“She’s… a lot more than that. She’s smart. Fierce. Beautiful. And she’s got this”—Paul shook his head, searching for the right word—“fire in her that you just have to see to believe.”
His dad whistled low. “Son, you’ve always been picky. Picky about your food, picky about your toys, picky about your friends. If you’re this sure about this girl — sure enough to tell Captain Winters — then she must be something.”
Over the line, Paul heard the faint thump of a pillow hitting flesh, followed by his mother’s mock-outraged “Oh, you did not!”
Paul could see it in his mind’s eye—his dad grinning like a teenager, ducking as his mother lobbed another throw pillow at him across their worn-in living room. She’d be half-laughing, half-threatening to revoke his dinner privileges, while his father called her “Ma’am” in that exaggerated way that always made her roll her eyes and kiss him, anyway.
It was their rhythm. Their language. Banter laced with bedrock love.
But his father had a point. About his mother, true. But also about Paul and his pickiness. When he was a kid, Paul had refused to eat vegetables unless they were separated on the plate. He once went three whole weeks without playing with anyone at recess because he “didn’t want to waste time on people who didn’t get it.” Whateverithad been.
“Yeah,” Paul said, feeling the truth of it settle somewhere deep and sure inside him. “I think she’s going to be a keeper.”
He stared at the quiet little town outside the window. Porch lights glowed gold against the early dusk, casting halos over shoveled walkways. A kid in a puffy coat shuffled past with a sled dragging behind him. Somewhere in the distance, wind chimes jingled softly from a front porch. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the glow from the bakery’s windows across the street painted the sidewalk with buttery light.
It looked like a town that tucked its people in. A place where strangers waved without thinking, where the coffee shop remembered your order and the post office clerk asked about your aunt’s hip surgery. A place where roots could grow deep and strong—if you let them.
“I think I could be happy spending the rest of my life with her.”
He tested out the notion to his parents. They weren't spontaneous people. They were both planners. They shared an electronic calendar and paper calendar to coordinate their schedules. It was planned down to the hour—especially when Mom had been away and Dad had been solo parenting.
There was a beat of silence on the line. Then his father whooped so loudly Paul had to pull the phone away from his ear.
“When you know, you know!” his dad said, laughter rumbling through the receiver. “That’s how it was with your mother. Saw her once at the PX, and that was it. Done for.”
Paul smiled, a slow, aching thing that filled up his whole body. Because it hit him then. Birdy reminded him of his mother.
Both women stood tall in a world that sometimes wanted to shove them down. Both women wielded intelligence like a weapon—his mother with her crisp uniform and gleaming medals, Birdy with her legal pad and pen sharp enough to carve out a space where she belonged.
His mother had his father at her side. Always at her back. And when necessary, stepping forward to take the hits so she could keep marching forward.
Paul’s throat tightened. Because he wanted that too. Not just to stand beside Birdy—but to protect her dreams, her fire, her future. To be her shield when the world didn’t deserve her brilliance. He set down his coffee, gripping the phone a little tighter.
“Guys,” he said, voice rough with something bigger than nerves, bigger than excitement. “There's more I need to tell you.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Birdy stood in the middle of Kitty’s spare bedroom, arms folded tightly across her chest as her sisters flitted around her like a pair of overly caffeinated sparrows. Bunny was knee-deep in the closet, muttering about hem lengths and proper neckline etiquette. Kitty sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a chaotic pile of dresses, holding each one up like a game show model before tossing it aside.
“You realize I'm the only Chou sister who’s going to have a proper church wedding now,” Bunny said, pulling a navy-blue cocktail dress off a hanger.
Each of the Chou women had gotten married at the town hall in a quickie wedding, starting with Kitten just after she'd turned eighteen. Then Jacqui saw sparks with Noah and got hitched. Jules should have had a big wedding with her doctor fiancé, but Fish had stepped in and reeled her in with his devotion to her. Jami thought she was going to marry her high school boyfriend, but at the last minute—and for a few dollars down—Jed Winchester had pulled a switcheroo which neither of them had come to regret. Tomorrow it would be Birdy's turn.
Kitty held the next dress up to herself as she looked in the mirror. “Maybe my second wedding will be big and splashy.”
All four pairs of eyes slowly turned to her. Birdy lowered her arms from across her chest. Bunny clutched at the hanger she'd been about to replace back on the rod. The baby, from her perch in Beverly’s arms across the room, let out a soft gurgle, almost like she could sense the shift in the air.
Kitty blinked rapidly, using the sleeve of the dress to dab at one eye with her sleeve. Then she pasted on a bright, shaky smile.
Neither Birdy nor Bunny pressed the matter. They hadn’t talked much about Kitty’s absent husband. About the years of silence. About the unanswered texts and unsigned divorce papers.
Instead, Kitty grabbed a soft, creamy dress from the pile and held it out to Birdy. “Wear this one,” she said, her voice a little too cheerful. “You’ll look like a snow queen. But, you know, nice.”
Birdy brushed her fingers over the fabric—smooth, soft, simple. It was perfect. She nodded once at her sister. Kitty returned the nod, as though the whole affair was settled and would never be spoken of again.
A giggle bubbled from the corner. Birdy turned to see Beverly holding the baby, the young mother’s arms tight but loving around the squirming little girl. Beverly’s eyes—wide and dark and still so unsure—locked on Birdy’s.
“You don’t have to do this for me,” Beverly said. “You should find a guy who really loves you. You deserve that.”
