I gave her a grateful look. “I’m thinking chocolate, crème brulée, and red velvet.”

“Perfect.” She gave me a wink and we all went into the kitchen to help bring out the food.

About halfway through dinner, the subject of Ryan and Stella’s wedding came up again. While April listed some of the details for Chloe and my mom, my mind wandered a little. I imagined what it would be like to plan my own wedding, what colors I’d choose, how many guests I’d invite, what I’d wear. I’d never really thought about it in great detail before, but now I pictured an intimate outdoor ceremony beside the barn at Cloverleigh and saw myself drifting down the aisle on a gorgeous summer evening to the sounds of classical guitar. Waiting for me under the rustic arch overlooking the vineyard was Mack, and in front of me walked his three girls, strewing rose petals in my path. He looked gorgeous in a charcoal gray suit with a sapphire blue tie that matched his eyes, and when he saw me for the first time, he—

“Frannie,” my mother said, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get my attention. “What on earth are you doing? I’ve asked you three times to pass the potatoes.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Flustered, I picked up the bowl of roasted potatoes and handed them to her. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

April smiled at me. “When I talked to Emme Pearson yesterday—that’s Stella’s sister, she’s a wedding planner in Detroit,” she explained to my parents, “she was raving about your macarons and hoping you’d open up your business to shipping downstate.”

“That’s awesome,” Chloe said, kicking me under the table. “But you’d probably need your own space for that, right? A bigger kitchen and maybe a storefront somewhere?”

I took a sip of wine for courage and was setting my glass down as my mother spoke up.

“We’ve already settled this. I don’t think Frannie has the time or energy for that sort of thing,” she said. “She’s so busy here at the inn, plus being a nanny to Mack’s girls. That’s really all she can do. In fact, I think she could use more downtime.”

“Well, I think we should let Frannie speak for herself,” said Chloe.

“Actually,” I said, sitting up taller in my chair. “Starting my own business is something I would like to discuss.”

“But you don’t know the first thing about it, and running a business is very stressful.” Mom gave Chloe a look like she should know better. “Stress is dangerous for Frannie. John, don’t you agree with me?”

My father looked at me thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed. “What sort of business?”

“A macarons shop,” I said, nervously twisting my hands in my lap. “Something small and upscale.”

“Frannie, your doctors have made it very clear that you need lots of rest and should avoid unnecessary risks to your heart,” my mother went on.

“Mom, they meant risks like smoking and obesity.” I looked her in the eye and spoke confidently, so she’d see I wasn’t going to back down this time.

“Stress is a risk factor,” she insisted, picking up her wine glass. “John, can you help me out here?”

“Stress is a risk factor. I agree.” My dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Your mother and I aren’t saying we wouldn’t support you, we just want you to be safe and healthy.”

“Frannie’s not a baby,” April said. “Why can’t she decide what’s safe and healthy for her? I think it’s a great idea. And what if the shop was on the Cloverleigh premises? You could invest in it!”

“I don’t want it on the premises.” I shook my head. “I want my own thing in my own place. And I don’t need anyone else’s money to do it.”

“Frannie, don’t be silly,” my mother admonished. “Where on earth would you get the money to open a business?”

“It’s called a bank, Mom. I’d get a small business loan.”

She waved a hand, dismissing me. “Enough. You’re not starting a business. You’ve got enough going on.”

“Stop it! I’m not a child anymore.” At my heated tone, the entire table went still and silent. I lowered my voice—I wanted to sound calm and self-assured, not petulant and angry. “I’m an adult, and it’s time I started acting like one.”

“What does that mean?” My mother looked a bit nervous now.

“It means that maybe I need to move out and start supporting myself.” I hadn’t planned on threatening to move out, but I wanted them to know I was serious. If that’s what it took, I’d do it.

“Move out!” she cried. “Why would you do that? You’d have to pay rent anywhere else.”

“That’s the point. What other twenty-seven-year-old woman still lives with her parents?” I gestured to April and Chloe. “My sisters all left home and chased their own dreams. And even if those dreams brought them right back here, it was their choice. I want a choice.”

“What if we charged you a fair rent?” suggested my dad.

“John, you can’t be serious!” My mother looked at him in shock. “We’re not charging her rent.”

“It’s better than seeing her move out,” he said reasonably.

“Frannie,” my mother appealed to me, “you know I only worry about you because I love you so much.”

“I know, Mom. But that love has become a little bit overbearing. I feel smothered and trapped by it. You’ve got to let go a little, okay? You’ve got to trust that I know how to take care of myself. I need some freedom to do my own thing, even if it’s a mistake. Even if I fail.”

Unable to eat anymore, I stood up, my half-full plate in my hands. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, and I’m grateful for everything you do for me. I love it here. But I need more, and I need it on my own terms.” I turned to my father. “Thanks for the offer about the rent, Dad. I’ll give it some thought.”

And with that, I walked into the kitchen on legs shaking with nerves and exhilaration, put my plate on the counter, and left through the back door.

I hadn’t planned on making a declaration of independence at Sunday dinner, but I couldn’t help feeling damn good about it.

Later that night, when I was dressed for bed and lying in the sheets I couldn’t bring myself to change because they still sort of smelled like him, I pulled out my phone so I could give him a hard time about those twenty-dollar bills he’d stuck in my pocket.

Jerk.

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Of course not. Because you’re so innocent. With your filthy mouth.

Hey, that swear jar money goes to charity. I’m only doing my part.

I didn’t know that. What charity?

The girls take turns choosing each month. I think it’s Felicity’s month. She usually chooses the National Geographic Society.

Of course she does.

I saw the rock you gave her. That was very sweet of you. Thanks.