Shameful.

I jot down a few more notes and slap my journal closed.

I patiently wait for Bobby to climb down from the top of the house. The vision he makes causes a smile to claim my lips.

Bobby can’t drive by a person in need without spending time with them. Trying to help. Trying to understand their life. Or just working his tail off, like it looks like he did today given what a hot, sweaty mess he is.

I’m not sure how the random acts of kindness fit into this journey for him. But then, I don’t need to understand it. I love him. That makes everything OK and something we just do.

Today he’s helping an old, weather-worn man fix his roof.

Tomorrow—who knows?

The only thing I know for sure is that I am and always will be in love with Bobby Rowan. That’s the most important thing this two-year journey has taught me.

My phone rings. I rummage through my tote, check the caller ID and then swipe answer.

“Hey, Pop.”

My dad’s laughter floats through the receiver. “You sound cheery. How’s my girl? Where are you?”

“In California. Just north of Fresno. Everything good at home?”

“Good. We all miss you. You coming home anytime soon?”

I smile. “Bobby and I discussed that last night. We are. We’re heading back to Pacific Palisades tomorrow. We should be home in a few days.”

“It’s only—what?—a five-hour drive from Fresno. Why a few days?”

I laugh. “I film things along the way. Haven’t you seen my documentaries on my website? I can’t believe that Mom hasn’t been showing you the installments of my California drought coverage.”

My dad laughs, amused. “Yes, I’ve watched your vlog. I’ve read your online articles. I’ve seen your films. And, no, your mother didn’t have to show me. I can spy on you kids as well as Chrissie can without her help.”

“Oh really. Since when?”

My dad’s laughter grows stronger. “Since you took off with your boyfriend and it’s the only way I can keep tabs on my girl.”

My smile spreads across my entire face.

“I really do miss you, Dad.”

“I miss you, too, Princess. So why don’t you come home?”

I make a playful groan. “I am. Jeez, you’re starting to get as bad as Mom with the guilt and pressure thing.”

“Ah, speaking of your mother, Chrissie told me to tell you that she got that letter you were expecting, scanned it and e-mailed it to you.”

My heart stills. “She did? I haven’t seen it yet. Wait, Pop, I want to open my e-mail and make sure Mom didn’t foul up and that it’s there.”

“What’s going on, Kaley?”

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Nothing. It’s just some research I wanted that I couldn’t get online. Hold on.”

I grab my tablet, connect to the car mobile hot spot—oh please, let it work here in the middle of nowhere—and then log on to my e-mail. Relief shoots through me as it starts to load.

I scan my loading e-mails.

There it is.

I click open the attachment.

I quickly read it.

My heart stops.

“Oh God.”

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” my dad asks, suddenly sounding concerned.

“I’m OK,” I mumble as I continue to read.

Holy shit.

Right there.

Names of parents.

Their dates of birth.

Location of birth.

Even a last known address.

My heart is racing so fast I can hardly breathe. I turn off my Surface and set it aside. I wonder what Bobby is going to think of this. Maybe I should have asked him, instead of filling out the forms myself pretending to be him and submitting them to the Los Angeles Department of Social Services for his adoption file.

Too late now.

“Kaley, what’s going on?”

Fuck, I just left my dad hanging. “Nothing. Everything is good. I think we’ll be home no later than Friday. Filled with news and definitely ready to see you.”

“News, huh? What’s going on, Kaley?”

He sounds super concerned now.

Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that last part.

When did my dad get so suspicious?

My cheeks warm. “Nothing. It’s just an expression.”

A long pause. “Not buying it. You can explain when you get here. See you soon?”

“Soon, Dad. I promise.”

Click.

I set my phone back into my tote just as Bobby starts crossing the driveway toward me. I grab my camera, pop from the car and quickly snap some pictures of him.

He gives me a pained look.

I smile as I watch him open the passenger door. “That one I’m sending to Linda,” I taunt across the roof. “That picture she’ll love. You looking like a construction worker. I bet she uses it for the Christmas card.”

He leans, arms on the car, shaking his head at me. “Very funny. Why don’t we use it for our Christmas card? Our first one as Mr. and Mrs. Rowan.”

I copy his posture with my arms on top of the car. “Say that again.”

He smiles. “Which part?”

My eyes widen. “The good part.”

“Mrs. Rowan,” he says in a husky, exaggerated way.

I bite my lower lip. “I love hearing that. I wish people still called each other Mr. and Mrs. I could hear that all day and never get tired of it.”

He arches a brow. “Then why haven’t you wanted to tell our parents we got married last month?”

“Because I want to tell them in person. Especially since we got married without them.”

“Who should we tell first? My mom? Your mom? The moms together? Or all our parents together?”

I gnaw my lower lip as if trying to decide, but I already know. “My dad. I want to tell my dad first and I want to be alone with him when I tell him.”

The expression softens in his eyes, a tender look of understanding and approval. “OK. Your dad. Alone. First.”

I love that he gets that without asking me to explain.

“Thank you. My dad, then you have to tell everyone else all on your own.”

“Kaley—”

I climb into the car before he can finish and Bobby settles in the passenger seat. I turn on the ignition and head down the road.

He grabs from a cooler a chilled bottle of Gatorade, twists off the top and downs nearly half of it. He leans back against the headrest.

“God, I’m exhausted. That man was over seventy and I could barely keep up with him. We started at 8 a.m. and just finished now without a break. I don’t know how he does it.”

I laugh. “You probably do more during your nights than he does. He’s more rested in the morning.”

His lids lift and the look in his eyes sends a current through my veins. “I definitely have a hotter wife.”

I lapse into silence and debate whether I should tell him the major news I’ve been keeping from him for weeks.

I park at the motel we’ve been staying at, the only one in the gas and food stop exit near the 99 Freeway that pretends to be a town. I stare at the run-down building. Maybe I should wait. This is not a romantic, marital kind of setting, and I want this to be a perfect memory for us.

This is not perfect. The motel is clean, but that’s about all I can say for where we’re staying tonight. Yep, I should wait and not do it here.

Bobby opens his door and sighs. “I’m so tired I don’t know if I can make it to the room.”

I laugh. “You better. I don’t think I can carry you.”

He shakes his head. “Do you know that old man offered to pay me today? He got all emotional when I wouldn’t take his money.”

My brows hitch up. “Really, how much?”

Bobby grins. “Forty bucks.” He laughs. “I’m driving an Aston Martin—we really need to unload this car and get something else—and he offers to pay me because I helped him today with his roof. I hope that isn’t the way our country has become and I just don’t know it. That people don’t help people unless they’re paid to.”

“Most people aren’t as good as you, Bobby.” I slip my hand around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. I ease back enough to smile in his eyes. “I love you.”

He sort of droops into me. “I love you, too, baby. But don’t think you’re getting any tonight.”