After dinner, my mother comes to sit with me and Ember on the couch.

“You look stunning,” she says to Ember, who blushes from the compliment. “I love your hair color. It makes your eyes pop.”

“I’m glad you snuck away from the baby to come sit with us. Ember wanted to talk to you about something,” I say.

“Oh,” Ember says apologetically, looking from me to my mom. “I’m not sure now’s a good time.”

My mother smiles with reassurance. “Of course it is. Anytime’s a good time. I’m all ears.”

Ember puts her drink down on the coffee table. “Sydni’s been on me to do an interview about the band, but I declined because the journalist I spoke to only seemed to want to focus on the negatives. How my accident affected the band and my life. How I lost my career. How the band struggled to replace me and how I feel about that. To be honest, I don’t want any part of it. I released a short statement last week, announcing I wouldn’t be returning to the band, that I have a traumatic brain injury with memory loss, confirming that Asher and I are still together and thanking the fans for their support. I didn’t go into further details.”

My mother listens pensively. “I think that was the wise choice. The press can really wreak havoc on your lives. You don’t need any drama or stress.”

“I’ve been thinking, and Ash and I talked about it—I’d love to write a book about my experience. To give people hope for recovery. Not just for the person who suffered the injury, but for their loved ones too.”

“What happened to you is extraordinary. I think people would love to read your story.”

“I’d love for you to help me. I don’t know anything about writing or how to organize my thoughts. I don’t want it to be a story about the end of my career or the tragic tale of loss that the journalist seemed to want to spin, but about having a new life and not giving up. Embracing the second chance and not dwelling on the unpleasant parts. I don’t want to gloss over the hard parts, but I don’t want that to be the focus. I want it to be written in a positive but realistic way. We also want to donate any and all proceeds to the hospital and rehab facility that helped us so much.”

“That sounds amazing. Whenever you’re ready, you just let me know, and I’d be honored to collaborate with you.”

“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”

“Asher tells me your paintings are beautiful. I think it’s fascinating how new creativity emerged.”

“I do too. Apparently, I’ve done some sketching before, but I had no idea I could actually paint.”

“Mom, you should come over and look at her paintings. They’re amazing.”

“I’d love to. Your father and I will come by after the holidays for a visit.”

“We can all have dinner,” Ember suggests. “Kenzi, Tor, and the baby can come over.”

My mother beams. “That sounds perfect. Speaking of babies, when can I expect another grandchild from you two?”

I swirl my ice around in my drink. “Mom. We’re not in a rush to have a baby. We’d like to get through our wedding first.”

“A honeymoon baby would be really romantic,” my mother suggests, grinning excitedly, always weaving the romance plots.

Ember reaches for my hand between us on the couch. “When the time’s right,” she says to my mother.

My mom waves her hand dismissively at us and then happily continues. “I don’t believe in right times. While you’re waiting for the right time, time just keeps ticking by, and what you want may never happen. I’d rather have something at the wrong time than never at all. I met your father at the wrong time. I had most of you kids at the wrong time. My career skyrocketed at the wrong time. Guess what? It all turned out to be the right time.”

I think my mother just dropped the mic on us.

After she stands and crosses the room to talk to Storm and Evie, Ember looks at me and smiles with a little fiery glint in her eye.

I think that glint is Ransom Valentine waving at us.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Five Months Later

“Are you okay?”

Without answering, she blinks at me absently, then looks down at the wavy lock of hair she’s been twisting around her index finger for the past few minutes.

“Em? You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

The slight wind blows her hair across her face, and she turns into the breeze with her eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“I will,” she says softly. “I’m enjoying the air. I love the sound of the birds chirping in the morning.”

Teddy walks through the open French doors and joins us on the balcony, most likely hoping for a piece of muffin or bacon.

Ember stops fiddling with her hair and staring out at the yard when she hears the tap of the dog’s nails. She fixes her gaze on Teddy in the same way she looked at me a few minutes ago.