I managed a weak smile. Honestly, I hadn’t met most of Mason’s family yet. They lived remotely in Montana, always traveling. His dad, Robert Carter, had some kind of business, and his mom, Susan, was excited to finally meet me. They’d confirmed they’d fly in for the wedding with his sister, Emma, and several cousins.

“Tell me again about your family,” I asked, settling into his arms on our thrift‑store couch, nervous about meeting them all at once.

Mason chuckled—that low rumble I loved. “Nothing to be nervous about. Dad’s quiet, but incredibly kind. He’ll probably try to fix something in your apartment within five minutes. Mom will want to cook for you and ask a million questions about your students. Emma will steal you for book talk—she’s getting her PhD in literature.” He swore they trusted his judgment. “I’ve told them enough about you that they feel like they already know you. Mom actually said she’s never heard me talk about anyone the way I talk about you.” He pressed a kiss to my head.