I shrug. “What else are they going to drive?”

“They’d be better off walking,” he mutters, and then yells out to Lila and Ella, “Don’t drive drunk or shove any dollar bills down dudes’ pants.”

“We’re not going to a strip club,” Lila retorts, but then giggles as she retrieves her jacket from the coat rack.

Ella puts on her leather jacket, covering up a little bit and making me feel slightly better about the dress. She opens her mouth to say something but Lila snatches her arm and yanks her outside, slamming the door. Thomas and my mom went out for dinner and the house is really quiet as Ethan and I sit in silence, taking in what just happened.

“Do you kind of feel like their bitches?” he asks, turning around in the chair with ribbon in his hand.

I stare at the pile of ribbon and candles on the table. “Yeah, kind of.”

We exchange a look and then simultaneously push away from the table and get to our feet.

“So the question is,” Ethan says as he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, “do we want to go to a bar or go somewhere noisy, like a party?”

“We could always follow them,” I joke as I walk over to the coat rack beside the back door. “Play creep stalkers for the night.” I grab my jacket and slip it on, pretending like I’m joking but deep down I’m serious. I don’t like the idea of Ella going out dressed like that, in this town. Not only is she too beautiful and sexy for her own good, but she’s also got history in this town, with people who either overly like her or with people who loathe her. And if the feisty Ella makes a grand appearance, especially the drunk one, a lot of shit could happen.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ethan agrees, responding to my joke, looking serious. “But we don’t have a car.”

“Should we just start walking?” I ask as I open the door.

It’s late, the black sky is clear of clouds and the stars are shining. Lights twinkle from next door and reflect off the ice covering the yard.

Ethan zips up his jacket. “Sure.”

We step outside and hike down the driveway through the snow, then make a left toward town. The snow on the sidewalk crunches under our boots and our breath fogs out in front of us. It’s freezing, but it’s not the first time we’ve walked around late at night in below-zero temperatures.

“So I’m waiting for you to panic,” Ethan unexpectedly announces, kicking a chunk of ice out of the way.

I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. “Panic over what?”

“Over getting married.”

“Why would I panic?”