“Do you have any advice for me?” I ask Bonnie.

She tells the sisters to give us a minute alone and then turns to me and smiles. It perfectly resembles the sort of smile June gave me before she slipped a laxative in my Coke in the cafeteria (I didn’t know it until later, of course).

“Fortify yourself,” she says ominously. “June has never been one to give up without a fight. Batten down the hatches, and if you really want her, prepare to hold on in rough waters, because mark my words, sugar, there will be rough waters ahead.”

“Not the most encouraging advice.”

She pats my arms. “ ’Cause I like you, I’ll tell you something a little more practical to pair with the metaphorical. June doesn’t like jumping into cold water. Never has, never will. In the summer, she proceeds inch for inch into the pool until, finally, before she knows it, she’s up to her hair.”

I squint. “This still feels metaphorical.”

“Don’t make her jump into the cold pool, Ryan. Inch her in and let her see for herself that the water’s fine.” She reaches up and pats my cheek, and it makes my stomach ache from how much the action reminds me of my mom.

Bonnie walks out of the kitchen, and I lean back against the counter, trying to let her words settle into my thoughts.

A minute later, June peeks her head into the kitchen. “You still alive in here?” Her brown hair is tied into a cute messy bun at the back of her head, and little wisps are hanging loose around her temples. Her face is free of makeup, letting me see all the freckles on her cheekbones and that her lips are naturally cotton-candy pink. I love cotton candy.

A few days ago, she never would have let me see her without her makeup on. Mrs. Broaden’s words poke me, and I wonder if the water is up to June’s knees or hips right now.

I extend my hand toward her, and she takes it hesitantly. I yank her in close and settle my hands on her hips. Her eyes pop up to mine, and I lean down, ready to have a full serving of cotton candy. I barely brush my lips over hers before she turns her head and whispers in my ear, “Betcha wish you could kiss me. That’s one point for me, sucker.”

She ducks under my arm and saunters out of the kitchen, only pausing to wink at me over her shoulder.

—

Five hours later (yes, five), June closes the front door behind her family. After spending the entire day with the Broadens, I feel like I’ve just finished a triathlon that I hadn’t trained for. I’m worn out, but in the best way. It’s been too long since I’ve been around family. I almost forgot what it was like. Years of nonstop work almost had me believing that I didn’t even need a family. Like my pots and pans would come to life Beauty and the Beast style, and I’d have all the company I needed in the kitchen.

Now I see how deprived I’ve been.

I’m a man who has been locked up with only bread for a decade and was just presented with an entire feast fit for a king. I want more of this. Going back to that stale bread sounds miserable.

June locks the door dramatically, puts her back against it, and sinks to the floor. The new I ♥ Nick socks Bonnie gave her are pulled up her legs, stopping midcalves. “Gosh, I thought they were going to try to spend the night.”

I smile before going to sit down beside her. We’re shoulder to shoulder now, and every inch of me is aware of every inch of June. I look down at her, and my eye is drawn to the way her loose sweatshirt drapes off her shoulder a bit. I slip it back up into place. “Now I see where all the swag comes from,” I say, gesturing toward her socks.

June wiggles her toes, and two light-pink spots hit the apples of her cheeks as she looks down at her lap. “Yeah. Mom’s been giving me this stuff for years.” A chuckle rolls through her, and she looks lighter than she has all week. “It’s our inside joke that Nick Lachey is my perfect man.”

“Stiff competition.”

“Oh, there’s no competition.” She looks up at me deadpan. “He wins, hands down.”

Now we’re both laughing. It feels good. Right.

“How much of this stuff do you have?” I ask, bumping my knee against her Nick-covered calf.

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“I do. But only so I can decide if you’re too freaky for me or not.”

She sputters a laugh. “Oh, I am, for sure. I have closets full of this sexy swag.”

“You don’t.”

June’s eyes glint when she looks up at me. “Wanna bet? My mom has been giving me these gifts almost weekly for five years.”

“Five years?” I ask but then wish I hadn’t because I see that June catches on to the math I just did in my head, and her smile fades.

She pulls her knees up to her chest. “I can see you figured it out. She started giving me this stuff the week I called off my wedding.”

“Did you tell her Ben cheated on you?”

Her lashes fan across her cheekbones as she looks at her toes. “No. I only told her that it didn’t work out. I tried to tell her several times in the beginning, but it hurt too much to talk about…and honestly, I just felt embarrassed.”

Seeing June like this, in her goofy socks, vulnerable and open with her hurt on full display, it makes me want to go hunt Ben down and knock his teeth out one by one.

“Have you ever thought about telling her what really happened?”

June’s shoulders tense, and for a minute, I think that I’ve just popped the intimate bubble we were in. But then she picks a piece of lint off one of her socks and says, “I have lately.”

I don’t know what it is about the way she said lately, but it’s as if she’s trying to tell me that something is different now. That something is changing her. Or someone. That she feels more comfortable about facing her past.

I inch my fingers across the floor until they intertwine with hers. She blinks at our laced hands and looks up at me. “You look cute covered in Nick Lachey’s face.”

She shakes her head, but her smile grows. “You found the note I kept, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah. Several days ago.”

And then, like magic, June leans her head on my shoulder. Honestly, I’m afraid to move. She’s an exotic bird that has just landed on me, and if I shift even an inch, she’ll fly away.

I slowly lean my head back against the door and breathe her in. Her hair smells like oranges again today, and my hand aches to run down her smooth legs. But I don’t move.

“Ryan?” I don’t like her tone. It feels like she’s about to take flight. “When do you leave for Chicago?”

“When I do.”

“Seriously. You’re going to leave soon. We need to talk about that.” I can see what she’s doing—trying to sabotage us before we even get going. But I’m not going to let her.

Batten down the hatches.

“No, we don’t. We’ll figure everything out as we go. No need to have all the answers now.”

“I don’t like that.”

“I know.” I can’t resist any longer, so I kiss her head. “Trust me.”

“I don’t like doing that, either.”

“I know that too.”