“No,” I said simply. “We were more like brothers than cousins. I was the youngest, so they protected me. Thomas sort of babied Travis and me. Travis always got us in trouble, and it would be his ass. I was the peacekeeper, I guess, always petitioning for mercy.” I laughed at the memories.

“I’m going to have to ask your mom about that sometime.”

“About what?”

“How she and Diane ended up with Jack and Jim.”

“Dad claims it happened with much finesse,” I said, chuckling. “Mom says it was a train wreck.”

“Sounds like us—Travis and Abby, and you and me.” Her eyes sparkled.

Almost a year after I’d moved out, my bedroom was almost the same. My old computer was still gathering dust on the small wooden desk in the corner, the same books were on the shelves, and two awkward prom photos were kept in cheap frames on the nightstand. The only missing items were pictures and framed newspaper clippings of my football days that used to hang on the gray walls. High school felt like a lifetime ago. Any life without America felt like an alternate universe. Both the fire and Travis getting married had somehow solidified my feelings for America even more.

A warmth came over me that only happened when she was around. “So, I guess that means we’re next,” I said without thinking.

“Next for what?” Recognition pushed her eyebrows to her hairline, and she stood. “Shepley Walker Maddox, you just keep your diamonds to yourself. I am not anywhere near ready for that. Let’s just play house and be happy, mmkay?”

“Okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “I didn’t mean soon. I just said next.”

She sat. “Okay. Just so we’re clear, I have Travis and Abby’s second wedding to plan, and I don’t have time for another one.”

“Second wedding?”

“She owes me. We made a promise a long time ago that we would be each other’s maid of honor. She is going to have a real bachelorette party and a real wedding, and she is going to let me plan it. All of it. It’s mine,” she said, not even a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Understood.”

She threw her arms around my neck, her hair smothering me. I buried my face deeper into her golden locks, welcoming suffocation if it meant I was close to her.

“Your room is really clean, and so is your room at the apartment,” she whispered. “I’m not a clean freak.”

“I know.”

“You might get sick of me.”

“Not possible.”

“You’ll love me forever?”

“Longer.”

She squeezed me tight, breathing out a content sigh, the kind I worked my ass off for because it would make me so damn happy when she did it. Her sweet, happy sighs were like the first day of summer, like anything was possible, like it was my superpower.

“Shepley!” Mom called.

I leaned back and took America by the hand, leading her out of my room, down the hall, and into the downstairs living room. My parents were sitting there, together in their worn love seat, holding hands. That furniture was the first they’d ever bought together, and they refused to get rid of it. The rest of the house was full of contemporary leather and modern rustic design, but they would spend most of their time in the lower level, down the hall from my room, on the itchy blue floral fabric of their first love seat.