Page 199 of Gamebreaker

I took a picture for the Gram. Obviously.

After the parade, and the press tour, and the late-night show appearance where Cam was asked who she'd be thanking and said "Harper" before the host had finished the question, we were tired, and we needed home.

So we went home.

Her home. The one on her tattoo.

"So," Marco said, sitting down across from me at the kitchen table with his arms folded. "Harper."

Cam's little brother was thirty-two, broad like their father, with a deli apron still tied around his waist because he'd come straight from closing the shop.

"What are your intentions with my sister?"

"Marco," Cam said, from the stove, where Maria had already handed her a wooden spoon and put her to work.

"I'm asking. It's my job. I'm your brother."

"You're younger than me."

"Doesn't matter, I'm still your brother." He turned back to me. "Intentions."

I folded my hands on the table in front of me and gave him my most professional insurance-claims voice. "My intentions are to love your sister loudly and publicly for the rest of her natural life, to make her excellent coffee every single morning, to teach her how to use Instagram, which is going very badly, and to keep telling her she's magnificent until she stops looking surprised when I say it."

Marco blinked.

"Also," I added, "I'd like to know where you got that cheese on the counter, because I've been looking at it since I walked in, and I might actually leave your sister to date it instead."

Marco looked at me for a long moment.

Then he turned around in his chair. "Ma? She's good. We're keeping her."

"I know we're keeping her!" Maria shouted, from approximately four feet away. "I said that on the phone weeks ago!"

"You said it at two o'clock in the morning," Anthony said. "When your daughter called crying. You woke me up."

"So you know I said it!"

Cam turned around from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, and looked at me across her mother's kitchen with an expression of such pure, helpless, mortified love that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

Welcome, her face said. This is what I come from. I'm so sorry.

I mouthed back, I love them.

She smiled her small, shy smile and turned back to the sauce.

Gianna and her wife Dani got in from Boston at three, and within ninety seconds of meeting me, Gianna had hugged me twice, stolen my phone to look at the parade photos, and announced to the entire house that she loved me more than she'd ever loved her sister.

"You've known her for two minutes," Cam said, amusement embellishing her tone.

"And I've known you for thirty years, and she's already more fun." Gianna hooked her arm through mine. She was thirty, a high school history teacher, with Cam's coloring and Maria's height and a voice that carried exactly as far as everyone else's in this family. "Harper. Babe. Come help me set the table so I can get all the gossip she won't tell me."

"There's no gossip," Cam said.

"There's always gossip. Dani, distract her."

Dani, a tall, gorgeous redhead with a kind face and far more patience than I could've anticipated, slid in beside Cam on the stove. She'd married into this family four years ago and had plenty of practice with them, and it showed. "Cam, let me taste the sauce."

"You've had this sauce before."