He clears his throat and smiles at the crowd. “Thank you, everyone, for coming on such short notice to help celebrate the wedding anniversary of our parents, Peggy and Martin.” He clears his throat and quickly glances around the tent. When he spots me, he smiles, and I catch my breath. “In a grand fashion, we messed up yesterday. It’s as simple as that—no excuses. And we wanted to make it up to our parents and show them that no matter what happens in our lives”—the Chance siblings all link hands—“we will weather the storm together because we’re a family, and despite our differences, we will always love each other. No matter what.”
Peggy lets out a sob as she kisses each of her kids, and Martin follows closely behind her. When they’re done, Ford holds up his glass. “Now, I want to thank you again for coming out, for supporting our parents, and for being such big parts of our lives. Something Cooper, Palmer, and I realized over the last twenty-four hours is how much stronger we are when we’re a team, and we wouldn’t be a team without the tough love from our parents and the people they surround themselves with. So please raise a glass with us as we toast Peggy and Martin.”
“To Peggy and Martin,” everyone says.
We all take a sip, and Cooper grabs the mic from Ford. “As promised in my initial email invite”—a few people jokingly groan—“I know, I know, not my finest moment. But there are some yard games down by the dock, which will be the fun. There’s music, so don’t be afraid to bust a move, and there’s plenty of food. Also, shout-out to Nora at Cake It Bakery for making a replica of our parents’ wedding cake on such short notice.” Cooper looks Nora in the eyes. “I get kilig every time I see you, babe.” Then he hands the mic back to the DJ and winks.
Oh my . . . Cooper Chance.
I turn to Nora as the music starts up again. “What does ‘kilig’ mean?”
She pulls up her phone, does some typing, and then smiles to herself. “Butterflies in one’s stomach.”
“Oh man, you stand no chance.”
Nora shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Larkin, can I speak with you?” Ford says, appearing at my side and startling me.
“Oh, sure, yeah.” I stumble over my words. He takes my hand in his, and we walk over to an outdoor seating area that surrounds an already-lit firepit. He guides us to a small love seat and sits us down.
He doesn’t let go of my hand, and he’s not shy about sitting close to me either. I can feel myself trembling, and he must notice, because he holds me even tighter.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “Nervous for some reason.”
“Don’t be nervous.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “But I do have some bad news.”
“What kind of bad news?”
“I’m going to have to replace you as my assistant.”
“What?” I say, panicking and trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. “Why? Because of what happened between us?”
“No, of course not. I’m promoting you.” When I give him a confused look, he continues: “If I’ve learned anything over the last twenty-four hours, it’s that my siblings know a hell of a lot more than I gave them credit for. Because of you, I stepped back from dictating and instead I listened. Palmer said you’ve outgrown your position and you could be more valuable elsewhere. She couldn’t have been more right.”
I swallow hard. “She said that?”
He nods. “What I also learned is that my knowledge of the industry is vastly outdated. I’ve been stuck behind the desk for far too long, which means I know business. I know it inside and out. That’s where you come in. I really want to focus on products that we endorse. I don’t want to carry just anything in the store; I want to carry things we approve of as a company, products we would use. Which means I need someone to lead that research team. I think you’d be the perfect fit. You would report directly to me, you would have a team to work with, and you would be more involved with what your dad loved—the adventure of the outdoors.”
“Are you . . . serious?” I ask, tears springing to my eyes.
“Very serious. You mean so much to me, Larkin, which brings me to the second part of this. I want to date you. I don’t want you to be my therapist, and I sure as hell don’t want you to make it your mission to help me find myself. That’s not your job—”