There must be some kind of magnetic field whenever three or more Wilder brothers are gathered, because Gabe and Clark drift over, then, shortly after that, Amanda. Before I can come up with a good excuse, I’m being shepherded into Gabe’s Jeep and driven into town.

And to be honest, it’s really nice. I’ve been in a weirdly good mood all week, ever since the reviews came out, and for a change, I don’t feel like there’s a wall of black fog between me and Gabe. The seven of us cram into a booth made for six, and we drink and kid around. Even Clark jokes a bit, showing more life than he has in months. Then people start drifting away, until it’s just Kane, Clark, Easton, and me, and the conversation turns to the whole Wilder Adventures revamp. Kane’s starting to plan a big winter holiday event to fundraise for breast cancer survivor support—the Tinsel and Tatas Winter Games & Gala. Clark’s got some fancy RVs in the works, but short term, he, Gabe, and Lucy are hosting glamped-up camping trips with—“Get this,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Shower tents and toilet tents.”

“Wait, so—someone has to hump that?” Easton asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m bringing backups.”

“No,” Kane protests. “That’s gotta be twenty pounds, at least.”

“Yup. Making Gabe carry it.”

We all laugh.

All of a sudden Kane, who’s facing the back of the restaurant, gets a look on his face. Alarm bells go off in my mind. “What?”

“Nothing.” But he gets up from where he’s sitting—on the other side of the booth with Clark—and slides in next to me. Which is fucking weird. I turn around to look, and shit.

It’s Zoë, with a sleeping Justin in her arms, and Len Dix, and they’re coming toward our booth.

Now I get why Kane changed seats. To hem me in so I couldn’t get up. That’s Kane for you: the peacemaker, the problem-solver, the trouble-soother. When we were kids and the rest of us were beating the shit out of each other, Kane was mediating, making us “use our words” and “talk it out.”

I have to admit, I can’t help wondering if Kane actually likes running trips. All us other Wilder brothers are living our best lives—well, except for our romantic disasters—but Kane? I don’t know. Sometimes I think he might be happier doing something else.

“Hi, Brody,” Zoë says. Her brown hair is pulled back in a too-tight ponytail, her skin is paler than usual, and there are dark circles under her eyes. “Hey. Kane, Clark, Easton.”

My brothers all give her tight unsmiling nods.

Love them.