Rescuing My Best Friend’s Girl

1. PRINCESS BUTTERCUP AND PIRATE WESLEY

JO

The scent of buttery popcorn fills my room as Grace and I sit cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by the chaos of sleepover essentials: fluffy pillows, a half-eaten bag of Sour Patch Kids, and the glow of string lights draped across my headboard, casting a honeyed glow over the room.

“Hey, thanks again for letting me sleep here tonight,” Grace leans forward, balancing a tub of popcorn in her lap, while I flip through my DVD case for the perfect movie.

“What? Of course, you’re always welcome here at Chez Lucas,” I say with a flourish of my arms, “or however they say ‘the Lucas home’ in a fancy way. I love having you over, and my parents really like you. How about The Princess Bride?” I immediately switch thoughts, holding up the disc with a flourish.

Grace gasps, clutching the popcorn. “Yes! Oh my gosh, I love that movie. It’s the most romantic movie ever.”

I laugh and agree, sliding the disc into my old DVD player. “Exactly. Besides, Wesley totally reminds me of Alex.”

“Wait, really?” Grace tilts her head, looking genuinely curious. “You think Alex would say, ‘As you wish?’”

“Okay, maybe not the exact line,” I admit, shrugging, “but he has does have this whole ‘I’ll rescue you from anything’ vibe.”

“He does, doesn’t he! I never put that into words, but it’s so true,” Grace elbows me teasingly.

I put my hand over my heart and say with sincerity, mixed with a playful touch of humor, “He would totally crash the wedding with that awful Prince Humperdinck.”

“Ew, yuck!! Humperdinck is so gross,” Grace sticks her tongue out, pretending she is going to gag. “Can you imagine? Kissing him would be like kissing a blobfish.” Her blonde hair falls into her face as she sets the popcorn aside. “And who would I be, then? Also Princess Buttercup?”

“Obviously,” I say, throwing a pillow at her. “Luke’s definitely your Wesley. Come on, he’s been obsessed with you since before freshman year!”

Grace giggles and flops onto her back, hugging the pillow. “Okay, fine. But I swear, he’s so reserved sometimes. Luke has this thoughtful way about him, like he’s always observing the world quietly. He’s not one to jump into the spotlight, but you always notice when he’s there. That’s just him, though. He’s always been more thoughtful and attentive than most guys. I remember once during class, he noticed I was having a bad day and left a folded note with the words, ‘Meet me near the lighthouse after school.’ When I got there, he had a blanket laid out and said, ‘You looked like you needed some quiet today.’ That’s Luke—not loud, but always there when it matters most.”

I smirk, about to tease her about sounding really in love with him. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning your wedding already,” I start to say, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Girls? Can I come in?” Mom’s voice floats through the door before she pushes it open, holding a tray with two glasses of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Thanks, Mrs. Lucas,” Grace says, sitting up and flashing her signature polite smile.

Mom sets the tray on my desk and looks at us with her hands on her hips, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What are you two whispering about so intently?”

“Mom, don’t worry about it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But if you have to know, we’re discussing guys.”

Grace bursts out laughing, but Mom doesn’t look fazed. She raises an eyebrow as she picks up an empty popcorn bag. “Well, if you’re talking about boys, I hope you’re including Tanner. You know, he’s a fine young man, Josephine. He’s always been so dependable, and one day, he’ll have a promising career. With his family money, he could easily take care of you.”

“Oh, gross!” I groan, throwing a pillow at her this time. “Mom, you’re making it sound like he’s already my husband. Tanner’s just my friend, okay? We’ve been friends since, like, second grade.”

Mom shrugs, clearly undeterred by my protest. “I’m just saying. Stability is important, Jo. And Tanner has a good head on his shoulders.”

“Mom! Alex is my boyfriend,” I point out, crossing my arms. “You know that.”

She tilts her head, her smile softening but not exactly enthusiastic. “Right. That Turner boy. Well, he seems nice enough. I’m sure you’re never bored around him.”

Grace stifles a laugh, and I shoot her a warning look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mom picks up a stray sock and shrugs. “Oh, nothing. Just that he’s, uh … spontaneous. Exciting. Always on some grand adventure.” She gives me a pointed look. “Just make sure he doesn’t sweep you off your feet so fast you forget to land, okay?”

“Noted,” I mutter as Mom heads toward the door.

“Have fun, girls,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Grace snorts as soon as the door shuts. “She totally thinks you’re going to end up with Tanner.”

“Ugh, I know,” I groan. “She’s been saying that since forever. Like, can you imagine? Me and Tanner? No thanks.”

Grace laughs and grabs the popcorn. “Okay, but admit it—Tanner would totally make you soup if you were sick. He’s got those good husband vibes.”

“Sure, but Alex…” I trail off, smiling to myself. “Alex would show up at my window in the middle of the night with soup and a whole plan to rescue me from my boring sick day.”

Grace sighs dramatically. “And Luke would just show up, blush furiously, and say something about how soup is overrated when you’re sick. Then he’d give me a box of Kleenex and cold medicine to help solve my illness. He sure likes to fix problems.”

We both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach ache, before settling back into the pillows.

“Okay, movie time,” I say, hitting play on the remote.

As the opening scenes of The Princess Bride play, Grace leans toward me. “Can you believe this movie is thirty years old?”

“Yeah, but it’s timeless,” I say. “Wesley’s devotion to Buttercup, even though she gets set up with someone else? So romantic.”

Grace sighs. “And I just love how Wesley fights for her, no matter what. That’s real love.”

I grin. “I like that his mission is to rescue her before she gets stuck in a loveless marriage with that awful prince.”

Together, we groan, “Yuck! Prince Humperdinck!”

The room fills with our giggles, the movie playing as we settle into our spots. We quote the lines as they come, laughing and swooning at all the right moments, until the final scene arrives.

As Wesley and Buttercup share their kiss, Grace and I both murmur the iconic line along with the narrator: “‘Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.’”

We collapse onto the bed with dramatic, blissful sighs.

“Grace, we better get to sleep,” I say, stifling a yawn. “I’m volunteering at the library tomorrow morning.”

We shuffle around the room, brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed, the comfortable routine of a sleepover we’ve done a hundred times before.

The lights click off, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of my parents’ footsteps and their murmuring voices in another part of the house.

“Has Luke kissed you yet?” I whisper into the dark.

Grace giggles, and then, almost shyly, she whispers, “Luke and I kissed for the first time last summer. It was near the cliffs by the lighthouse. We’d been walking along the edge, and the stars were so bright. I could hear the waves crashing below, and it felt like we were the only two people in the world.”

“What happened?” I ask, intrigued.

Grace pauses, a light laugh escaping her. “He was so nervous. Like, he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets, glancing at me like he was deciding something really important. I think I scared him when I finally said, ‘Luke Thompson, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to think you don’t want to.’”

I gasp, laughing. “You actually said that? What did he do?”

By now, my eyes have adjusted to the dark, and the light from a full moon is shining into my window, so I can watch Grace while she continues her story.

“He froze for a second, like he thought I was joking,” Grace says, her tone light and wistful. “But then he stepped closer, all fumbling and unsure. When he finally leaned in, it was the softest, sweetest kiss—like he was trying to make it perfect. He smelled like the ocean, and his lips were so warm.”

My eyes widen at Grace’s moonstruck expression, “Wow, Grace. That sounds wonderful.”

“Afterward, I teased him about how long it took him to actually kiss me, and he just blushed like crazy. But the look on his face? He was so happy, Jo. Like he couldn’t believe it really happened.”

I grin, already swooning in the dark. “That’s so adorable. Luke’s so cute and such a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Grace murmurs, her voice tinged with affection. “He really is. What about you and Alex?”

I smile, remembering. “He kissed me last month. I think he’d been planning on it for a while, because he was pretty confident. On the beach, under the lighthouse. It was perfect. He was nervous too, at first, but also seemed like he really knew what he was doing. But don’t tell him I said that—I’ll never hear the end of it. I can’t imagine my life without him, Grace.”

She sighs knowingly, and we fall into a comfortable silence, the sound of relaxing rainwater from my noise machine lulling us to sleep.

The cookbook in my hands feels heavier than it should as I make my way toward the lighthouse. I parked far away—every guest in Seabrook seems to be here today. The gift, carefully wrapped in brown paper with a sprig of lavender tied to the top, contains a well-loved favorite at the library: Coastal Kitchen Treasures. Patrons have raved about its recipes for years, and it seems like the perfect choice for Grace and Luke—a practical yet thoughtful start to their shared life.

When the invitation arrived in my mailbox a few weeks ago, I was thrilled. A formal wedding invitation felt like such a rare thing in Seabrook, where news is usually spread through quick phone calls or conversations at the bakery. The creamy envelope, embossed with their names, made me smile instantly. Grace’s elegant touch was all over it. And now, walking up the hill to the lighthouse with the salty breeze brushing my face, it’s hard not to think about how far we’ve come.

A memory from years ago surfaces—that sleepover where we whispered about our boyfriends and watched The Princess Bride. I had joked about Luke being Grace’s Wesley, and I remember teasing her about planning their wedding someday. And here we are, years later. She’s actually marrying her Prince Charming.

I whisper out loud, the words carried away by the gentle wind, “Happily ever after, just like in the movies.” My lips curve subtly in a smile, but it quickly fades as my thoughts turn inward.

I tighten my grip on the gift as my steps falter. Widowed just four months ago, and unsure of my purpose, I’ve felt like a shadow of myself lately. It’s been hard to imagine joy, harder still to believe I’m capable of finding love again. Grace’s wedding is a reminder of everything I’ve lost—a love I thought would last forever.

The lump in my throat is nearly unbearable, but I force myself to breathe deeply and keep walking. By the time I reach the lighthouse-turned-gorgeous-wedding-venue, I’ve pulled myself together. I find a seat near the front, greeting familiar faces with a polite smile. Mrs. Carlson from the bakery beams at me, her hands clasped over her heart as Grace glides down the aisle.

“Jo, doesn’t Grace look like an angel?” she whispers.

I nod, managing a warm reply. “She really does.”

The ceremony is beautiful, Grace radiantly glowing as she and Luke exchange their vows. By the time the recessional begins, the guests are clapping and cheering, but I’m too weary to join in. My yawn escapes loudly, earning a few glances, and I cringe in embarrassment.

Practically, I tell myself it’s time to head home. I won’t have the energy to stand through the reception, and I can’t bring myself to smile and pretend everything is fine. Inside, my heart is aching. The tears come before I can stop them, slipping down my cheeks as I lower my head and try to leave unnoticed.

In my rush to escape, I brush into someone standing near the back of the chairs.

“Sorry—” I begin, then freeze. My heart somersaults.

He’s dressed in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with dark slacks that look slightly too formal for him. His dark hair is tousled by the breeze, and his smokey gray eyes, sharp and unforgettable, are watching me with an intensity I can’t describe.

It’s Alex Turner.