And just like that, I remembered—how much it bothered her that I went to college. How important it was for her to feel smart and heard, and how often I’d talked over her when we were younger.

“I’m sorry. I like to repeat things sometimes,” I cringed.

“I know. And that’s why I love you,” Tinsley nudged my elbow, her face softening. “I’ve missed having you around, Rosalee. Things haven’t been the same without you.”

And just like that, the tension between us had dissipated, like it always did when we were together and had minor disagreements in the past. Just like it does with siblings.

“Hold perfectly still,” LeeAnn warned me, as she applied sticky, adhesive lashing over the top of my own eyelashes. When she was done, she told me to blink, and she stared right in my face, at exactly my eye level, making sure the lashes were even.

“I’ll let you see soon, but not until I’ve done this hair.”

“Okay,” I said, giving an awkward laugh. My face felt weird and tight, unused to wearing so much makeup. The plucking hadn’t been too painful, but the tender skin around my brows stung a bit.

As LeeAnn set to work on my hair, pulling and twisting with a hot curling iron, I took out my phone and opened my messenger app for the first time since arriving at the Leblanc-Landry mansion. All the messages were from Asher.

He had messaged me early this morning, but I hadn’t read it.

How was the flight? How’s the weather there? Miss you, Boo. I didn’t want to message you yesterday and interrupt your girl time.

Asher had sent a couple more casual messages, then wrote:

I guess you’re busy having fun! I’m so glad. You deserve it. Love you. Xoxo

Yesterday, I’d been so bothered by his failure to message me, never considering the fact that he was giving me space to celebrate with my friends. Perhaps I should have messaged him myself when I got in, I thought, guiltily.

I stared at the hugs and kisses in his message, imagining Asher typing them. He was so well-spoken in person, talking to clients and judges and fellow attorneys. But when it came to texting, he often left a lot to be desired. I could picture him sitting alone in our new farmhouse, trying to think about what he should write to please me. Because he knew how much I hated his often abrupt, too short replies.

This afternoon while I was busy with Tinsley, he had sent several more messages.