearing a hard hat.

And his defenses were down. Way down, thanks to all this empty-nest talk. So when Evie was sitting there with her shoes off, cross-legged in the same position she used to watch movies in as a girl, braiding her damp hair? And yet was, so clearly, no longer a girl?

He had nothing. He was a goner.

“Sha la la la la la,” sang the cartoon creatures.

“Oh!” she exclaimed on an inhalation, then held her breath.