Matty led the way ahead of me as we went down two flights of stairs as fast as we could. I was holding on to Brad tightly, his leash wrapped twice around my hand. When we made it down to the main level, we turned to each other and I clapped my hand over my mouth, hysterical laughter bubbling in the back of my throat. “Oh my god.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Matty said, shaking his head with a guffaw. He looked up toward the highest tower, with the turret—it looked like Brian and his possibly not-fiancée were in the middle of a pretty intense argument. He turned to Brad and held his face in his hands. “No more of that! No more running away and wrecking once-in-a-lifetime moments!” Brad panted happily at him.

“I’m not sure it would have worked out,” I said. My heartbeat was only just now returning to a normal level. We had Brad back, and we no longer had to run, both of which were good things. “I mean, what do you think was going on with Keeley?”

Matty laughed and glanced down at his phone, then pointed out where we were supposed to go. I kept Brad held firmly in my arms. I wasn’t about to put him down and risk him getting away again. He was just going to have to be along for the ride. Not that he seemed to mind—he was looking around from this new vantage point, his nose quivering as he sniffed, occasionally taking the opportunity to lick my face. And once the panic about losing him had fully died out, as if on cue, my feet started screaming at me again.

“How did you know he was going to propose?” I asked, trying not to limp. “You stopped me from going in, but the proposal hadn’t even started.”

“I worked at Mama’s Fish House for a summer,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone proposes there at sunset. You learn to read the signs.… Seriously, what’s wrong with your feet?”

I looked from him down at myself and the weird lurching, hopping gait I’d taken on, and realized there was probably no point in pretending anymore. You reach a point with physical pain where it’s so bad your sense of dignity goes out the window.

“My shoes are just… a little bit painful,” I said, in what might have been the understatement of the century. “I might have a blister.” Or five, I added silently to myself.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked, looking baffled. “We could have stopped, or taken a car.…”

“It was fine,” I lied. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“But you’re in pain.”