All The Summers After | TSITP | Sequel

Save The Date.

He flipped the card and scanned the text again, laughing as the details sunk in. "In, uh... three weeks."

"Three weeks?!" She grabbed a dish towel to wipe the droplets off the counter, her mind clearly spinning. "We just had Christmas together and now they're—what, speed-running adulthood?"

He walked into the kitchen, the invitation still in his hand, leaning his hip against the counter beside her. "Here," he said, handing it over.

She took it from him carefully, like it might bite.

The front was soft blue with delicate script: Isabel Conklin & Jeremiah Fisher. Beneath it, an illustration of waves and a small stretch of beach that looked suspiciously like Cousins if you knew what to look for.

Her face softened immediately. "Oh my god... it's actually beautiful."

She flipped it open and started reading aloud. "With joy in their hearts and sand in their shoes—" she paused, snorting, "—this is so Jeremiah coded. 'Isabel Conklin and Jeremiah Fisher invite you to celebrate their wedding...'"

She skimmed the date.

"Three weeks," she repeated, exhaling. "They're really doing it."

She leaned back against the counter, invitation still in hand, eyes dancing.

"They're getting married," she said again, but softer now — more wonder than shock.

"Yeah," Conrad said, watching her face more than the card. "Guess someone had to start the Cousins married couples club."

She rolled her eyes, even as she smiled. "Okay, relax, Fisher, you're getting ahead of yourself."

He grinned and shrugged. "Just saying. Tradition."

She shook her head, focusing back on the card — on the tiny starfish illustration at the bottom, the neat block letters that read Cousins Beach, the time, the 'reception to follow.'

Her chest warmed.

"How long do you think it took Belly to pick this font?" she asked.

"At least a week," he said. "And Jeremiah probably spent three hours arguing for adding a stupid dolphin somewhere."

"That tracks," she chuckled.

For a moment, they were quiet.

The city hummed outside.

The light from the setting sun spilled across the floor of their little Paris apartment.

Then Lydia looked up at him, eyes softer now. "We have to go."

He raised an eyebrow. "Obviously."

"We can't miss this," she said. "There is no universe when we're not there. This is... them."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

She nodded once, decisive, then set the card gently down on the counter like it was something sacred.

"Then I guess," she said, turning back to him, "we should start looking for flights."

He laughed, stepping closer, his hands finding her waist like they always did.

"Yeah?" he asked. "Back to North Carolina?"

"Back to Cousins," she corrected, looping her arms around his neck.

He smiled. "Back to them."

She nodded against his chest, resting her forehead there for a moment.

"I swear," she murmured, "no matter where we go — Paris, New York, or the moon — we always end up going back."

He kissed the top of her head. "Maybe that's how you know it's home."

She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Then I guess," she said, "we better book flights home."

He laughed softly, leaning his forehead against hers. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's go watch our people get married."

She smiled, reaching for her phone in one hand and his shirt in the other.

And in their tiny Paris kitchen, surrounded by city noises and late sunlight, with a wedding invitation on the counter between them, Lydia Conklin and Conrad Fisher started planning their next trip back to the place where everything began.