“‘Remember me fondly as the Girl in the drawing and not as the one in Leg O’ Mutton sleeves,’” Iris begins, before sharing the story of Sadie, her time capsule and how it brought Iris and me together. “That is how I will always remember Adie Lou. The girl who took chances, believed in herself and lived the life she dared to dream.” She stops, and, though it is dim, I swear she is crying. “Like Sadie wrote over a century ago and like Adie Lou models every day, I propose we always paint our cheeks with rouge, I pray that we seek our own stars, and I endeavor that a smile is forever upon our faces.” She stops and looks at me, raising her glass even higher. “To unconventional women!”

“To unconventional women!” the crowd responds.

As it grows late, Scooter whispers to me, “Are you about ready? The guests are waiting to watch us drive away.” He winks at me.

“I am,” I say. “I love you.”

“Me, too.”

I grab my shoes and begin to walk with Scooter, when I hear, “Mom?”

I jump at Evan’s voice.

“Can I talk to you for a quick second before you leave?”

“Of course,” I say, looking at Scooter and then Evan. “Is everything okay? Do you need to know anything about the inn before I leave you in charge?”

“No, I just need to ask you something. In private.”

My heart quickens. “Sure,” I say.

“I’ll see you in a few,” Scooter says.

Evan leads me into the inn, through the kitchen and dining room, and across the lobby.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He smiles and opens the front door. I drop my shoes on the hook rug as he guides me onto the front porch. It is pitch-black, but I can hear guests stirring beyond, waiting for me and Scooter to depart.

“Evan, what’s going on?” I ask again.

“I want to give you my wedding gift,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to recite the rules!” Evan says, his eyes as wide as they used to get when he was a child and he saw his grandparents. “It’s the Fourth of July!”

My heart explodes.

“It’s the only time I’ve seen you pay attention to rules,” I say, recalling the words I used to say to him.

Evan reaches into the woven Nantucket basket still hanging from the front door, and then turns as if he is a magician, his hands behind his back.

“Ta-da!” he says, producing two sparklers.

“Oh, Evan,” I say. “What in the world?”

He hands one to me, and then pulls a long fireplace lighter from the basket and lights them. I giggle when I see the shimmering sparks, just like Evan did as a child.