Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(133)

Eliot Cobalt jumps past me in a black masquerade mask, and he sticks out his tongue. I smile, and not long after, the song switches to a Fleetwood Mac playlist.

“Meadows!” everyone howls since my family listens more to house music.

Sulli and I do the sprinkler dance. Jane sidles up and joins the easy motion, and then Sulli shouts, “Shopping cart!” We all change movements, and our siblings one-by-one begin the shopping cart dance with us.

Now onto the lawnmower, then the running man.

Luna is the best. By far.

When the song shifts to a slower ballad, everyone belts out the words. Beckett twirls a not-very-rhythmic Sulli, and Charlie flings an arm over Jane’s shoulder, swaying to the beat.

I think about how four months on the road brought my family together. How the five of us can dance in a close circle and not feel light-years apart.

I don’t know what my future holds with the state of H.M.C. Philanthropies, but Charlie, Jane, Beckett, and Sulli said they’d do anything to help save the charity.

I thought I’d want to protest and tell them I got it handled. Maybe I will at some point, but right then, I just nodded. This time, their helping-hands don’t feel so much like failure on my part. I don’t overthink or read into the deeper meaning. I’m grateful that they love me. I love them, and it’s as simple as that.

I think about Lao Tzu, a Chinese philosopher who said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

My head turns, and I think about the someone who I love deeply. Moments fly past my mind in Technicolor, every second I’ve spent with Farrow. Vivid. And overwhelming.

My chest swells, and I glance at Janie.

She smiles bright, knowing who I’m thinking about. “Go get him, old chap.”

So I leave the dance floor in search of a colossal know-it-all. My shoes sink into grass, and I wave briskly at my grandparents who call my name.

I undo my bowtie, passing wooden tables and wicker chairs.

Easily, I see him. Farrow chats with Oscar at the garden entrance. Where tall hedges form an opening, and cedar stools and barrel tabletops scatter the area.

As soon as I approach, their conversation still continues, but their attention zeroes in on me.

Farrow’s eyes descend my body in a hot once-over.

My brain sputters like a fourth-grader. Whatever I fucking planned to say just evacuates. Great.

Before I find any words, Oscar flashes a circular pin at me. Black with rainbow block letters that spell out: Rainbow Brigade.

“Your sister recruited us into her little club.” Oscar attaches his pin to his button-down.

“Officially,” Farrow adds with the raise of his brows.

“And she called me a troll,” Oscar tells me.

My lips almost lift. Kinney already gave Tom and me a pin this morning. “She does that,” I say and watch his gaze drift to the taco bar and cake.

“Extra security is here,” Farrow reminds him.

“Then I’m out for a cake break.” Oscar puts a hand on Farrow’s shoulder. “See you, Redford.” Then mine. “Hale.”

Farrow balances his boot on the rung of a stool, his piercings glinting in the warm light. I rest my forearm on the barrel tabletop. Trying to be casual, nonchalant.

He notices, and his smile keeps expanding. “Man, if you have something to say—”

“I heard that you retook the Hogwarts House sorting quiz.” Jesus Christ. I couldn’t have made a stranger digression from what I actually want to say. I end up crossing my arms.

Farrow tilts his head, eyeing me up and down. “Luna wanted me to. She didn’t think I was Gryffindor.”

Apparently, he got Ravenclaw this time around. My mom freaked, and she’s been ordering him some Ravenclaw scarves to add to the Gryffindor paraphernalia she bought him years ago.

I nod. “Cool.” I pop a button at my collar, my bowtie already undone.

Farrow looks at me like I’ve rocketed to Mars and built a colony of one. “Cool?” he repeats, then he checks me out again, which scorches my body. “You look good in a tux, wolf scout.”

“Better than you,” I say, even though he’s only wearing a black button-down, tucked into black pants that fit him too damn perfectly.

Farrow rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “You love your fan fiction.”

I shake my head and seriousness slams hard into my chest. “I like my reality.”

His chest rises, and he steps closer. But a drone buzzes overhead. Causing him to pause and check over his shoulder. “I think you mean,” he says, his gaze returning to me, “that you love your reality.”

“Almost,” I tell him strongly, and words pour out of me. “You know what I was thinking while my parents recited their vows today?”

Farrow shifts his weight like he’s bracing for impact. “What?”

“I was thinking that I want a love like theirs, the in-your-face, overjoyed kind of love that knocks you backwards—and what the fuck is stopping me?” I pause. “And I realized the answer is me.”

Farrow takes a tight breath. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve been fucking stubborn, but I’d rather be stubborn with you than without you.” I’m more assured than I’ve ever been. “I’m not standing in my own way anymore. You’ve given me the courage to move.”