January 25
Taylor
C aroline waits at her usual table, wearing a stylish violet sweater and nibbling on a heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie. Geneva is making brownies in the kitchen, and I’ve just put some pies in the oven, so I decide to take a break, joining my friend with two pink coffee mugs.
“Beware, Satan,” Caroline hisses softly, and I follow her eyes toward the window in time to catch sight of Jasmine walking past in her long runway model’s stride. It’s quick, but I glimpse pointy-heeled leather boots and a red blazer cut at fashion-forward angles. Her long blonde locks look to be in some elaborate updo today. As always, it’s way too much for rundown little Sweetwater, but otherwise enviably stunning.
“Why on earth does she keep dressing for L.A. when she’s in rural Kentucky?” Caroline asks more loudly.
“Maybe that’s all she owns,” I say. “Rodeo Drive clothes.”
Caroline raises her eyebrows. “Have you seen her Instagram?”
I sit up a little straighter, intrigued. “No. You know I’m not into all that, and that Kyra does the social media for the shop.” Honestly, those pictures I once saw of Jasmine with Luke online just soured me on that whole world.
“Well, I do my own for the deli,” my bestie reminds me, “so I admit to having taken a peek.” She begins playing with her phone as she goes on.
“So by ‘taken a peek,’” I say accusingly, “you mean you’ve completely stalked her.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” she answers with a shrug. “Word on the street is that she’s lost seventy-five percent of her followers since her fall from Hollywood grace. Now, mind you, that still leaves over a million. But they’re dropping like flies and I think she’s struggling to hold on to her brand.”
Now Caroline turns the phone to me, and on the screen I see the online handle, ItsJasmineDupree . “She used to be AllThatJasmine,” Caroline informs me, “but I think there are too many Jasmines using something similar now, so I guess she changed it.”
I read the short bio out loud. “ Influencer, fashion icon, and connector to the stars. L.A. vibes. Hollywood is my playground .” I can’t hold in a judgmental laugh at the end.
“She should seriously change that,” Caroline says. “Because check out the posts. I mean, she’s trying to create a fresh but painfully vague new narrative, but no matter how you slice it, she clearly ain’t in Hollywood no more.”
In one photo, she stands before a beautiful upper-class home with a huge park-worthy fountain in front, wearing another gorgeous outfit. The caption simply reads: Fabulous! “That’s gotta be a house her mom is trying to sell—in some upscale Louisville neighborhood and not anywhere near Sweetwater,” my friend imparts.
In another, Jasmine’s peeking from beneath the brim of a wide-brimmed hat you might see someone wear to the beach or…maybe an L.A. garden party. Caption: So chic.
In a third, she’s pulled together some sort of country princess look that involves an off-the-shoulder blouse and a long side braid. It’s a selfie taken at a creative angle, against the backdrop of a familiar white split-rail fence and, if I’m not mistaken, a horse named Lady Jane. The caption reads: Kentucky Dreamin’.
“See, here she’s trying to plant the seed of travel and an unrealistically-glamorous version of Kentucky that I imagine will bring out a beyond-elaborate hat and mint julep for the derby if she’s still here in May. She’s trying to show her followers that she’s somewhere else, without explaining why. And as for those vague, clipped captions, I think that’s how the cool kids do it—to, like, imply they’re just too in demand to type more. It must be so much work to orchestrate these perfect shots.”
“That’s at Luke’s farm,” I point out.
At this, Caroline gasps. She knows about the kisses that didn’t quite happen. “Do you think she was at the farm with Luke?”
Of course, my mind went to the same place. But I answer, “In fairness, I can tell it was taken from the stretch of fence by the road, where literally anyone could stop a car and get out. And I’ve seen that particular horse, Lady Jane, in that same spot—so maybe she likes to hang out there. Maybe Jasmine brought an apple.”
“Maybe it was forbidden ,” Caroline adds dramatically, smoky eyes narrowed in condemnation. “And she offered it to Luke, since she’s still clearly trying to lure him into her clutches.”
“Whatever the case, she had to be freezing in that top.” I roll my eyes. “She’s seriously dedicated to her craft.”
That’s when Geneva exits the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel. “If you ask me,” she says, “you two should feel sorry for Jasmine.” Clearly she’s heard every word.
But Caroline’s not having it. “ Sorry ! Are you kidding? Why would we feel sorry for her?”
Geneva simply shrugs. “Look at her. Not at the pictures on that phone, but at the big picture. You two have done exactly what you wanted with your lives, but her—she’s failed. She’s back in the last place she wants to be.”
Caroline just sneers. “It’s the last place we want her to be, too.”
“And you know our past with her, Geneva,” I remind her. “As much as I hate to admit this, every time I look at her, I’m reminded of the scared teenager I once was, who she treated like garbage. She’s this beautiful, stylish, put-together woman I’ll never be, who makes me see everything I’m not.”
“But none of that is real,” Geneva insists. “What’s real is that every day you do what you love. You chose to make a life here, and you’re succeeding at it. Whereas that girl is lost and alone and…well, everything you were when she made your life hell.”
“Sorry, G,” Caroline says, “if I’m struggling to dredge up much sympathy. She tortured us for years.”
But Geneva steps up closer and persists. “The point is—you win. You win at life. Both of you. Are your lives posh and glamorous? No. But I don’t believe either of you have ever wanted that because you both appreciate simpler things. She obviously works very hard trying to be happy, but she always looks angry instead. For you two, happiness comes easier. So maybe you could give her a little compassion.”
Caroline and I just look at each other. I don’t quite feel it in my heart, the way Geneva is suggesting, but I can’t deny that she’s kinda right. The one thing I do feel is… “Ugh. She’s turned us into sniveling eighth graders again.”
Apparently not quite ready to concede yet either, Caroline glances back to Geneva, her expression holding a challenge. “What if she steals Taylor’s man again?”
At this, however, I roll my eyes. “She can’t. Because he’s still not my man.”
“I think he could be. Maybe.” She twists a lock of dark hair around her finger, flashing seductive eyes.
I, however, simply whoosh out a sigh as Geneva comes closer, switching her gaze back and forth between us.
“What don’t I know about?” she asks.
“Two near-miss kisses,” Caroline informs her. “One that ended up on the cheek, the other interrupted right before it happened.”
Sheesh . It’s not that I’m trying to keep anything from Geneva; it’s that I’m trying not to blow this out of proportion. It’s that I’m confused by the situation.
But I’ve felt less confused since leaving his house the other day.
“Well,” Geneva says to me with a conspiratorial grin, “it sounds like you two are picking up right where you left off all those years ago. Like romance is only a kiss away.”
This, however, draws only another eyeroll from me. “Don’t you guys see all the problems with this?”
Their blank-eyed stares tell me they don’t.
“Okay, well, let me enlighten you. Luke is kind of…”
“A Greek god?” Caroline asks.
I never thought about it that way before, but… “Yes. Exactly. He’s handsome and rugged and sporty and confident. And me, I’m still a little awkward, still that girl who acts nervous with a guy she’s really into. I’m messy, not fancy. Look,” I say, pointing down. “I already have a stain on my shirt and it’s not even ten o’clock. I’m the girl who walks around town with flour in her hair.” I keep coming back to that—I guess because it sums me up perfectly. And never fails to remind me that Luke can have any girl he wants, so even if there’s a mutual attraction between us, in the end, won’t I just somehow embarrass myself?
“And not only that,” I add, “but he’ll be leaving soon anyway. Whenever he gets his father’s affairs settled and figures out what to do with the farm, he’s going back to Utah.”
Setting her towel aside, Geneva pulls out a chair and sits down with us, then looks me in the eye. “I’ve known you for a long time, honey,” she says, “so I’m gonna be frank. I think sometimes you take relationships too seriously. All relationships. You…don’t trust easily.”
I tilt my head, considering her words. I can’t deny their accuracy, but… “Maybe that’s true. Some people make me feel safe with them—like you two. And with other people, it’s different. And…maybe I don’t feel safe with Luke. And it’s not even his fault. For two people who grew up in the same small town, we come from different worlds. Maybe I suffered too much ridicule in front of him when we were young. Maybe I think that…if I let him get too close, he’ll eventually figure out I’m not all that great.”
As we sit in an almost deafening silence, I’m pretty sure my blunt honesty just sucked all the air from the room.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Caroline says.
“Well, I, for one, feel better,” I announce. “Because ever since Luke came home, I haven’t been able to put my finger on what’s holding me back with him, but I think I just did. It’s all suddenly clear to me.”
Across the small table, however, Geneva gives me a look and shakes her head. I feel a lecture coming on. “Listen to me, honey. Leave the past in the past. You’re making this way too complicated, when it’s simple. And so what that he’s leaving? You ask me, that makes it even simpler. You’ve had a crush on that boy for as long as I’ve known you, and here he is, finally crushing on you, too. So you should just go for it. This is your chance to show him just how incredible you are—because whether you know it or not, you are—and while you’re at it, have some fun for once in your life.”
I let my eyes widen on her as I reply, “You certainly make it sound simple—but I’m not so sure it feels that way.”
“Push all that past crap out of the picture,” she says, “and it will.”
I take a deep breath, trying to imagine that, me getting rid of past memories, past humiliations, past unanswered wishes and desires, and truly just being in the now with Luke Montgomery, for however long it lasts, come what may.
She’s right—that’s not how I’m wired.
But what if I were?
“Okay,” I reply, “so say I take your devil-may-care advice and just ‘go for it,’ as you so succinctly put it. What happens when he leaves and I’m heartbroken? Or if I end up that way even before then? What if it turns into a big pile of regret?”
Geneva just smiles and, without missing a beat, answers, “I’d much rather have a pile of regrets than a bunch of what-ifs.”