“Let the man spoil you,” my sister-in-law insists. “He spent all morning lining up every detail of today to make sure you were able to get around without being harassed.” She rolls a finger toward the ever-patient woman waiting on us to sort our shit, encouraging her to go ahead and run it. “Leaving you so soon after the wedding is really messing with him. If this is what it takes to make him feel like he’s taking care of his wife, then you’re just gonna have to damsel a little for him, mmmkay?”

“Fine,” I agree, dropping my wallet back into my purse just as my phone starts to ring. My stomach drops when dad’s name flashes across the screen. “I’m gonna take this…”

“Sure, go ’head. I’ll finish up here.”

“Hello?” I answer, moving to an empty corner of the shop in search of a bit of privacy.

“Hey, Sweet Pea. It’s Dad.”

“I know,” I say, grinning through my nerves. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell the man he doesn’t need to name himself when he calls, he still does it every single time.

I file it away as something to remember when he’s gone—one of the many little things I hope to never forget.

“How’s your day with the girls going?”

“Good. How was your appointment?”

“Well, that’s what I’m calling about,” he says. “I have some news I’d rather deliver in person. Think you could swing by for dinner?”

“Sure.” My pulse takes off at a dizzying pace, as I try not to think the worst, reasoning with myself that truly, it can’t get much worse than a few weeks. “I’ll be there soon.”

“See you then. Daddy loves you.”

My heart clenches as I fight to rein in my emotions enough to respond. “Love you too.”

I slip the phone into my back pocket before scrubbing my clammy hands on the front of my jeans.

“Come on,” Margo says, lacing an arm through mine. I didn’t even notice when she got here, but I’m grateful for her presence. “We’ll have Frank drop you at your parents’ house first.”

“Okay,” I say, unmoving. I can’t seem to remember how to put one foot in front of the other.

“Want us to come with you?” Darci offers, her face tight with concern.

“Nah.” As tempting as it would be to have them there for moral support, my father doesn’t need an audience when he shares his news. “But thanks for offering.”

“We love you,” Lizzie says shifting the shopping bags from one wrist to the other. “And we’re just a phone call away if you need us.”