“I know sizzling-hot sex vibes when they’re snapping in the air. You know he lives a couple minutes away.”

“I have—”

“Guests. Still. Quickies are underrated.”

“Again, I say, one-track mind.”

“I’m engaged to my boyfriend. I’m supposed to think about sex.”

“You’re supposed to think about wedding dresses and caterers.”

“And sex.” Laughing, Avery pulled off the bandana, scooped her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to pick the dress yet. I’ve been looking at magazines and scoping online to get ideas, to try to find a style that pulls at me. It’s like the bar top.”

“Avery.” With an eye roll for her friend’s lack of romantic priorities, Hope sighed. “Your wedding dress is not like the bar top.”

“It is because they both have to be exactly right, exactly what looks fabulous and makes me feel excited.”

“Okay, your wedding dress is like the bar top.”

Avery walked inside, through the kitchen door where Clare sat at the counter peeling carrots. Justine stood, chopping celery with the pug curled at her feet. Something boiled on the stove.

“Avery, your dad’s coming over.”

“Great. I want to introduce him to the puppies.” She bent down to rub and nuzzle Tyrone—currently hiding under Clare’s stool.

“We’re cooking out,” Justine announced. “Ry’s been dropping broad hints about the lack of potato salad in his life, so I figured I’ve got three girls here. We ought to be able to pull that off.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Hope began, “but I really have to get back in about an hour.”

“I called Carolee. She’ll hold the fort until you get there.”

“Really I should go, let her come, be with the family.”

“She’s fine,” Justine insisted. “Avery, will you make that marinade you do for this chicken? The spicy one. We can handle it—we’ll do something mild for Harry and Liam. God knows Murphy can handle the heat. The boy would eat hot peppers like gummy bears if we let him.”

“He likes them better than gummy bears,” Clare agreed. “Relax,” she told Hope. “This will give us more time to brainstorm about Lizzy.”

True enough, Hope thought. But if she’d known she’d have extra time, she might’ve taken Ryder up on that visit to his house.

Now who was thinking about sex?

“I’d love a cookout,” she said, smiling at Justine. “How can I help?”

Justine just handed her a potato peeler.

RYDER WALKED IN with his brothers, a herd of kids, and a pack of dogs. Chaos immediately ensued. Rolling, running, wrestling, demands for food, drinks. His mother, as expected, ignored it or rolled with it. Avery added to it—also expected. Clare handled the boys’ insanity with a look that cut it almost in half—that mom thing—while Beckett grabbed cups to deal with claims of death by thirst.