“This is my dad. His name is Greg. He’s really handsome.”

I turn to find Katie standing next to me, tugging a man almost exactly my age behind her.

Branson drops to his knees, wiggling his hands towards her like I assume the Tickle Monster does. “Is your dad more handsome than me?”

After kissing her dad on the cheek, she pouts at her uncle. “No one’s more handsome than my daddy.”

Greg tosses his head back in laughter before reaching a hand out to me. “Well, I swear I didn’t train her to say that, especially not when it might get me beat up by my big brother.”

“You don’t think your Uncle B is handsome?” Branson wails, picking up a squealing Katie and twirling her in his arms.

“It’s nice to meet you, Greg.” I shake his hand while still laughing at the entire welcome provided by his family.

“I don’t know if Branson told you, but I do a lot of freelance work for sports magazines. I’d love to get a few shots of you with Achilles and set that idiot from the magazine straight.”

My face falls a little, and Branson growls.

“Watch it, Greg.”

“Only if you’re up for it,” the younger of the two men assures me. “I think you were a wonderful competitor, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think that reporter could have found his own asshole, even if he had a map.”

“Gregory Thomas Tucker, you watch your mouth in my house!” Ashley hollers from across the kitchen, waving her oven mitt at her grown son.

Dinner is boisterous and loud, which is something I’m quite familiar with. But having the children around is new, and I’ve grown terribly fond of them in such a short time. When the evening sun sets, the men settle in the living room and I wander out on the back porch to take a minute to remember how thankful I am. For Branson, and for his family.

“You cold, sweetheart?” Ashley shakes a blanket in my direction as she sashays across the porch.

Feeling a little chilled, I rub at my bare arms. “A little, actually.”

“Come sit on the swing with me then, girl. We’ll share this beast.” She gestures towards the heavy quilt. “Charles’ mother made it for our second anniversary. It’s ugly as sin, but honey, I promise you this: It’s as hot as Hugh Jackman’s abs in that movie where he dumps the soap all over him.”

“Australia?” I chuckle, trying to pick up what she’s putting down.

Nodding, she sighs. “Yes, that one!”

After settling down next to her on the porch swing, I let my head fall against the wood and cross my ankles together as we start to move. “You have a wonderful family, Ashley. Thank you so much for having me tonight.”

“It’s entirely our pleasure, London.” She taps my thigh over the blanket. “You’re good for him, you know? That boy of mine’s always had a whole lotta love to give, but he always said he was waiting for the right girl, and you want to know what I think?”

“Of course.”

“I think he wasn’t waiting for the right girl. I think he was waiting for you.”

I have no time to catch the first tear rolling down my cheek without much effort at all. “I think I’ve been waiting for him too. I just didn’t know it is all.”

“Oh heavens, honey. We never know it. Falling in love with Charles was like being hit by a freight train.”

I laugh at her odd choice of metaphor.

“I never got over it, and I never want to. That man makes me fall in love more every day, and let me tell you, three boys later, that’s a damn-near miracle.” Looking over at me, she gives me a smirk. “Tucker men aren’t always easy to love, London. Lord knows I’ve considered settin’ Charles on fire once or twice over the years. But they’ll love you more than anything in this world, and they’ll love you until the day they die. There’s no better kind out there, even if I am a little biased.”

“I think I’ll keep him,” I whisper back at her as if it’s our own little secret.

It takes ages to say goodbye to everyone, and most of me didn’t want to, but it was getting late. On the quick drive home, I replay the evening over in my head. Each time I do, I’m more grateful than the last. I never thought another person’s family could feel so much like home, but I was so very wrong. The Tuckers feel as much like home as the zoo of my own I love so much, but Ashley healed a small piece of me with her love tonight.

As we come up the driveway, my heart seizes when I catch the unmistakable shape of a burned barn in the distance, and his body tenses behind the wheel. Unsure of what to say, if there’s anything to say at all, I rest my hand on his thigh.

While it saddens me deeply that it happened to him, I am also grateful, because it brought him to me. Although I didn’t know I was missing the other half of my heart, I would surely know now, and that would make all the difference.

Lights in the distance come into focus, and for the second time today, the breath on my lips is stolen by another beautiful home. It is entirely warm, and having met his family, I can see why it would be. The log beams are offset by brilliant floor-to-ceiling windows that gleam from the light of the moon. It’s not until we drive past the house that I come to know my favorite place in the entire property—the large horse fountain in the middle of his drive.

Like a child, I tap his shoulder. “Stop the car!”

“What?” He frowns in concern.

“Stop the car!” I yell again.

He complies, clearly confused by my sudden outburst of energy.

As soon as the car stops, I throw the door open and run softly over to the statue of a beautiful horse rearing up into the night. The water cascades down around him and the lights in the pool bring the image to life. Without thinking better of it, I kick my sandals off and climb into the shallow water.

Branson shakes his head as he walks towards me. “What are you doing?”

Lifting my arms above my head, I twirl around underneath the fountain. “It’s beautiful.” I laugh, the water staining the red of my romper to a dark plum.

“It’s beautiful, even when you aren’t in it.” He folds his arms over his chest.

I crook a finger and wink. “Don’t be a spoilsport, cowboy. Come here.”

“You’re crazy.” His eyes are full of love as he toes his boots off. After emptying his pockets, he climbs in so hesitantly that it makes me snicker.

“We’re all a little crazy, baby, and that’s half the fun,” I whisper, pulling him under the spray with me.

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he presses his wet body against mine. “I love you.”

The smile on my face spreads—though I thought it wasn’t even possible—and the pounding of my chest against its confines rings in my head. “You love me?”

Call me a glutton, but I just want to hear it again.

“I do.” He wipes the wet hair off my face. “You’re every dream I’ve ever laid awake at night wishing for, and your every sin I’ve ever wanted to indulge in. You’re my fantasy and my reality every day. I love you, London.”

“I love you, too.” My lips crash onto his, and he sucks my bottom lip between his lips in a feverish kiss.

Branson told me he loved me as we stood in a fountain, soaking wet in our clothes the night I met his parents, and it was absolute perfection.

After toweling off my hair from the quick shower I’d taken in his bathroom, I slide into the somewhat skimpy pajamas I brought with me.

“Your mama’s somethin’ special,” I tell Branson, lying down on the bed beside him.

He puts his iPad on the dresser, props himself up on his elbow, and looks down at me. “She likes you.”

“I like her, too,” I whisper, my voice faltering a little as his hand settles over the thin cotton of my shirt on my stomach.

His thumb trails over my belly button as he speaks. “She’s the one who picked out our fountain.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Our fountain?”