I pursed my lips, not wanting to answer. “Once. But—”

She held up her finger to stop me. “But nothing. You stepped up. Like you always do. Maybe you thought you had Ebola that entire day, but you pushed through and fucking passed.”

I grinned at how well she knew me. It wasn’t Ebola but a strain of meningitis, if I remembered correctly. To be fair, there had been a bunch of cases in the area at that time.

Fiona was right. I was a fucking nervous wreck that day. Had a panic attack the night before. But I had to pass because we needed that freedom.

“I rent my house,” she continued. “I have never owned a home in my life. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place. Because I love it here. Because I’ve made this place my home. And my fucking visa is going to be up in a year, but there’s nowhere else I want to be. As much as I fucking love working for you, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, I’m older than you, bitch. And I’m your employee.” She pointed at me. “You own a home. You renovated that fucking thing yourself, and I can’t even put together flat pack furniture. You created this.” She waved her hands around the space. “A business. Filled out whatever the fuck paperwork someone has to fill out in order to start a business. You dealt with a bank. Every single thing you set your mind to in your life, you succeed in.” She reached out to squeeze my hand. “You think because you have anxiety, you’re weak.” She shook her head. “It only makes you stronger. More impressive. That you successfully navigate through life.”

Though she was building me up, her words only made me sob harder.

“I love you,” I said through my tears.

“I love you more, bitch,” she replied with a wink.

It was then I realized I hadn’t been living through just one love story but many. That happily ever afters existed in many different ways, and I was lucky enough to have a bunch of them.

* * *

I expected to hurt, being around a family when I’d lost mine. And it did. But only because I was in agony every time I inhaled and exhaled. Pain was my constant companion now.

But it was impossible to be bitter or resentful about what I didn’t have when I was around Rowan’s family. Not when they welcomed me into the family the second I walked through the door of their home.

Well, not even when I walked through the door.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway of the lovely, two-story house with a wraparound porch, a colorful, rambling garden and bright yellow shutters, the front door opened, and a woman burst out of it.

Rowan’s hand on my thigh tightened before he reached over to kiss me on the side of the head. “Ready yourself, cupcake,” he murmured, undoing my seat belt for me.