Chapter Forty #2
The women surrounding him giggle, and Yasmine shoots him a dagger of a glance as she continues to talk about the wine.
“Shit,” Everett whispers in my ear. “I probably shouldn’t have let him come here. What’s with them? Did they date or something?”
“No. They’ve just always been like this.
Senior year, they both ran for Class President, and Ripley won,” I tell him, keeping my voice low.
“It drove Yasmine crazy because she’d been on student council for years.
She was super-organized, always had a plan, never missed a deadline, had great ideas, and really cared.
Ripley was just popular. And he promised everyone he’d invite them over to his house for a giant pool party if they voted for him. ”
“And she won Vice President?” Everett guesses. “That’s why he calls her Veep?”
I nod. “Exactly.”
We watch as Ripley slams the remaining wine in his glass like it’s a shot of whiskey and plunks the glass down. “I’m ready for the next one. Could I get a more generous pour?”
Again, the women within earshot laugh flirtatiously.
Everett shakes his head, but he also chuckles.
“Jesus, he’s an asshole,” says Ben.
Yasmine is talking about the second wine now. “This is a warm climate pinot noir from the Paso Robles region of California’s Central Coast. It has a fuller body and a richer mouthfeel.”
“Mouthfeel?” Ripley repeats dubiously. “Is that really a word?”
Yasmine doesn’t look his way but holds up two fingers in his direction. “It has lower acidity, softer tannins, and a smoother texture. The flavor profile includes darker fruits and spices.”
“I taste chocolate,” Hunter says. “Is that dumb?”
“Not at all.” Yasmine offers him a smile. “You’re spot-on, actually. ”
Hunter thumps Ripley on the arm. “Did you hear that? I was spot-on.”
“Hmmm.” Ripley holds his glass up to the light like he’s examining its color and then sips. “This pinot definitely has a robust character of trying too hard to impress you and wishing it was a pilsner instead.”
Everyone laughs, and the color in Yasmine’s face approaches the shade of wine in our glasses. “Three,” she says. “You’re out.”
Laughing, Ripley finishes his wine and puts some cash on the bar. “Don’t be so serious. When you’re done here, come over to the pub and have a beer on me.”
“I don’t want anything on you, Ripley.”
“I’ll get him out of here,” Everett says, giving my waist a squeeze. “Text me later.”
“I will.” I lift my face, and he kisses my cheek before shepherding Ripley and the guys out.
As soon as they’re gone, Yasmine wipes her brow. “Thank God. Tell Everett I’m grateful.”
“I will.”
Her eyes catch on the charm at my throat, and she gasps. “You’re wearing the necklace! I thought you said you lost it!”
“Oh my God, did I forget to tell you?” As the bar fills with chatter, I catch up Yasmine on my meeting with Dan. “So my name wasn’t cleared, but I did get my ladybug back.”
“I love that.” Yasmine pulls hers to the outside of her shirt. “I wonder if Gabi still has hers.”
“We’ll have to ask her. Can you believe she’s moving back?”
“I know! It feels… I don’t know, like kismet somehow. You coming back to take care of your mom, Gabi moving back for good. Who knows?” Yasmine’s green eyes sparkle like emeralds. “Any minute now, Rachel might pull up in that old BMW she inherited from her brothers. Remember that thing?”
I burst out laughing. “Yes! It always smelled like sweaty lacrosse equipment and Ralph Lauren cologne.”
“And Ladybug would drench the seats in that body spray she loved—what was it called?”
“Sweet Pea Seduction,” I say, remembering the way we used to tease her about it.
Our laughter fades. Yasmine’s expression goes soft, and I know we’re both thinking about Lydia. I don’t know what path my life would have taken if things had been different.
If Lydia hadn’t been sick.
If we’d never made the pact.
If That Night had never happened.
But something deep inside me is sure I would always have ended up here, in this moment. I’m not saying I wouldn’t change how I got here—because God knows I’d do almost anything to have Lydia standing beside me and Yasmine right now—but getting to the present feels…inevitable.
“Now all we have to do is convince you to move back,” Yasmine says, and it’s a question as much as a statement.
I laugh. “You know what? A month ago I would have said it was out of the question.”
“But today?”
I glance at the door Everett just went through. “Today feels different.”
Yasmine and I meet up with the guys to watch the fireworks. When they’re over, everyone makes their way to the bandstand. As we’re walking toward the music, Hunter falls into step beside me.
“Hey, Mila. I wanted to ask you about something. I mean, about someone.”
“Sure.”
“Are you still friends with Rachel Hart?”
I glance at him in surprise. “No, we lost touch. I wish I was.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you knew where she ended up after high school. She tutored me in math senior year.”
“I remember her talking about it,” I say.
He laughs. “She tell you what a shit math student I was?”
“Not at all.”
“Anyway, I was just curious about her. She was cool.”
“She was.” It surprises me that Hunter describes her that way. Rachel was a lot of things—smart, kind, responsible, classy, ambitious… But cool? To a guy like Hunter Gannon? It strikes me as odd, for some reason. What could they possibly have had in common?
“Well, if you ever talk to her, tell her I said hi.”
“I will.”
“I always felt bad about that night,” he adds. “But I never got to talk to her.”
He walks away before I can ask him what he means.
Before I can call him back, we reach the bandstand, where a group of local musicians is playing everything from golden oldies to country to classic rock.
Ripley motions toward the bar set up on one side of the dance floor.
Everett squeezes my arm. “Be right back. Want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
As soon as they’re gone, I grab Yasmine’s hand. “Hey. Hunter Gannon just asked me about Rachel.”
Her eyes widen. “What about her?”
“Just like, ‘Are you still friends with her? Where is she now?’ That kind of thing. He said he was just curious. Because he thought she was cool.”
“Cool?”
“I know. That’s what I thought.”
“I remember she tutored him. Maybe she was just really patient.”
“But then he said something else.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘I always felt bad about that night, but I never got to talk to her.’”
Yasmine’s jaw falls open. “Like That Night?”
“It has to be. That’s the night she banged up her dad’s old car.” Part of me wonders if anything didn’t go wrong the night the bakery burned down. “But why would he feel bad about it? How did he even know about it?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea.”
“I really want to find her,” I say.
“Me too.” Yasmine tugs on her bottom lip.
“Do you think Ben Hart knows anything?” I ask, watching as the guys make their way back to us. “Everett says he’s some kind of distant cousin.”
“Dr. HartThrob you mean?”
I laugh. “Is that what they call him?”
“Yes. I hear a lot of chatter about Dr. HartThrob at the bar.”
“What’s the scoop?”
“Divorced, one daughter, ex-wife is remarried and lives about twenty minutes away.”
That’s all we have time for before the Axe Gods descend upon us.
“Veep! Let’s dance,” Ripley says, trying to take Yasmine’s hand.
She snatches it back. “Not in a million years.”
Half an hour later, I’m still wondering about Rachel and how I might find her. I’m also thinking about Gabi moving back and Yasmine being here already. Something is calling me home, too, and it feels strong tonight. I look around, imagining a life here.
Ben Hart is talking to a group of young girls, and I assume one of them is his daughter.
Ripley is showing off his two-step moves with a pretty blonde on his arm, and Yasmine is pretending not to watch.
Hunter is chatting with another guy who’s also wearing an HLFD shirt.
Everett stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. The song ends, and the band begins the familiar opening strains of “Something” by the Beatles.
“Want to dance?” Everett asks in my ear. “This one is more my speed.”
“Sure.” Placing my hand in his, I follow him onto the dance floor. He pulls me close, and we begin to sway to the music.
“I feel nervous dancing with you,” he says.
“Why?” I tilt my head back and look up at him.
“You’re so good. What if I don’t have any rhythm?”
“You have nothing to worry about. Your rhythm is perfect, although I already knew this about you.”
He smiles and promptly steps on my toes. “Oh shit. Sorry!”
“It’s okay.” I press my cheek to his chest and think of all the summers I dreamed of dancing with him like this, on this very night, on this very dance floor, under these very stars.
It was worth the wait.