Graham’s glare could melt steel, but it’s quickly interrupted by Aunt Molly volunteering her present to be next.

“Open my tea towels!” she shouts, then claps a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed at her mistake. “Shoot. I mean, uh, open my gift. It could be anything at all!”

The room breaks out in laughter so loud, it drowns out Graham’s permanently bad mood. When I pull two plush tea towels from Aunt Molly’s gift bag, I still make sure to act surprised. Each one has a perfect letter T embroidered in pale pink thread. My soon-to-be new last name has never felt so official.

“Thank you, Aunt Molly,” I say with a grin. “These will be so gorgeous in our kitchen.”

Our kitchen, in our home.

Logan’s apartment on the Boston Common is plenty big enough for two, so we’ve arranged for me to break my lease and move in with him for the duration of his contract with the Titans. After that, I’m crossing all my fingers and toes that he can secure a transfer to the Denver Avalanche, putting us just a hop, skip, and a jump from Lost Haven. It’s a long shot, but crazier things have happened.

Like us falling in love in the first place.

“Speaking of kitchens, let’s do my present next!”

Jillian leaps to her feet, scurrying to the pile of presents and carefully selecting the largest box from the center. She winces and grunts as she struggles to lift it, and when she places it in my lap, I can see why. The heft of it makes me recoil.

“Jeez, Mom.” Logan laughs, lifting the box to take some of the weight off my thighs. “What did you get us, a box full of bricks?”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “I guess you’ll have to open it and see.”

I shimmy the sheer blush bow off the box, then peel back the matte silver paper a few inches. That’s all it takes for my eyes to light up with recognition. I’d know that familiar shade of aqua anywhere.

“No way,” I whisper, blinking in disbelief at both the thoughtfulness and the expense of the gift. “It’s just like yours.”

Jillian nods, beaming at me with a huge smile, her blue eyes twinkling. “It sure is. The exact same make and model and everything.”

A murmur of what is it makes its way through the living room until I finally peel back the paper all the way, revealing the box to everyone. It’s a state-of-the-art stand mixer in aqua blue, exactly like the one Jillian used to teach me how to make bread.

Warmth fills my chest. It may be crazy, but this mixer, those memories . . . it all makes me feel like part of the family. And family is something I never thought I’d have again.