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“He's leaving, Jordan.”

“He was. But he can't. So he's back.” Sure enough, the screen door slammed, and Celia stiffened when her cousin shouted, “She's up here!”

Celia could hear Niall's thudding steps as he took the stairs two at a time. Bracing himself with one hand on either side of the doorway, he leaned into the room, breathless. “They freakin' yarn bombed the Stinger!” Then he saw Wendy, who was giggling proudly. “Mrs. Marshall. Nice work.”

“Thank you. It was Bedelia's idea.”

“Now how do I remove it?”

“Why would you want to?” she countered. “It's a sign of affection. A welcome to Mars.”

“Mom,” Celia cut in, working hard to stay patient, “that was weeks ago. He's leaving now.”

“Well, maybe he'll stay.”

“Wendy, help the boy get that crap off his car,” Holly said. “He and Celia have to go back to New York.”

“Gran, I
told
you—”

“And
I
told
you
you're not spending the rest of your life in Marsden.”

Niall froze. “Wait. What?”

Celia couldn't look at him as her grandmother explained, “She thinks she's staying here to take care of me. Permanently. Did you know about this, movie star?”

“No.” Niall's voice was as somber as she'd ever heard it. “No, I didn't.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and her face burned. She'd lied to him—by omission, at least. She had been willing to let him leave town, under the impression that she'd be following soon, and planned on texting him in a week or so with the truth. It had almost worked.

“I can't leave my grandmother,” she said to him simply, still not looking his way.

“You can and you will,” Holly snapped, rising from her bed. “Alan, Wendy—and you, too, Jordan—get packing. I'm going.” To Celia, she said, “And so are you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Everyone turned as Alan spoke up. “Your mother and I can handle this. Jordan can help too.”

“Um . . .” the young woman began hesitantly.

“Jordan can help too,”
Alan repeated, this time with a threatening emphasis.

“Guess so,” Jordan muttered.

“See?”

“I've got no use for you,” Holly said to Celia. “I don't want you here.”

Celia didn't answer. She felt Niall's eyes on her again, and this time she forced herself to look at him. He wasn't angry; instead, she saw sympathy in his eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly. “You know what? I understand. It's your grandma, after all. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes. In fact, I wish I had, when I had the chance.”

“But . . . then you'd never have been a star.”

“Yeah, but I might still have my grandmother.” He pushed off the door frame. “Mrs. Leigh, Alan, Wendy—it's been a pleasure. Nice meeting you, Jordan.”

Alan stuck out his hand. “You're a good man. Thanks for your help.”

Niall shook it firmly. “Thank you, sir. It was an honor.”

And with one last look at Celia, he calmly walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house.

Celia went numb in that instant. After everything that had happened between them, she'd just let Niall Crenshaw walk out of her life. For once, everyone in her family—even her grandmother—was completely silent. She kept staring at the floor, but she could feel them watching her, feel them collectively holding their breath.

Suddenly a horrendous, deafening
crunch
shattered the silence with the force of a shotgun blast. It was only Jordan, biting into her ice cream cone. Everyone's attention automatically flew to her.

“Wha'?” she demanded, mouth full.

Alan rolled his eyes and tutted.

Jordan chewed and swallowed, then said to Celia, “You know you're an idiot, right?”

“Jordan!” Wendy reprimanded.

“No, seriously. Aunt Wendy, why did you just yarn bomb his 'Vette? I mean, why now?”

“Well, it was a . . . We had meant to earlier, but we never . . . It just seemed like an ideal time. Better late than never.”

“And you just happened to have the stuff with you?”

“I had some. It was in the trunk of the car. Bedelia had the rest.”

“See?” Jordan said accusingly to Celia.

“No,” Celia answered bluntly. She
really
didn't have the strength to deal with her cousin right now.

The younger woman sighed, exasperated. “That was a sign. Your extra chance, stupid. The Universe just gave you one last shot with him—that dumb yarn bomb kept him here for you.” She finished off the tip of her ice cream cone. “And you blew it. Idiot.”

“Don't get all cosmic on Celia,” Holly cut in. “It's not a good time.”

“It's always a good time, especially if you're acting like—”

“An idiot. I get it,” Celia grumbled.

Jordan shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

As Jordan turned to go, Celia noticed something strange stuck to her cousin's backside. “Jordan, hang on. You've got . . .” She reached out and pulled what looked like a dead worm off Jordan's shorts.

“Oh, is that where it went?”

“Where what went?”

“I sat on your balloon. Sorry.”

Celia stared at the shredded bit of red latex and her own heart plummeted. And it finally sank in: If she stayed, her family and friends and the smaller life in Marsden that Holly had warned her against would squash her just as effectively as her cousin had done to this balloon. And they'd be just as remorseful about destroying her as Jordan was at that moment about her heart balloon. In other words, not at all.

Her eyes met Holly's, and her grandmother nodded sagely. “Now
that's
what you call a goddamn sign.”

It really was time to go.

Celia had never been a fan of her mother's ridiculously surreal hobby, but she decided she'd changed her mind. She stood on the sidewalk, watching Niall tussle with the knitting that enveloped his car, turning it into a long, low, nubby, striped lump. The harder he worked to pull it off, the more the yarn snagged on the antenna, the corners of the license plates, and all the Corvette's other hidden sharp edges. He tugged, he yanked . . . but Celia could see that he was being very careful not to destroy the yarn bomb. And her heart swelled with gratitude. For Niall, that he was so caring. And for her mother's weird hobby, which had kept him there a little while longer.

Ignoring the realization that Jordan might have been right, she ran the rest of the way down the sidewalk to him. He barely glanced up as he worked at the knitting. “Got the combination for this thing?” was all he said.

“Three weeks,” she said breathlessly. “Give me three weeks to get Gran settled. Okay?”

Niall straightened up slowly, staring at her. As her words sank in, a smile stretched his generous mouth—those lips she loved so much. He dropped whatever yarn he'd managed to separate from his car and swept her into his arms.

M
iss me?

Niall's text came back almost instantly. Nope.

Thanks a lot.

You don't understand. It's like you're right here with me. Celia started to reply, but then Niall sent a photo—a selfie in Times Square . . . with the biggest, brightest electronic billboard she'd ever seen in her life, advertising McManus scotch. Behind him. Above him. Filling so,
so
much of the picture. And it wasn't just any McManus ad. What she saw was . . . was . . . This was not supposed to happen. Her leg? It was there. But so was the rest of her. And Niall. The photograph was of the two of them—all of them. Embracing, dancing cheek to cheek, their arms extended downward, fingers interlaced. Their eyes were closed. They both had delirious smiles on their faces. The product being advertised? The bottle was there somewhere, she was sure, but it was hard to find it in all that Niall-and-Celia.

Oh my God.

Impressive, right?

Did you know about this?

No answer. Celia tensed. After a few moments, she texted again. Are you still there?

Yes—sorry. Got stopped by some fans.

What's with the billboard, Niall?

Oh, that? You could see it?

Stop joking around.

Have you MET me?

Come on!

Honestly, I never thought they'd take me seriously. Nobody much does, you know?

This was YOUR idea?

I MIGHT have suggested to the McManus team that they should use one of the shots of the two of us instead of the original concept. I never thought they'd actually do it.

Now it was Celia's turn not to reply, and apparently this time Niall got nervous.

You don't like it? I think you look beautiful.

No. It wasn't that she didn't like it. She was simply in shock. Then, when she looked at the photo again, it affected her differently. Very differently. The happiness on both their faces . . . it just made her more certain of her decision. So instead, she texted, Did you just take that photo?

Yep. Just got out of a script meeting for the next project. I miss you so much, you know.

When she didn't answer right away, Niall wrote, That's it? No I miss you too? No text sex?

Sorry. Had to talk to someone. Can you do me a favor and take more photos of Times Square for me?

What, now?

Please.

Why?

I'm homesick?

For Times Square? You're not a tourist. You're an honorary NYC native now.

You once said I wasn't ballsy enough.

I was wrong. Kraken.

Pics, please.

What's going on?

Celia didn't answer him, just trusted he'd do as she asked. Sure enough, he sent first one photo, then another, then another.

Like this?

Great. More, please.

Why?

She didn't answer him again. So he sent more photos. When her text window had scrolled away with a dozen, she was finally ready.

That's great—thanks. Do me one more favor?

What now?

Turn around.

The way Niall's face lit up when he saw her turned her knees to jelly. All the fear she'd had about surprising him in New York evaporated. All the apprehension she'd been feeling in the weeks they'd been apart was forgotten the minute he grabbed her and lifted her off her feet.

When she'd recovered from his hungry, consuming kiss, she gasped, “Wow. Just like the movies.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“So all those photos of Times Square . . . ?”

“Just buying enough time for the taxi to get here. And to help me figure out exactly where to find you.”

“Stinker.” But he kissed her again anyway. “How's your grandmother ?”

Celia loved him for always thinking of Holly. “Uh, doing really well, actually. She's all moved in to the senior home, and she doesn't mind it a bit—although she'd never come right out and admit it. The move turned out to be a whole lot easier than anybody expected, because she's . . .”

“What?”

“Shacking up with Mac. They got one of the condos together.”

“Fantastic.”

“They're already organizing a bus trip to Elmira, to go gliding.”

“Hang gliding again?”

“No, glider rides—you know, those little planes with no engine?”

“Oh yeah. Much safer.” He hesitated. “Does this mean . . . you're here? For good?”

“If you'll have me.”

His kiss was so passionate a few people nearby whistled and hooted. Then Niall said, “What's in the bag?”

She couldn't stop smiling. “I bought you something.”

“Are you replacing my boxers that you took from me?”

“That you
gave
to me.”

“
Loaned.
What's in the bag? Gimme!”

“Oh my God, you're such a little kid.”

“Hey, I've built a career on acting like a little kid. Don't knock it. Now gimme.”

She sighed. “Here.”

Niall rooted around in the tissue paper until he pulled out a box. “A sleep machine?”

“It has cricket sounds. So you can feel like you're back in Marsden.”

Niall grinned. “Thanks. But I prefer the sound of the ocean.”

“I think it has an ocean setting too.”

“Don't need it—going to have the real thing. I ignored my accountant's advice and never sold my beach house, and a good thing too. The movie starts shooting in LA next week.”

“Oh.” Celia's stomach knotted. “For how long?”

“Six weeks.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Well, we have a few days, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm saying it's good I got back now—we'll have a few days together before you go.”

Niall dropped the sound machine back into the bag and left it at his feet. He pulled Celia to him. “Uh-uh. I refuse to be without you one more minute. What do you say to coming to California with me? What's your schedule like?”

“Hm. I'll have to check my calendar.”

“Your exhibition at Bowen Farms isn't till December.”

“How did you know?”

“I've been in touch with George and Casey.”

“Have you, now?”

He nodded smugly. “And with Ray, of course. As a new member of the Marsden Arts Center board of directors, it's my duty to work closely with him on next year's schedule. Which, by the way, includes the second annual Night of the Shooting Stars. Which we have to go back for, if you're up for it. But we've got a whole lot of time before next summer.”

“You are filling my calendar up right and left, Mr. Crenshaw.”

“That's the plan. For a very, very long time to come, I hope. The rest of our lives, even.”