We officially became a couple.

For New Year's Eve, both our families gathered for dinner.

Caleb's notoriously sharp tongue transformed overnight, spewing sweet nothings nonstop.

My parents did a complete 180 when they realized his target wasn't Liam, but me.

Suddenly, he was their dream son-in-law.

The Crawfords were ecstatic.

Their rebellious, wild-child son, whom they'd feared was destined for loneliness, had found someone willing to tolerate him.

"Tolerate is generous," Liam muttered at dinner. "She's the only person alive who finds him charming."

"I am charming," Caleb said, refilling my glass. "She simply has superior taste."

"You once told a waiter his soup tasted like 'warm regret.'"

"It did."

I watched them bicker—Liam, my protector; Caleb, my unexpected future—and felt something I hadn't felt since before Lucas: peace.

Not the absence of pain. The presence of safety.

After dinner, Caleb and I walked along the harbor. The fireworks were starting.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

"If it's another restaurant review—"

"I've been in love with you since Liam's twentieth birthday party. You wore a blue dress and told a man twice your size to stop cutting in the buffet line."

"That's... oddly specific."

"You were magnificent. And terrifying. I thought, 'That's either the bravest person I've ever met or the most unhinged.' Turns out both."

I laughed. The fireworks burst overhead.

"I won't be like him," Caleb said, suddenly serious. "I won't make you feel small. I won't make you question your worth. And if I ever do—"

"I'll leave."

"Good."

"And then I'll come back. Because unlike Lucas, you're worth coming back to."

He kissed me as the final firework exploded across the harbor sky.

Caleb Crawford: sharp-tongued, impossible, mine.