It was likely the most domesticated thing to have ever left Manning’s mouth. I grinned ear to ear and held up the empty bowl I’d grabbed on my way in. “I’m refilling chips.”

“Doesn’t the caterer do that?”

“I needed a few minutes of refuge.”

He opened another cupboard. “Keeping you busy, huh?”

I leaned my stomach on the island and set my chin in my hand, watching him. “You won’t find them in there.”

He paused, picked a gold-rimmed, leaf-patterned plate out of the cupboard and turned to show it to me. “Guest dishes.”

Those two words were enough to send my imagination spinning into the future. Once, before he’d gone away, we’d talked about guest plates and the kind of wife he pictured for himself. Even with Tiffany yards away, I saw myself in Manning’s kitchen, experimenting with new meals every day, made with love for him. That had to mean something. Tiffany would understand eventually, once she saw how right we were together. She would be mad, but she couldn’t deny the unshakeable truth about Manning and me—this story was ours.

Maybe reading my mind, Manning put the dish away and turned to me. “Did you say hi to your sister?”

“I think we’re in opposite rotations. I haven’t talked to her, but she keeps scowling at me.”

A caterer passed through the kitchen, fixing her cuff. She did a double take at Manning and stopped. I didn’t blame her. In a short-sleeved black t-shirt, the way he’d crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps were front and center. “Anything I can help you find, sir?”

“Tup—”

I stood up straight. “We’re fine.”

She looked startled by my presence, then nodded and continued outside.

“Take it on easy on her, all right?” Manning said. “This isn’t easy for her.”

“The caterer?” I asked.

“Tiffany.”

“Oh. You mean because one day of the year isn’t about her?”

He jutted his chin at me. “The past year has been about this, Lake. This party, your future. Your sister feels invisible.”

“Tiffany, invisible?” I laughed. “Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”

He didn’t even smile. He was seriously defending Tiffany to me.

“Whatever,” I said, turning to hide my disappointment. This must’ve been how Tiffany had felt when Manning had scolded her at the Fun Zone. I didn’t like it. I went to the pantry, grabbed a bag of chips, tore it open, and paused. My ears heated with my frustration. I whirled back to him. “It’s not like I asked for all this,” I said. “She hasn’t even congratulated me once.”

He glanced out the sliding glass door. “I’ll talk to her, but it’d be good if you made more of an effort.”

I went over to a cupboard. “Here.” On my tiptoes, I tried to grab for plastic on the top shelf, but I couldn’t reach. “You don’t want to keep Clancy waiting.”

Manning came up behind me, gently pressing his hips against me as he easily nabbed a container.

He was close. So close. His heat at my back melted my anger. I knew at any moment, he could take it away, so I asked, “How many?”

“How many what?” he asked, his voice low.

“Containers?” My throat sounded as dry as it felt. “Clancy looks like he eats a lot . . .”

“Not sure, but I can’t reach any more. You’ll have to move.”

Move? I couldn’t. I didn’t even blink. I’d barely been in his presence ten seconds. I couldn’t take it, catching a moment alone with him here and there, once every few weeks, months even. I wanted to soak this in. Manning stayed there, too. There was so much I wanted to know, so much to ask, but before I could, he put his hands on my hips. “Sorry, Birdy,” he murmured, squeezing me gently before moving me out of the way himself.

He took down a stack of tubs and lids, and we turned at the same moment to find my dad across the island, looking at us.

“Lake, we need you outside,” Dad said.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Now.” His tone startled me. He’d been on cloud nine since the night of my honor roll ceremony, buying me USC gear and embarrassingly expensive electronics for my dorm, telling me how proud he was at every turn. After graduation, we’d all driven home for the party and found a black Range Rover in the driveway with a bow on top.

“Manning,” Dad said as I slinked away, “let’s you and me have a word when the party dies down. About the job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Job? What job? While trying to keep my eyes and ears on the kitchen, I walked right into a conversation between my aunt, uncle, and Tiffany.

“Fashion design, maybe,” Tiffany said, beaming. “Or business. You can never go wrong with a business degree—”

“There you are, Lake.” My dad’s brother, Darryl, was more relaxed than my dad. He and my Aunt Roberta had driven down from Northern California just to watch me graduate.

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