I try to think about what it would have been like if I hadn’t married Ricky, and Lincoln and I had stayed together after that summer. Whatever would have followed could never have been as strong and precious, because we now know what it’s like to lose the person you love most.

“Whit, why don’t you sing us one of your songs? I know you’ve been writing like a fiend.”

I lift my gaze to stare across the fire at my cousin. She knows I don’t sing. My voice is strictly for shower-only performances.

“How do you know that?” I ask, deflecting the question.

“Because I heard you last night after you texted Lincoln and you thought I was asleep.”

I narrow my gaze on my cousin. “You sly bitch.”

Her smile, complete with ketchup at the corner of her mouth, melts my heart. “Come on. You haven’t sung for me in years. You used to kill me with how amazing you were.”

I stare at Cricket like she’s taken a bad trip. “I think your memory is broken, because whoever you’re remembering wasn’t me.”

She shakes her head. “No, definitely you. Because I remember you singing that first single before it ever hit the radio. Acoustic. In the backyard. We were both buzzed off crappy wine coolers and dreaming about the future.”

As soon as she describes that night, the memory blooms in my brain like I can see it playing out in real time.

She’s right. I did sing for her.

“I’m not drunk enough to do that again.”

“I want to hear you.” Lincoln’s voice comes out husky, and his breath skims across my ear. “I would love to hear you, actually.”

I shake my head, apprehension creeping into my veins. “No. You really don’t. I’m not good. The songs might be good—I can admit that—but I’m not. I’m a songwriter, not a singer.”

“She’s full of shit, for the record,” Cricket says, and I want to slap her.

“Leave her alone, babe. If she doesn’t want to sing, don’t push her.” Hunter comes to my rescue but also grabs the bottle of wine by the neck. “But if you need a little liquid courage, I can get you a refill.”

Lincoln plucks the tumbler out of my hand and leans around the fire, his long body curving until Hunter can refill my cup.

When it’s back in my hand, I take a long, deep drink. Just the thought of anyone hearing me sing now threatens to break me out in hives. Ricky used to laugh at my voice, and told me not to let anyone hear me because it would be too embarrassing for him, and for me.

Asshole.

I shove the thought out of my head, because I refuse to let memories like that pollute this incredible place and this amazing time.

“Sorry, Whit. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You know that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I just . . . I remember how incredible you were, and then one day you just . . . stopped, and I never heard you again.”