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Grandma Ruth cheered. Grandpa watched from his chair and gave Trevor a thumbs-down.

Laughing, I took the opportunity to walk the property.

Relaxing had become easier now that I was with Sloane, but abandoning responsibility had not.

I checked the front entrance, parking area, outer path, and the section of fence nearest the road. Nothing appeared wrong. No unfamiliar vehicles. No territorial scents. No signs of the preteens preparing another campaign against the Fletchers.

The grill had been shut down properly. The firepit remained unlit. The birthday gifts had been moved inside. Two teenagers stood near the woods talking, but both belonged there and appeared more embarrassed than dangerous when I glanced their way.

By the time I returned, Sloane had joined a game involving six children, Caldwell, and Trevor. She crouched behind a picnic table.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“She’s the big bad wolf,” one of the little boys squealed.

Sloane looked over the table. “They selected me because I have superior lung capacity.”

“You’re bad at blowing houses down.”

She put one hand to her heart. “You wound me.”

Caldwell held up three fingers, then pointed toward three structures made from cushions, cardboard boxes, and folding chairs.

“I have to destroy them in order,” Sloane explained. “Straw, sticks, bricks.”

A little girl raced toward the fence carrying a blanket over her head.

Sloane stood quickly. “Stay inside the grass,” she called.

The girl changed direction without slowing and nearly collided with a chair. Sloane moved after her. I followed at a distance, watching the game more than participating.

The younger children shrieked whenever she approached. Sloane gave chase with her hands raised, making exaggerated growling noises that fooled nobody and delighted all of them.

Caldwell stayed near her, running in short bursts and laughing silently. Trevor played the first pig and kept rebuilding his cardboard house after Sloane knocked it over.

“You’re supposed to move to the stick house,” she told him.

“I believe in reconstruction.”

“You’re delaying the plot.” She kicked the cardboard wall down again.

He fell dramatically beneath it. Several children piled on top of him. For a few minutes, everything felt perfect, and Sloane was in the center of it.

Grandma Ruth sat near the dessert table talking with Julie. Mom stood by Grandpa’s chair. Patty filmed Trevor being buried by children while offering no assistance.

Sloane caught my eye. Her smile reached me even through the movement and noise.

God, I loved her.

The knowledge came easily now. I’d known for weeks. The only remaining question was when to say it. Definitely not at a birthday party. Not while Trevor screamed beneath three preschoolers.

Soon, though.

I wanted to tell her when we were alone, when she had time to hear it without the family turning it into a ceremony.

Sloane redirected the little girl before she reached the fence again. “Young pig,” she said, placing both hands on the child’s shoulders, “the forest boundary is non-negotiable.”

The child nodded solemnly. Then she ran toward the cake.