Kaleb is long gone, and I carry the shawl as I fluff up my loose curls and smooth out my dress. It’s simple and innocent, but totally not me. Backless and short—falling mid-thigh—it has a deep cleavage and spaghetti straps. My heels clack on the wooden stairs, and I walk through the living room, seeing the guys around the table as I set my shawl and phone down and go for my purse.

Digging out my license and cash, I turn and hand it to my uncle. “Would you hold this in your wallet?” I ask. “It saves me from carrying a bag.”

But he just looks at me, kind of scowling.

“What?” I say.

“You’re overdressed.”

I tsk, giving him a coy smile as I stuff my card and money in his hand. “There’s no such thing.”

Of course, compared to them I am overdressed. They’re all in jeans, Noah double-fisting Budweisers.

“People don’t dress like that here,” Jake points out.

And he really didn’t need to say that. It’s not like I haven’t noticed.

“I don’t fit in anywhere,” I tell him. “I’m used to it.”

Seriously. I feel good. Stop hyperventilating.

He cocks an eyebrow and turns away, and I can see Noah’s concerned gaze flash to his.

Jake finally shoves a large package over to me, exquisitely wrapped in silver paper with a big silver bow.

I reach for it. “What’s this?”

It’s a weird shape.

But all he says is, “Open it.”

The paper looks just as pretty as everything under my Christmas trees growing up, and I can’t help but feel the smile I’m wearing. I know he knows what’s inside. Which means he picked it out. Hell, he might’ve even wrapped it, too.

I rip the paper, tearing it off in large sheets and picking at the scraps until the whole thing comes into view, and I look at the compound bow with a pink camouflage pattern and six arrows.

I pick it up. “Wow.”

“Do you know how to shoot it?” my uncle asks.

“A little.” I fist the grip and draw the band back, aiming toward the fridge. “I haven’t used one in a long time.”

And I’ve never used a compound bow. They didn’t have these at camp.

“Noah set up a target in the barn,” he tells me. “You can practice before we take it out hunting.”

I drop my arms and look at him. “Hunting?”

They all stand silent, and I gaze around at them as if there was a stipulation in my contract for living here that I missed.

“I don’t think I want to do that.” I set the bow down on the table. I’ll cook the meat. I’m not supplying it, though.

But Noah just laughs, and Jake shakes his head.

“We’ll talk about it,” he says.

Just as long as it’s not today.

“Well, thank you.” I give him a peck on the cheek. “I really love it.”

He nods once but won’t meet my eyes. He clears his throat. “I’ll go warm up the truck.”

I grab my wrap and swing it around my shoulders. An Aran Islands sweater from Mirai to keep me warm this winter, a shirt and hat to help me blend in with the locals, and a new toy. Better than any birthday so far.

But as I move to follow Jake, Kaleb steps in front of me, stopping me.

I look up.

He pauses a moment before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a long strap of dark brown leather.

I narrow my eyes as he offers it to me.

The horn outside honks, but we stay, Noah approaching my side.

“What’s this?” I reach out and take it, threading it through my hand and turning it over.

“He makes them,” Noah says.

It’s a belt. Dark and tanned with carvings in the leather and an antique-looking silver buckle. I study the etchings. There are trees, a waterfall, the peak—the view from my bedroom window, actually—something that looks like a braid of hair, a horse, and a dreamcatcher.

I swallow. Why would he put a dreamcatcher on there?

But it is beautiful. He made this himself?

Then I notice something else, and I chuckle.

“The notches go all the way to the buckle,” I point out. “I’m flattered, but my waist isn’t that small.”

Noah leans in, whispering, “But your wrists are.”

My heart skips, and I dart my eyes up to Kaleb as he stares down at me.

What?

But Noah just laughs, both of them leaving me there as they head outside.

And I don’t realize I’m staring back down at the belt, spacing off until Jake honks again, making me jump.

“Give it to me!” I shout as Noah holds my phone out of my reach. “Come on.”

He plants his hand on my forehead and pushes me back as we sit at the table and he inspects the photo. “Holy shit,” he says loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “Why do you hide this?”

I launch up and snatch the phone out of his hand, plopping back down in my seat. “Because it’s a dumb picture.”

“Then why do you keep it on your phone?”

“Because,” I tell him. “It’s the only thing I’ve done that I’m proud of.”

I go to exit out of the link to the one article about me ever written, along with the photo shoot the magazine insisted be done to accompany it, but Jake plucks my cell out of my hands instead, taking his turn to look at the pic.

I glare, opening my big mouth to protest, but I decide against it, casting a worried glance around at the other families trying to have a peaceful meal in the steak house.

It was my fault, showing it to Noah in the first place. Last spring, Vanity Fair did an exposé on the children of the stars and featured me in their “collection.” Unfortunately, a photo shoot came with the territory, one shot in particular of me in my French braids, a sports bra, and some lacrosse gear. I looked sweaty and dirty but kinda sexy, and even though the entire thing was a lie concocted by my parents’ publicists to make me look and sound incredible, I really liked the experience. Even though I’d never played lacrosse in my life.

It was the one time I felt large.

Yes, the article was bullshit about how involved I was in school. Nothing was true in regard to my activism and hobbies, and I only got the feature because of my parents. I hated the idea when they made me do it.

The photo shoot, though… I felt pretty. Even if I felt stupid after it was over.

“It’s a great picture. We’ll put it up on the website,” Noah tells his father and then lifts his arms, knife and fork in hand as he recites the words on an imaginary header. “The New Addition to Van der Berg Extreme.”

I roll my eyes, turning my attention to Jake. “Give it to me.”

He passes it to Kaleb who takes it and barely glances at it before handing it to Noah.

“Now,” I grit through my teeth, trying to keep our banter down. I only meant to brag about how I’ve worn less in public than I am tonight when Jake got snippy about my backless dress again at dinner. I didn’t want them gawking at me in my bra, though. In public.

Glasses and silverware clank in the rustic old restaurant, and the smell of barbecue sauce and French fries fills the air, making my nose sting from time to time.

The steak was overcooked, the Coke is watered down, and the floor is so greasy, I can spell my name on it with the heel of my shoe.