(Cole)
The reception moved the way good evenings did.
Not rushed. Not forced. Just people who actually wanted to be there finding their way to each other in the yard while the caterer's food sat on the table alongside whatever Mom had brought and nobody said a word about which was better.
I knew which was better.
I didn't say anything either.
Lena was beside me for most of it, my hand finding hers and hers finding mine without either of us having to think about it, the way things worked between us now, natural and easy and entirely ours.
Dad found me first.
He came across the yard with a glass in his hand and stopped in front of me and looked at me for a moment the way he had been looking at me since they arrived, like he was adjusting to something and finding it easier each time.
