Chapter 1
The first strange thing my husband did that night was freeze when someone said Camille and I looked like sisters.
Earlier, Ryan had lifted his wineglass.
"You two are disgusting. Twelve years together and you still look like you like each other."
Everyone around the table laughed.
Grant leaned back in his chair and rested one hand on the back of mine.
"That's because I picked right."
"You say that like you had a choice,"
Megan said.
"I didn't."
He looked at me, smiling.
"Audrey was always the one. I knew I'd marry her."
Heat rose into my face even though I had heard versions of it before.
Grant had never been shy about us. Whenever someone asked how we had lasted so long, he gave some version of the same answer: he had known. I was the person he wanted. The person he had chosen.
Across the table, Camille lifted her glass.
"To Audrey, then. Apparently, destiny won."
I laughed and touched the stem of my water glass instead of reaching for the wine. For the past week, coffee had smelled too strong, and that afternoon I had nearly fallen asleep at my desk before three.
I hadn't said anything to Grant yet.
I wasn't sure there was anything to say.
A few minutes later, Megan frowned.
"You know what's weird? From this angle, you and Audrey actually look like sisters."
I looked at Camille.
We had different coloring, but I could see what Megan meant. Similar cheekbones. Similar mouth. Even the same slight lift at the outside corners of our eyes.
Camille laughed first.
"I've heard worse."
Ryan squinted between us.
"No, she's right. It's kind of uncanny."
I smiled.
Grant didn't.
His hand went still against the back of my chair. His eyes moved from Camille to me before he reached for his drink.
"Ryan thinks everyone with dark hair is related,"
he said.
The table moved on.
So did I.
Camille had known Grant since childhood. She had been there for birthdays, graduations, bad apartments, first jobs. Of course they had a familiarity I had not been there for.
There was no reason to turn one strange second into something larger.
On the drive home, Grant reached across the console and laced his fingers through mine.
"You barely drank tonight."
"I wasn't feeling it."
He glanced at me.
"You okay?"
"Just tired."
At the next red light, his thumb brushed over my knuckles.
"You know, Ryan and Megan talking about kids made me think."
I turned toward him.
Grant smiled at the windshield.
"I think you'd be a terrifyingly organized mother."
I laughed.
"That's your romantic vision of me?"
"I mean it as a compliment."
The light changed.
He squeezed my hand before letting go to turn the wheel.
For the rest of the drive, we talked about impossible baby names and whether he would be the parent who ruined dinner with ice cream.
By the time we got home, the moment at the table felt small again.
The next morning, I stopped at a pharmacy before work.
I stood in the bathroom afterward with a pregnancy test still sealed in its box.
Then I set it on the counter.
If I was right, I was about to tell my husband something that would make our life feel even more complete.