It takes me a moment to find my voice. I’m proud of myself that it doesn’t waver as I say, “And they would have had to physically come here to pry us away since those were the days before cell phones.”

  A slow smile spreads across his face, lighting his eyes. He bumps his elbow against mine. “Stella.”

  My cheeks ache from the grin that overtakes my face. “Leland.”

  Leland Levesque. He was one of Wesley’s best friends in high school. I always thought of him as a unicorn—magical and rare—because he was good-looking, smart, played sports, and was nice to everyone from the geeks to the goths and every clique in between. He floated seamlessly from group to group, including the one I was part of during my second last year of high school.

  “Wesley told me you were back in town,” we say at the same time, then break into laughter.

  I wave him on and he says, “It’s really good to see you, Stella. It’s been too long.”

  “Yeah, it has. It’s good to see you too.” Really good. The attractive teen I knew all those years ago has grown into an even more handsome man. His short, dark hair still has a hint of a wave to it like it did back then, but now it also has a touch of silver woven throughout like glittering threads. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth tell me he still laughs and smiles as often as he used to, and the thin layer of stubble on his chin and cheeks makes him look…well, unbelievably sexy. It takes my brain a moment to replace the image of the boy I knew with one of the man standing in front of me.

  “This place is amazing, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing around to encompass the Village as a whole.

  “It really is. I worked as an elf here when it was Santa’s Village.”

  Leland’s eyes widen, glimmering with mirth. “Now that I would like to have seen. Those costumes were pretty elaborate.”

  I let out a ‘ha!’ and shake my head. “You have no idea. It took me at least ten minutes to get dressed for each shift. It was like ‘buckles and buttons and belts, oh my!’ I never did get used to wriggling into those striped tights.”

  He laughs along quietly as I speak. I tell myself the fizzy feeling in my stomach is a result of seeing a familiar face I haven’t seen in years and has nothing to do with the way Leland’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “I hope you have pictures,” he says.

  “I do.” I pause, suddenly feeling brave. “In fact, I think I have one on my phone. Would you like to grab a drink with me at the café and I’ll show you?”

  Leland’s smile wavers. “I’d love to, but I’m actually meeting someone in a few minutes.” He reaches out and grips the sleeve of my coat between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a friendly little tug, as if hoping it’ll soften his rejection. “Maybe some other time?”

  “Yeah, definitely. I’m staying in Bellevue, so…”

  “Same here.” He releases my sleeve and jams his hands into his jacket pockets. He stares at me for a long minute until I raise my eyebrows expectantly and he chuckles to himself. “Sorry. I really should get going, but I’m glad we ran into each other.” His hands leave his pockets as abruptly as they went in, and he holds out his arms for a hug.

  I have a flashback to the only time Leland ever hugged me: the day he graduated from high school. That hug was long and felt full of meaning—although I’m sure I gave it more meaning than Leland intended—but this one is quick and somewhat awkward. We’re both smiling when we pull away, though.

  “See you around, Stella.” He gives me a little wave before disappearing into the crowd.

  I turn away from the bookstore and meander through the makeshift streets of the Village, lost in thought. Being around Leland in high school was wonderful, yet confusing. At times, I was certain we had a genuine connection as friends, while other times, I convinced myself he was nice to me the way he was nice to everyone else. Or because I was his best friend’s little sister. Or maybe even because he felt sorry for the way my life became a bit of a horror show for a while.

  Regardless, whenever Leland Levesque was around and you had his full attention, it felt like basking in the warm glow of summer sunshine. I felt that glow again just now. Despite my disappointment at Leland having to leave, something strange and wonderful bubbles in my stomach. It’s foreign at first, something vaguely familiar that I haven’t felt in a long time.

  And then it hits me: it’s hope. Seeing Leland, even just for a few minutes, somehow set off something in me. When I told Wesley earlier that things wouldn’t always be this way, I only half believed it. I’m still not a hundred percent there, but Leland stirred up a remembering of sorts in me about the girl who dreamed of big things once upon a time.

  I can be that girl again. I just have to find her first.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cravings is bustling when I step inside. Couples and groups are scattered around the spacious room; there seems to be some sort of crafting event happening in one corner, where a bunch of tables are pushed together. The overall ambiance of the place—warm and cozy, decked out in gorgeous autumn decor, and full of happy people—has a smile tugging at my lips.

  Proving the world really is smaller than anyone can truly fathom, Cravings is co-owned by a woman named Willow Stewart, who I met while I lived in Toronto. She worked at a wonderful nerdy-themed café not far from where I lived, and I would often run into her while she was walking to or from work. I ventured into the café a few times—the place was my idea of heaven: coffee, pastries, and fandom memorabilia everywhere—but my then-husband’s passive-aggressive comments about me not needing fattening baked goods kept me away for the most part.

  During one of our brief conversations, Willow and I discovered we were both from Bellevue and even went to the same high school, although she was a year ahead in Wesley’s grade. She moved back to Bellevue last year to open Cravings with one of her childhood best friends.

  “Well, hey there, stranger,” Willow says as I weave through the tables. She scurries around the front counter and wraps her arms around me, enveloping me in the scents of pumpkin spice and coffee.

  “Sorry I haven’t been in for awhile,” I tell her when she releases me. “I’m still looking for a job and I’ve been checking out apartment listings, even though I can’t get a place until I have a job.” I don’t add that I’ve been avoiding the Village because I feel guilty for spending money on anything other than necessities these days. As much as I love Willow’s culinary creations and libations, they’re an unnecessary expense.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Willow says. “Are you just popping in or were you planning to stay for a bit?” When I tell her I have the whole evening free, she points to an unoccupied table in the corner. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get someone to cover for me, and we can have a little catch up.”

  Willow joins me a few minutes later, setting down two steaming cups and sliding into the seat across from me. “I hope this is okay. I remembered you usually ordered hot chocolate when you came into the café in Toronto.”

  “Good memory. Thanks.” It may be silly, but I love it when people remember little details like that. I’m sure some people simply have excellent memories and are able to retain all kinds of random facts, but it makes me feel special, like the small details about me are worth taking note of.

  After Willow and I spend a few minutes catching up, she says, “Do you remember Felicity from FandomTown on Danforth?”

  “Of course. I had to stop going in there because I wanted to buy everything, but my hus—” I clamp my mouth shut around the words. My ex-husband—when will I get that right?—didn’t want me cluttering up the apartment with my ‘stupid nerdy collectables’. “Too much temptation,” I finally say, taking a quick sip of my drink.

  Willow is quiet for a moment, her brow creased. She must sense my silent plea to move on because her expression smooths. “I know all about the temptation, believe me. I swear I used to spend a good chunk of my paycheck in that store. Anyway, Felicity and I kept in touch after I moved back to Bellevue. She came by Cravings when she was in town a few months ago, and she told me she’d been thinking about expanding for a while. After I showed her around the Village, she said how perfect this place would be to open a store.”

  “And she went for it, didn’t she?” I picture the empty storefront just a few shops down from Cravings with a colorful ‘Coming Soon’ sign in the front window. I’d peered inside on my way past, and a pile of boxes at the back—particularly the one with the Funko Pop logo—had caught my eye.

  Willow nods excitedly. “She did a ton of research and thinks it’ll be really successful, especially here in the Village. She handed over control of the Toronto store and has moved back to Bellevue to run the place herself.”

  “That’s fantastic. I’ll be one of her best customers…y’know, once I get a job and a place to live where I can actually display stuff.”

  Willow laughs at my self-deprecating eye roll. “The job offer at Cravings still stands.”

  “Thanks, but I’m better at drinking coffee and eating pastries than I am at serving them.”

  Willow waves a hand to indicate her curvy figure. “Believe me, I do a lot of sampling myself. Perks of the job if you ask me.” She winks at me over the rim of her pumpkin chai latte, then glances across the room to where a beautiful dark-haired woman is delivering a tray of drinks to the crafting table. “You’ve met Marisol, right?”

  I recognize Willow’s tone, along with the slightly mischievous glint in her eye. She’s in matchmaker mode. “I have, yes.”

  “Are you seeing anyone right now? Because Mar’s not, and I think you two would have a lot of fun together.” The mischief spreads from her eyes to her lips, which tilt upward on one side. “Or Jasper’s youngest sister is coming to town this weekend,” she says, referring to her fiancé, who’s the oldest of five siblings.

  “I’m…off dating for a while, I think. But I obviously know where to come if I need someone to set me up.” I’m not sure why an image of Leland flashes into my mind, but it reminds me that he and Willow likely knew each other too. “Did you know Leland Levesque in school?”

  She gives me a funny look I can’t decipher. “Yeah…”

  “I ran into him on my way here.”

  “Oh yeah, he’s been around a lot lately. Were you two friends back in the day?”

  “Yes?”

  Willow’s lips twitch. “You don’t sound sure.”

  I huff out a laugh. “You know what Leland was like; he was friends with everyone. He and my brother were close, plus I saw him around school all the time. Then…well…I know I wasn’t really on your radar in high school, so I’m not sure if you know what happened to me in tenth grade.”

  “I do.” Her voice is soft and full of sympathy. “I think the whole school knew.”

  I bob my head slowly. At times, it definitely felt like everyone knew.

  When I was eight, I became obsessed with figure skating, and convinced my parents to let me take skating lessons. We soon discovered I had a natural talent for it, and I caught the eye of a trainer who was convinced I had a future in professional skating if I wanted it and was willing to work for it. I wanted it—god, how I wanted it—and for years, all my free time was spent at the rink or traveling to competitions.

  Just before the end of tenth grade, I was in a car accident while traveling to a show with another skater and his mother. Thankfully, they weren’t badly hurt, but I was left with an array of injuries, from broken bones in my left leg to a severe concussion. The healing process—both physically and mentally—was slow and agonizing. I spent months doing physical therapy just to be able to walk properly again. Even when my PT ended, I continued doing regular therapy at my parents’ insistence. Besides the lingering physical effects of the accident and being diagnosed with PTSD and depression, my hopes and dreams were crushed the day of my accident, and I didn’t know how to accept it or recalibrate. It’s been nearly twenty years since the accident, and sometimes I feel like I’m still learning to adjust.

  I clear my throat, trying to force down the lump that’s formed there. “Right. Well, I was out of school for a while, and when I finally went back, it was a few months into the school year and everything had changed. Of my three best friends, Hollie was the only one left; Evie’s parents had enrolled her in a private school across town, and Louisa’s dad pulled her out to homeschool her. Hollie tried her best to help me reacclimate, but I…wasn’t the easiest person to be around at that point. I was full of anger and sadness, and I started pushing people away.”

  “Understandable,” Willow says when I pause to take another drink of my hot chocolate.

  “I spent a lot of time on my own, then started hanging out with a group of kids who were prone to getting in trouble. They didn’t know who I used to be or care that I was pissed off and broken. Most of my teachers treated me like I was made of glass, and I took advantage of that. I skipped classes, bailed on assignments, stupid stuff like that. I just didn’t care anymore, and I didn’t want to be there.”

  “I vaguely remember seeing you around school that year,” Willow says. “It took me a while to realize you were the same person I’d seen the year before.” She pauses, and I half expect her to add something about my scars, the fact I sometimes needed a walking aid if the pain in my leg flared, or the fact I’d gained a considerable amount of weight while I was laid up. My classmates seemed to feel the need to point those things out to me, as if I wasn’t aware and hadn’t already hit rock bottom in the self-esteem department.

  “Where does Leland fit into all of this?” she asks.

  Leland. Right. I’d almost forgotten how we got on this subject.

  “So, I had people either treating me with kid gloves or enabling my bad behavior. There were a few people who fell somewhere in between, like my brother and Hollie. One of the guys in my new group of friends was on the basketball team with Leland, so he would drift in and out, the way he did with every group in school, you know? He seemed to make it a point to talk to me, and I thought maybe it was because he was friends with Wesley or he felt sorry for me after the accident.

  “Leland was different from everyone else, though. It was like he understood how fragile I was, how close to snapping I was at any given moment, and yet he never made me feel like I was breakable. He was actually one of the first people who made me feel normal again, and he never seemed fazed when I was snarky or fell into silences or dark moods.”

  “That sounds like him,” Willow says.

  The faraway look on her face, paired with the soft hint of a smile, piques my curiosity. “Were you friends with him?”

  Willow’s gaze clears. “Pretty much in the same way you were. We had classes together and even partnered up on a few assignments. He was just so nice. Such a genuinely good person. So many guys back then made me feel worthless because of my weight, whether they meant to or not. And some of them definitely meant to.”

  I make a sound of agreement as I sip my drink. That was the year I learned how quickly some guys will dismiss a girl if she’s not thin. I’ve been reminded of it countless times in the two decades since, but it was a painful lesson to learn, and it added to my overall anger at the world. The dismissals stung, but they were better than the outright nasty comments I heard or the full-on bullying many kids experienced.

  Willow leans across the table. “I developed such a huge crush on Leland at one point,” she says quietly, as if she’s making a confession. It almost makes me laugh.

  “Same,” I tell her. “I tried not to, but…”

  “I think it’s inevitable with a guy like him.” She releases a wistful sigh and settles back in her seat. “Anyway, as much as I’ve enjoyed this stroll down memory lane, I should get back to work.” She stands and pushes in her chair, lingering with her hands gripping the top of the seat. “Thanks for telling me all that, Stella. I’m sure it’s not an easy thing to talk about.”

  I give her a wry smile. “Thanks for listening.”

  We promise to make actual plans sometime soon, and Willow reminds me of the standing job offer here at Cravings before she returns to the front counter. I sit and let my thoughts drift to the reunion page I was avoiding earlier. That year of high school is one I tend to avoid thinking about for a variety of reasons. With the help of my friends, family, and therapist, I got back on track in my final year of high school. I made amends to the teachers I’d let down and made an effort to bring my grades back up.

  Despite all that’s happened in my life, sometimes I still feel like the same lost, uncertain girl I was all those years ago. Things are different now, though. Where Teenage Stella saw a bleak road ahead, I have hope for a brighter future. Where she pushed people away in anger, I draw my loved ones around me like armor, knowing they give me strength and protect me.

  A shadow falls across the table, drawing me from my thoughts. My stomach sinks when I look up and recognize the woman with the flawless makeup and shiny chestnut hair. Nelle Bryant.

  “Stella McGrath, I thought that was you!” Without waiting for me to speak, Nelle slides into the seat Willow recently vacated. “You haven’t RSVP’d to the reunion yet.”

  No ‘how are you’ or ‘nice to see you’. Although to be fair, I don’t think she cares how I am, regardless of the fact we haven’t seen each other in over a decade.

  “Right, the reunion,” I say slowly, trying to buy time to think of an excuse. Despite my better judgment, I accepted a Facebook friend request from Nelle several years ago. I often wondered why she wanted to be connected because she never acknowledged anything I posted, even though I occasionally liked and commented on her updates and pictures.

  When I announced my divorce from Lars in a post I rewrote a dozen times and contemplated scrapping altogether, Nelle reached out via direct message. She initially had me fooled into thinking she cared until she started doing what she always did in high school: digging for dirt. She didn’t actually care, she just wanted the juicy details of the demise of my marriage.