We said he didn’t need to leave, and Mom could come to us, but he’s a sponsor now at Gambler’s Anonymous, so he likes to be local in case any of the people he’s helping work through their addiction need his support.
I think Rory needed the father figure to help her, too, given her own father’s absence. I overheard Dad reassuring her more times than I can count while he stayed with us. My parents both love my wife; so much so that I only got yelled at once for our spontaneous, guestless wedding. They were just happy she was finally officially their daughter.
Aurora’s heels click against the hardwood floor as she paces up and down the aisles in search of something to panic about. I follow her, strolling slowly with my hands in my pockets, listening to her huff and puff her way around what is a perfect bookstore.
“Sweetheart . . .”
“Don’t sweetheart me,” she grumbles, spinning to face me. She plants her hands on her hips and pouts. “You did this, Russ Callaghan. You told me I could run my own business. A bookstore, no less. Not even a bar or a strip club or something I might actually be good a—”
Whatever she was about to say dies when I close the space between us, taking her face between my hands and pressing my mouth against hers. Her body melts into me, the tension dissipating with every passing second. Moving my hands to cup the nape of her neck, I rest my forehead against hers. “You are the most capable woman I have ever met in my life. There’s nothing you could suggest that I wouldn’t support. I will be there to hold your hand through all of it, Ror, but you don’t need me to. You’ve never needed me to be incredible. You. Just. Are. And I love you more than I can put into words.”
“I love you, too.” Her arms wrap around my neck, her big green eyes staring into mine. “This is our last chance alone all weekend. Tell me a secret, Callaghan.”
Secrets aren’t really a thing between us. I’ve spent so many years with Aurora that her ability to overshare has finally rubbed off a little. “I did eat your Cheetos last week. It wasn’t Neville. He looked at me with such judgment when I blamed him that I felt guilty for, like, three days.”
Those eyes I love so much roll extra-dramatically. “No shit. You had orange dust all over your face. Try again.”
It’s the try again that throws me. Like she’s waiting for me to admit something specific, something she already knows, which isn’t how this game works. Our friends and neighbors will be arriving soon for the opening, but she’s still staring up at me expectantly.
And that’s when I realize.
She knows.
“Oh shit.” The corner of her mouth tugs up into a smirk. “I invited your mom and forgot to tell you.”
“Oh shit is right, because yes, you did.”
“How did you know?”
“Because she called me to confirm I’d be serving good champagne.”
“I thought I’d escaped being forced into bookstores with Aurora,” Henry sighs, eyes scanning the tall mahogany shelves lined with new books. “And yet here I am. Again.”
Aurora wanted the kids’ corner painted like the northern lights, so she enlisted her favorite—and possibly the only person she knows who can do it—artist to help her. The painting he was good with. It was helping make the hundreds of tiny origami stars to hang from the ceiling that got him.
“Here we both are.” I nudge his shoulder with mine playfully. “Thanks for bringing those signed editions, man. Aurora appreciates you being here. We both do.”
“It’s fine; it means less books in my house. She’d have come, but it’s just a bit far with the baby and—”
“What about me?”
We both look at the child perched on Henry’s hip, clinging to him like he’s her favorite toy—which he pretty much is. “Yes, Mila. We’re very happy you’re here, too.”
She smiles brightly, which reminds me the older she gets, the more it’s like staring at Stassie. “Uncle Henry, can I have my ice cream now? It’s been the mandatory five minutes.”
Henry drops her to her feet and nudges her away. “Go ask your dad for money.”
“Mandatory five minutes?” I ask as we watch her crash into Nate’s legs, shouting her request up to him. Nate pauses his conversation with Emilia, sighing as he reaches for his wallet, scowling at Henry from across the room as he places some bills in his daughter’s palm.
“Mandatory five minutes of socializing,” Henry says.