“Cannas, and some zinnias.”

“Yeah, those, with the purple stuff to play off Laurel’s chocolate and the shiny green ribbons and all that.”

“Trust your florist. And it was really sweet of you to give Carter’s mom and his sisters flowers when they left.”

“They’re going to be my family now.” She beamed at everyone again. “I have such an amazing family. You guys, you’re the best ever, and I’m so lucky to have you. All of you, so damn lucky.And I’m so f**king glad my mother didn’t come.”

She took a breath. “Oops. Maybe I have had too much champagne.”

“You’re entitled.” Emma moved over to sit beside Mac, rubbed her arm. “It’s a happy time, and it was a really happy party. That’s all you need to think about.”

“You’re right. I’m just getting all the sappy stuff and the bitchy stuff out before the wedding. I don’t want to get all weepy and nervous on the day. So. Mrs. G, you’re all the mother I need, and you’ve always been right there.”

“I’ve had a good share of this bubbly, too. Don’t get me watered up.” Then she sighed.“Oh well.You’re a skinny, smart-mouthed redhead. And I’ve loved you since the day you first toddled in the door.”

“Aw.” Rising, Mac dashed over to grab Mrs. Grady in a rib-crusher. “Okay, Laurel.”

“Uh-uh.”

Mac snorted at Laurel’s reaction.“You’re a hardass when I need one, a friend through thick and thin.When I’m stupid, you tell me, but you never hold it against me.”

“That’s a good summing up.” Laurel laughed her way through Mac’s hug.

“Emma.Always a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on. You find a way to see the rainbow in the storm, and that’s gotten me through a lot of storms.”

“Lots more rainbows for you, sweetie.” Emma hugged Mac hard.

“And Parker.” Mac scrubbed her hands over her damp cheeks. “Never once in my life have you let me down. Let any of us down. You’re the one who gave us family, gave us home, the one who opened us up to what we could do, who we can be.”

“Mac.” Parker got to her feet, laid her hands on Mac’s teary cheeks. “We gave each other family, and home.”

“We did. But it started with you.” On a sigh, Mac wrapped her arms around Parker, laid her head on Parker’s shoulder. “I know I’m buzzed, but I wish everybody everywhere could feel as happy, as loved, as right as I do this minute.”

“After that, I think we do at least. So that’s a start.”

It was nearly midnight when everyone was tucked into bed, and the party debris cleared. Still revved from success, feeling sentimental about Mac’s sweet, half-drunken speech, Parker wandered through the house, doing a final check.

Home, she thought. Their home, as Mac had said. Not just what had been passed down for generations—though that was the base—but what they’d made it. Just as her parents had made it their own, adding touches, living lives.

People would always call it the Brown Estate, she reflected, but those who lived there knew it was so much more.

Maybe one day she’d be able to share it, build on it, with the man she loved.

That, she knew, remained the underpinning of all her dreams, her goals, her ambitions.To love, be loved, to share, to build on that love and partnership something strong and lasting.

She could be successful without it. She could be content without it. But she understood herself well enough to know she’d never feel complete, never feel fully happy, without that loving partnership.

She believed, absolutely, in the power and the strength of love, the promises made, the endurance of commitment.Weddings were a celebration of that, a kind of show full of symbols and traditions. But, at the core it was the vows, the promises, the emotional knot tied between two people believing it would hold for a lifetime that mattered.

And she’d come to understand, was well on her way to accepting, that Malcolm was the partner she wanted for those promises, for that lifetime.

Still, she mused, partnership required that sharing, a depth of trust, a knowing. There were still so many places and pieces in him he shaded, or even closed off from her.

How could that underpinning hold, for either of them, if parts of him remained locked down?

Restless, she adjusted a pillow on the sofa. Maybe she asked for, maybe she expected, too much too soon. But Malcolm wasn’t the only one who wanted to know how things worked, and why.

She caught the flash of headlights against the window glass, frowned. Moving closer, she recognized Malcolm’s car and, delighted—it was as if she’d conjured him—went to open the front door.

“It’s late,” he said as he stepped into the portico, skimmed his fingers through rain-dampened hair.

“That’s all right. Come in. It’s cold and wet out there.”

“I saw some lights on, so I figured you might be up.”

“You figured right.” Something’s wrong, she realized as she scanned his face, saw the tension in it.“We just finished cleaning up.”

“Right. Right. How did it go? The thing?”

“It was great.” He didn’t move to touch her, to kiss her. She leaned in, brushed her lips over his in as much comfort as greeting. “Start to finish.”

“Good.”

He wandered the foyer, obviously restless.

Tell me what’s wrong, she thought. She could all but see the barrier between them, hated pushing at it. “Malcolm—”

“Got a beer?”

“Sure.” Give him a little time, she told herself as she led the way back toward the kitchen. “I guess you had a long night. Did you get everything done you’d wanted to?”

“No. I made a dent in it, but something else came up.”

She got out a beer, started to get out a glass.

“Bottle’s fine.” He popped the top, but didn’t drink.

How could she not know how to handle this—him—she wondered, when she always knew? “Do you want something to eat? We have leftovers from the party, or Mrs. G’s—”

“No. I’m good.”

No, she thought as he wandered the kitchen, he wasn’t.

Enough, she decided. Just enough. “Tell me what’s wrong.”