Gret was in the kitchen now, checking on the wedding food (some German, some other types, too). She’d dumped Dante almost as soon as they’d patched things up and was cutting a wide swath through the single men of New Hampshire.

At the moment, Posey was in her room, alone, though Stacia, Jon and Brie were due any second. In her hands was a note she’d received last month, something she’d taken out just because it seemed right to look at it again. In February, she’d decided to write to her birth mother, sending it through the attorney who handled the adoption. Nothing terribly emotional, just the facts. But she’d thanked Clarice for having her, and for giving her to Stacia and Max. She told her birth mother what a happy life she’d had, that she was a sister, and now an aunt, and that she’d be getting married soon to the man she’d loved her whole life. She’d signed it only “Cordelia.”

Clarice had written back through the attorney. I’m so, so glad to know these things, and I wish you every happiness in the world, Cordelia. Thank you for telling me.

And that was it. But again, it was everything.

Well. Time to get girlified. Posey put the note in her night-table drawer.

Today she was marrying Liam Declan Murphy. From today on, they’d be living together, sleeping in the same bed, waking up together every morning. His daughter loved her, he loved her, and it was so utterly wonderful that the very thought brought tears of happiness to her eyes.

In just a couple of hours, her parents would walk her down the aisle of St. Martin’s Church. Brianna was her maid of honor, and little Betty was the flower girl. Jon and Henry were ushers, as was James. And Nicole would stand up for Liam, which had made Posey burst into tears when they told her. Half the town would be there, everyone from Mac and Elise (who had moved in together), to the girls from the bakery, to her teammates on the softball team, to the Tates, even.

A knock came on the door. “Come on in, Ma,” Posey called.

It wasn’t Stacia. It was Liam, sticking his head in her room, and the sight of him—the black hair, those clear green eyes—still gave her a thrill. Her husband. In about a hundred and twenty minutes, her husband.

“Ditching me?” she asked, grinning.

“Hardly,” he said, giving her that sleepy, bedroom-eyed smile that never failed to get the girl parts yowling. “I brought you a present.”

“Is it food? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Gretchen told me you had five pancakes for breakfast,” he said, still not coming in.

“What’s your point, biker boy?”

“You won’t faint, that’s all I’m saying. Plus, I know you have an Almond Joy in that drawer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So, what’s my present?”

He opened the door fully. “Here.”

It was a cardboard box, the kind with holes in the side. The kind used to carry animals. As if on cue, a small, striped paw stuck out.

“It’s a kitten,” Liam said, opening the box and lifting the little thing out. “Since your other cats dumped you for the new people.”

“Oh, Liam,” Posey breathed. The cat was tiny, a gray tiger kitten. Shilo lumbered over and gave it a sniff, his tail wagging, and the kitten squeaked and batted the dog’s giant nose, earning a lick.

Liam set the little cat in her lap. Its fur was so soft and fluffy, and its eyes were wide and blue.

“It’s a boy,” he said, reaching up to tuck some hair behind Posey’s ear. “I thought we could call him Joe.”