All the stars in the universe twinkle in her eyes. “Read it,” she tells Piper, and I brace myself.

  Have you ever read one of those you may want to marry my husband letters?

  Scrubbing a hand across my jaw, I take a deep, fueling breath.

  Waiting for Piper to read those words.

  Words Anna wrote?

  Words Anna left with Lucy for the next person?

  Piper opens the envelope, unfolds a letter, and parts her lips, reading, “You may want to marry my father.”

  I blink, snap my gaze to my daughter.

  Her grin stretches to the edge of the galaxy.

  Piper continues.

  “I’ve been working on this letter for a while, because there’s so much to say. I could write a book! He deserves a book. But let me start with the basics.”

  The letter isn’t from beyond.

  It’s from here. This is what she’s been wanting to share all along: her very own letter. I listen, waiting for more.

  “My dad is awesome. But don’t just take my word for it. Let me share my list.

  “One: He makes amazing waffles. With strawberries! And whipped cream. They are so delicious. I know what you’re thinking. That’s no big deal. But they are a big deal. They’re so good, and the best part is he reads to us after he makes us waffles on weekend mornings. He reads Goosebumps to me, and Clifford the Big Red Dog to my brother, and I love to read too, so I’m reading Harry Potter to Henry because I’m awesome at reading. Girl power!

  “Two: Also, speaking of girl power, my dad is great with girls. Like me. He let me polish his toenails a candy pink when I was six, and he let my friend Hannah and me put wigs on him at the party store last year. And he can braid my hair. My mom liked him a lot. Ha. It was way more than like. She loved him. Because he’s so cool.

  “Three: He’s good with boys too. You should see him take care of my little brother. Henry is adorable and so chatty, and sometimes he’s like a little koala, but my dad lets Henry cling to him when he needs to, and he always gives him good morning hugs and kisses and hellos. That’s another thing!

  “Four: I see him every day. I see him in the morning and at night and after school. He takes me to gymnastics and to art, and he goes to all my parent-teacher conferences, even the ones with Miss Jodie, who smells like onions and talks about the Revolutionary War without mentioning Hamilton, which is a super-boring way to discuss the war.

  “Five: Plus, he listens when I talk. I like to talk to him about things that scare me, and things I hope will happen or worry will happen, and all my dreams for what I want to do someday. He doesn’t push either. He wants me to tell him when I want to and how I want to. He respects my boundaries. He taught me that word.

  “He teaches me lots of words, and then I get to use them in letters like this, so that’s six.

  “And this is seven: He teaches me lots of things. Like how important it is to tell people you love that you love them. He probably thinks that came from my mom, and yes, she told me to do that too. But he also says it. And he always tells me he loves me. And I don’t forget it. I can’t! His love is as big as the ocean. As deep as a canyon. As wide as the sky.

  “Eight: He also gives great hugs.

  “That’s why you may want to marry my father. But you better love him as much as I do! Yours truly, his daughter, Lucy.”

  Lucy bounces, a bundle of energy, of anticipation. In her eyes, I can see a four-letter word.

  Hope.

  I’m not sure I can speak without breaking. Instead, I lean on the last few lines.

  I reach for my girl, scoop her up, and hold her tight. Closing my eyes, I inhale her sweet daughter smell, and I let the emotions flood my soul, like a tsunami crashing over me. “I love you so much.”

  She nuzzles closer. “I love you too, but this isn’t about you and me.”

  I chuckle through the lump in my throat, swallowing it back down as I open my eyes. “It’s not?”

  Lucy shakes her head. “It’s about Piper. Well, I didn’t know it at the time. I wrote it a year ago, and I’ve been waiting to share it. It seems like the right time.”

  I look to Piper.

  Her eyes are wet, rimmed with tears. The woman who was once my enemy, who seemed my opposite, who’s become not only my lover, but my love, gazes at us with so much more than I ever expected I’d have again.

  “She’s awesome,” I say softly, tenderly.

  “I know!” Lucy declares. “You should marry her.” She jerks her gaze to Piper. “And you should marry my dad.”

  “I probably should,” I say, answering first, because that’s not only the right order of the universe, it’s also the truth. How could it be anything but? I told Piper I want to be with her when I’m sixty, and I don’t mean as my booty call or a plus-one.

  I want all of her for all of me.

  I reach for Piper’s hand. “What do you think, Piper?”

  Her grin is nearly as big as Lucy’s. “You probably should, but let’s get the other couple down the aisle first.”

  Lucy clambers off my lap, drapes one arm around me and one around Piper, and sighs happily. “I wanted to share something hard, but it wasn’t that hard. It was just right.”

  Just right.

  That sounds exactly like what my life has become.

  36

  Piper

  The fiery orange sunset splatters itself across the horizon, painting the sky in brushstrokes of burnished gold and splashy fuchsia.

  A white runner lines the sand on the way to the ocean, and twenty-two chairs are placed evenly on each side, with coral hibiscus bouquets arranged artfully on the top of each seat.

  It’s simple, but elegant.

  Pretty, but not showy.

  Just like the bride.

  Who’s indeed radiant as I wait with her on the edge of the sugar-soft crystals of sand.

  The music is soft. Only a solo violinist plays as Lucy takes the first steps down the aisle in a pale-yellow sundress.

  She reminds me of me at that age. But she also doesn't remind me of me. Because I know she won’t become a perma-member of a parent’s wedding party. Her father isn’t the multi-marrying type.

  How can I be sure?

  Some things you just know.

  I squeeze Jessica’s hand, then I take my turn, walking down the aisle as both the wedding planner and the maid of honor.

  I flash back to one of the first times I played double-duty in the bridal party and behind the scenes, for Sasha’s wedding. That was the night I ran into Zach at the bar, more than a decade ago, when he placed a bet on the marriage. The wager ticked me off then, but it gives me an idea now.

  I tuck that bet into my bouquet and walk toward the groom and the best man. Damn, the best man looks good in shorts and a white linen shirt.

  I shoot him a small secret grin when I reach the end of the runner, taking my spot across from him. He smiles back at me, and when our gazes lock briefly, I feel sparks and desire, love and hope.

  All in one person, all in one look.

  Yes, I do love weddings something fierce.

  They bring out all the emotions.

  The good ones.

  The music shifts, and all eyes turn to the bride heading down the aisle as the sun gently glides behind the sea.

  Charlie’s eyes brighten, shining with happiness. That’s the way a man should look at the woman he’s promising his forever to. The joy in Jessica’s eyes is everything a groom could ever want.

  As they pledge to love each other for the rest of their lives, Zach lifts a brow at me, sneaking a peek.

  It’s enough to send shivers down my spine. Shivers of happiness, of the start of our own happily ever after.

  That’s another thing I just know.

  I zoom in on the bride, because if I keep staring at the best man like I want to eat him up, everyone at the whole damn wedding will know we’re a thing.

  Not just his kids, and let’s be honest, the over/under on them spilling the beans soon isn’t in our favor. Henry was indeed chill about us being a couple when we told him last night. He said, “Cool!” then he asked if I could read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban because his sister had started the series, but he preferred my version of an English accent.

  And I read him the first chapter in my best posh tone.

  He promptly fell asleep.

  I don’t know if that meant I flubbed it, or he was zonked.

  I left their suite, kissing Zach chastely on the cheek.

  Maybe tonight there will be unchaste kisses.

  A woman can dream.

  Zach doesn't need to clear his throat or tap a champagne glass. His voice is that commanding. His presence is too, when he stands for the toast. “Anyone want to hear all of Charlie’s dirtiest secrets from college? Wait. Scratch that. How about his investment tips and insider insight into the hottest new companies to make you a gazillion bucks?”

  The attendees laugh and cheer their yeses.

  Zach strides in front of the head table. “Yeah, me too. Charlie, time to share. Serve it up, man.” Charlie laughs, and Zach claps his friend’s shoulder. “But seriously, though, this man has already shared so much. Let’s give a big round of thanks to the man and woman who flew us to this gorgeous island, put us up, and entertained us, both in the Caribbean and in London.”

  Everyone claps, and Charlie and Jessica bow their heads. “We are the lucky ones because you’re all here,” Charlie says.

  Zach lifts his glass. “We are all indeed the lucky ones, to be surrounded by friends and family. Let's raise a glass to that: To being here. To love. To finding that special someone.”

  His eyes meet mine, and he holds my gaze as he takes a drink.

  A little later, as the kids boogie and the newlywed couple dances at the reception, with waves gently lapping the shore mere feet away, I make my way to the best man at the bar, ordering a scotch.

  I opt for wine, then tip my forehead toward the couple. “What’s the over/under?”

  He laughs, dragging a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath then stares at Jessica and Charlie, studying them from a distance. “Judging from the way he looks at her like she’s the center of his world and how she smiles at him like he’s the key to her happiness, I’d say it’s a can’t-lose bet. Also, have I mentioned they only have eyes for each other?”

  I tap my chin, as if in thought. “Why, yes, you did say that.”

  “It’s a good sign,” he adds, deadpan.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  He inches closer. “Woman, when it comes to betting on me, you better be all in because that’s where I am.”

  I laugh so hard I nearly snort. “Good. Because I never want to use your professional services.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “You can use my other ones.”

  “And what are those?”

  His answer comes in a smoky whisper. “The ones where I make you come over and over.”

  Tingles spread over my arms. “You are cocky.”

  “Just confident.”

  “It’s been a while though. At least a few days,” I tease. “Are you sure you can still get me there?”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “What else would it be?”

  But before he can flirt back, Charlie and Jessica swing by. The bride shoots us an overly exhausted look. “Are you guys finally going to come out of the closet?”

  “What do you mean?” I scoff, trying to play it cool.

  Charlie pats Zach’s back. “Don’t play coy. It’s about time. I’ve been suspecting you two for months.”

  “We both have,” Jessica adds.

  My jaw drops, but I say nothing.

  Jessica points at me. “That’s cute that you act surprised.”

  I still can’t speak.

  “It’s so obvious. ‘Shuffleboard’?” She sketches air quotes. “Secret wedding stuff? I mean, it’s admirable and smart, and I get it. But we aren’t fooled.”

  “I wanted to focus on you,” I say, trying to regain my footing.

  She squeezes my arm. “And I love you for it, but really, I’m all good. And you two should go get a room.”

  I protest with “It’s your reception.”

  Jessica casts a glance at the dance floor. “And my wedding planner and good friend handled it so well that everything is going perfectly. We’ll watch your kids for half an hour. Go.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The pheromones radiating off you guys are too much to take,” Charlie says dryly.

  “Also, we need more than thirty minutes,” Zach adds.

  Charlie laughs. “Doubtful.”

  But you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. When we’re alone, I remind him, “You do know I have a visitor. That means it’s time for that mandatory rain check.”

  His smile is devilish. “Like I said, life is insanely good.”

  And it is for me too, when I’m on my knees in my room a few minutes later, taking him in my mouth and bringing him to the brink of ecstasy.

  His sounds thrill me. His hands in my hair turn me on too much. Most of all, the way he groans my name when he gives in to all the pleasure feels like one more promise between us.

  A promise of intimacy, of love, of openness.

  When I look up at him, his blue eyes are hazy and so damn happy. “And you’re getting a rain check too. I can’t wait to return the favor.”

  Yeah, we love each other a whole helluva lot, it seems.

  So much for frenemies.

  37

  Piper

  A few days after we return to Manhattan, I meet one of my favorite men outside the Lucky Spot in Chelsea.

  He’s gorgeous, friendly, and funny, and I’ve had him in my life for quite some time. I’m glad I convinced Adrien to meet me here for a drink tonight.

  After he strides up to me, he kisses me on each cheek. “I told you so,” he declares.

  I gesture to the bar. “You sure did tell me so. Why do you have to be so wise?”

  He shrugs then winks. “It comes with the territory.” He opens the door and holds it for me.

  “The territory of being a hair maestro?”

  He laughs as we head inside and grab two stools at the bar. “Is that what I am now, a hair maestro?”

  “You are the god of all updos. The master of locks. The magician of beauty.”

  He snaps his fingers. “I’m putting that on my new business cards.”

  We order wine, and he turns to me, lifts a brow, and rubs his palms. “Okay, hold nothing back. I want to know exactly how right I was about every little thing.”

  I lean my head back, laughing. “Is there anything better than a good I told you so?”

  “No. There isn’t. Serve it up, love.”

  The wine arrives, we toast, and I tell him about Anguilla.

  “Sometimes you need a tropical location to set the truth free,” he muses.

  “Stylist logic?”

  “But of course.” He raises his glass once again and takes a drink. “And I’m not surprised you’re so fabulously in love. I did know it would happen.” He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and produces a lollipop. Sour apple. He sets it on the bar. “I knew it was true love once you mentioned Blow Pops.”

  I crack up, dropping my face into my hand. “I cannot believe you brought a Blow Pop, and I definitely can’t believe a Blow Pop story was the tip-off.”

  “It was patently obvious when you rambled about Blow Pops that he was the real thing.”

  I look up, more serious now. “He’s definitely the real thing.”

  “Plus, you had this glow about you. I call it the love glow.”

  “And what does the love glow look like?”

  He peers at me with narrowed eyes, as if he’s appraising me. “Rosy cheeks, a woozy grin, and a certain dewy look in your eyes.”

  I stare into his gray eyes. “Speaking of, you look different. Are you love-glowing and not telling me?”

  He touches his own cheek and answers playfully. “Do I look like I’m glowing?”

  “Tell me, tell me. Did you meet someone?”

  He’s coy as he answers. “Maybe I did.”

  I punch his arm. “I thought you were into playing the field?”

  “We all are till we meet that special someone.”

  “And you like this guy?”

  He sighs dreamily, then tells me about Carlos, and how his new beau is sexy and funny—and devoted, it seems. “There are never any guarantees, but I think he might be my second chance.”

  I’ll drink to that.

  A few minutes later, Zach heads into the bar, walking straight over to us. He wraps an arm around me and drops a possessive kiss to my lips, then extends a hand to Adrien, introducing himself.

  Soon it’s time for Malone’s set, so we make our way to the lounge section, snagging chairs and sitting with Dina, Heather, Charlie, Jessica, Steven, and Jason and Sloane. Friends from college, friends from Manhattan.

  They all know. We're out in the open, and it’s awesome.

  One glance around, and I’m grinning.

  A while ago, I didn’t even invite Zach here. Now he’s with me, arm draped around my shoulder, so clearly mine and I’m so clearly his.

  The lights dim and the music begins.

  He takes my hand, and when the set ends, he whispers in my ear, “Time for your rain check.”

  38

  Zach

  One of the great things about not keeping a secret is, well, you don’t have to keep a secret.

  That means I don’t have to remember incredibly clever cover-ups, like claiming I wandered down the halls in a hotel in the middle of the night

  After the music fades at the Lucky Spot, I check in with my sister, who laughs and tells me never to check in again when she has the kids, since all is fabulous.