We took my car, and Connor packed his beat-up old Northern Pines athletic bag with some toiletries and a couple changes of clothing, just in case. As I drove us back to the highway, he called Lucas and let him know where he was going. I could tell Lucas was more than pleased about the reconciliation, but Connor ended the call before his cousin could wax too effusive.
“I think he’s ready to start planning the wedding now,” Connor remarked, slipping his iPhone back into his pocket.
“He’d probably have to arm-wrestle Sydney for the privilege.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Connor’s mouth turn up in a grin, but then it faded. “I want that, too,” he said quietly. “I want to make this official.”
Something in my chest seemed to turn over. Maybe it was just that everything seemed to be hap
