“It was. It really was.” He bobs his head with mock solemnity. “Now I have to cram all my caffeine consumption into the earlier part of the day.” He imitates raising a cup to this mouth, his hand shaking wildly. “The caffeine high comes in handy on nights when I’m DJing, though.”

  “You’re still doing that?”

  His lips curve at the high pitch of my voice. Even after all this time apart, I bet he knows me well enough to detect the mixture of surprise, excitement, and curiosity. “Looks like we have a lot to catch up on, Buttercup. It’s a bit early for cocktails, so how about tea? Or hot chocolate?”

  “I never turn down hot chocolate.”

  His small smile grows, causing the dimple in his left cheek to wink to life. I was already feeling a bit shaky from simply seeing Wesley so unexpectedly, but that smile. That dimple. Heaven help me.

  “Do you and the girls still hang out at the diner?” he asks.

  “All the time. We were there for breakfast this morning, in fact.”

  “Nice to know some things never change.” Between his tone and the twinkle in his eyes, I’m certain his words hold a double meaning, although I can’t figure out what it might be.

  Before I can give it much thought, Wesley holds out one arm with his elbow bent. It takes me a minute to catch on, and then I slowly slide my arm through his. He pulls me closer, and I give in to the urge to snuggle against him, clutching his arm to my side, and resting my cheek on his shoulder.

  “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Evie,” he says softly, his breath ghosting over my face.

  If he keeps this up, he’ll have to scrape me off the sidewalk.

  *****

  “Does Stella know you’re home? When did you get into town? How long are you here for?”

  Wesley shakes his head, chuckling softly at my rapid-fire questions. To be fair, at least I waited until we were seated at a booth inside B&H Diner before I let the questions fly. By some miracle, we managed to get one of the best and most private booths in the place. Neither of us considered the fact it’s dinnertime for many people, and the diner is bustling with couples and families enjoying their evening meal.

  Bea comes into view, balancing a trio of plates in her hands. She sets them at a nearby table and chats with the people for a minute before straightening and glancing around. Her eyes brighten when she sees me, and she strides toward our table while pulling her order pad and pen from her apron.

  “Well, hey there, honey. This is a nice surprise, seeing you twice in one day.”

  “If you think that’s a nice surprise…” I motion toward the other side of the booth, where Wesley is tucked back in the seat, out of her line of sight.

  Bea’s eyes go comically wide when they land on Wesley. “Boy, you’d better get out here and give me a hug!”

  Wesley slides from the booth and wraps Bea in a tight embrace. I’m sure he comes here whenever he’s in town, so it likely hasn’t been that long since these two saw each other, but that’s how Bea has always been with the five of us. She and her husband Horatio never had kids of their own, but they treated us like we were part of their family. Over the years, she’s joked that we’re her little ducklings, sometimes straying from the flock, but always returning.

  Bea pushes Wesley away to hold him at arm’s length. As she gives him a head-to-toe perusal, I take the opportunity to do the same now that my shock over seeing him has mostly worn off. His dark-blond hair is longer than usual, and the slightly windswept look of it suits him. He’s rocking a couple days’ worth of pale stubble, making his youthful face appear more mature. It’s a look I can definitely get behind, especially when paired with a black t-shirt, snug-fitting jeans, and a leather jacket.

  Bea releases Wesley and shoos him back into his seat. Her gaze darts between the two of us, her eyes shining. “I feel like I just stepped back in time to when the two of you used to come in here when Stella was off at her skating lessons.” She lets out a sigh that’s as wistful as her tone. “You were like peas in a pod, always with your heads bent together, sharing a set of those earbud things. You know I always thought you two were together? Or at least that things were heading that way.”

  A stilted laugh escapes me. Despite feeling Wesley’s eyes on me and even seeing in my periphery that his head is turned my way, I keep my gaze on Bea. I’m not sure I want to know what Wesley’s expression is.

  “Common mistake,” he says after several long beats.

  “Right,” I say. “We were just friends.”

  “Really good friends.”

  Something in Wes’s voice makes me look at him. He’s smiling softly at me, his expression open and full of fondness. It causes a tight pinch in my chest. While I’d go so far as to say he’s gazing at me lovingly, it’s not the type of love I wish he felt.

  “What can I get you two?” Bea asks.

  “Are you hungry?” Wesley asks me.

  “No, I had something to eat at my mom’s not long ago. You go ahead and order dinner if you’re hungry.”

  He shakes his head and turns to Bea. “Will you be mad at us for taking up a booth at dinnertime if we only order hot chocolate?”

  “If it were anyone else…” She shoots him a wink and spins on her heel, calling over her shoulder, “Two hot chocolates, coming right up.”

  “She hasn’t changed a bit.” Wesley leans his elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him and glancing around us. “And neither has this place.”

  “You know what Horatio always says—”

  “‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’,” we say at the same time, then dissolve into laughter.

  Our gazes remain locked as our amusement fades. I’ve known Wesley my whole life and we have so much to catch up on, but I have no idea what to say. The truth is, I’d be perfectly happy to sit and stare at him all night. I might be reading too much into it, but I don’t think he minds. Dare I say he even has an appreciative, almost hungry glint in his eyes as they survey my face.

  Bea sets our drinks on the table, interrupting our impromptu staring contest. My cup is piled high with mini marshmallows, while Wesley’s has a swirl of whipped cream on top.

  “You remembered,” he says.

  “Oh, honey, I remember everything,” Bea says. “Everything. Like the time the two of you came in here, ordered a platter of pancakes to share, and then realized you didn’t have enough money, so you scrounged up enough loose change to pay. Or the time—” She doubles over laughing before she can get the words out. The sight makes me giggle along without even knowing what memory is playing through her mind.

  She straightens, wiping her eyes on a napkin she pulls from the pocket of her apron. “Whew, lordy. Or the time you decided to start a dog-walking business and your first client dragged Evie through every mud puddle in a half-mile radius. Do you remember that?” The question aimed at Wesley, likely because there’s no chance I’d ever forget that particular experience.

  “How could I forget?” Wesley’s voice shakes with suppressed laughter. “It was quite the image.”

  Bea’s face softens as she studies Wesley. “But what really stuck with me was the fact you ended that walk by jumping in the biggest puddle you could find so Evie wouldn’t be embarrassed to be the only one covered in mud. Why the pair of you decided to come here instead of going home to get cleaned up first, I’ll never understand. That image has lived rent free in my mind for nearly two decades, though, so I guess I should be thanking you.” She pauses, her sharp eyes shifting from Wesley to me and back again. “You sure you two were never an item? Even secretly?”

  “Really good friends,” Wesley repeats. The way his dimple flashes makes me certain he’s suppressing another laugh.

  “If you say so. Enjoy your hot chocolate, kids. I’ll be back later.”

  As she walks away, I pull my drink toward me and examine the marshmallows as if they hold the secrets of the universe. A tense silence hangs over the table now, and I can’t decide whether to address what Bea said or not. Do I laugh it off and make a comment about her being as much of a meddler as my mother is? Do I gather up every last ounce of courage and attack the subject head on by asking Wesley if he ever had even the tiniest non-friend-like feelings for me? Or do I stick with self-preservation and attempt to change the subject?

  Growing up, I was never uncomfortable around Wesley. All our silences were companionable unless we were mad at each other, and even those times were rare and didn’t last long. It wasn’t until I was in my early teens and my feelings for Wesley started to evolve into something new and confusing that I began occasionally feeling awkward and tongue-tied around him. I know he noticed, yet he never said anything, which made me love him even more.

  Wesley saves me from myself by asking, “Which of your questions from earlier would you like me to answer first?”

  Relief makes the frantic fluttering in my chest stop, which tells me it’s better to stay on safe, solid, familiar ground. At least for now. “Stella. Does she know you’re home?”

  “She knows I was planning to come home, but not that I’m already here. I wanted to surprise her too.”

  “The McGrath siblings back in town at the same time. Bellevue won’t know what hit it.”

  Wesley’s mouth quirks up on one side as he lifts his hot chocolate to take a sip. I don’t realize I’m watching him—his mouth specifically—until his eyes flick up from the mound of whipped cream and lock on mine. “You’re waiting for me to get a faceful of this, aren’t you?”

  “Or a mustache at the very least.”

  He takes a sip and grins at me over the rim of his cup, revealing a thick, foamy mustache. “As you wish, Buttercup.”

  There’s that fluttering in my chest again, although this time it’s for a different reason. In The Princess Bride, every time Westley says ‘as you wish’ to Buttercup, it’s his way of telling her he loves her. Even at a young age, I thought it was incredibly romantic, but Wesley declared it wouldn’t mean that for us, and we both began using the phrase as often as we quoted other lines from the movie.

  Still, hearing it now for the first time in years, especially paired with my old nickname, it does funny things to my insides. As does the way Wesley runs his tongue over his upper lip to clear off his faux ’stache before wiping the rest off with a napkin.

  I shake my thoughts off the path they’re taking. “Wait, do it again so I can take a picture.”

  “No way, you had your chance. Besides, you have plenty of moustachioed pictures of me from back in the day.”

  I try—and fail—to stifle a giggle at the image his words evoke. We took our imaginary worlds very seriously as children, which meant Wesley often drew on a thin mustache when he assumed the role of the Dread Pirate Roberts. “Remember the time you used your mom’s heavy-duty eyeliner and it wouldn’t come off?”

  He ducks his head, chuckling softly. “How could I forget? I begged her to let me stay home from school the next day. I think she wanted to teach me a lesson about taking things without asking.”

  “No doubt. And while that was funny, my personal favorite—”

  “Don’t,” Wesley says quickly, his voice shaking with laughter. “Don’t say it. Don’t remind me. Please, Ev.”

  “My personal favorite,” I repeat, louder this time, “was when you decided it would be a good idea to grow your own mustache in high school.”

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Never could,” I say, and he makes a sarcastic sound of agreement. “Your friends teased you mercilessly while you attempted to let that thing grow in.”

  “Hey, I was excited to finally be growing facial hair,” he says. “It wasn’t my fault it was so pale you could barely see it. And I’ll have you know, out of the so-called ‘friends who teased me mercilessly’, no one was as bad as you and Stella.”

  “As your little sister and her best friend, it was our duty to keep your ego in check,” I say with a one-shouldered shrug.

  The indulgent, amused look on his face eases some of the lingering tension inside me. That tension ramps back up when he leans across the table and lays his warm hand over mine. “You were my best friend too, you know.”

  “I thought Leland was your best friend,” I say quietly.

  His fingers tighten around mine. “He was, but so were you. When it came right down to it, I think you knew me better than anyone else did.”

  I stare into his familiar blue eyes. Eyes I’ve looked into my whole life, eyes I dreamed about for years in my teens and twenties. Eyes I still dream about, if I’m being completely honest. “You were my best friend too, Wes.” For some reason I’m not willing to examine too closely, the words come out in a choked whisper. Wesley shifts his hand so he can lift my fingers, holding them lightly in his.

  “Don’t tell Stella,” we say at the same time, and then we’re both laughing again. Wesley releases my hand and flops back in his seat. I’m equal parts relieved and sad that the moment of physical closeness has slipped away.

  Despite all the emotions seeing Wesley has stirred up, it’s good to laugh with him again. To reminisce about our shared past instead of the secret off-shoot of our history that involved a lot of fantasizing and pining on my part.

  “What about this?” he asks, running the backs of his fingers over the light stubble on his cheeks and chin.

  “Much better than the high school mustache attempt.”

  “Anything would be better than the high school mustache attempt,” Wesley says dryly. “I’m trying to decide whether to shave it or keep growing it. I’ve always been curious to know what I’d look like with a beard.”

  I want to tell him he’s too pretty to hide his face behind a beard. Or that he should consider maintaining the stubble instead of growing a full beard because the stubble gives him the slightest edge that makes him incredibly sexy, especially when paired with the leather jacket. Instead, I say, “I’m sure your mom and sister will have something to say about it.”

  “They always do.”

  “Speaking of your mom and sister, where are you staying? And for how long?”

  “I’m staying with my parents,” he says, his gaze dipping down to the table. He swirls his mug, watching the whipped cream mix with the dark liquid. The way his eyes linger on his drink makes me think he’s avoiding looking at me. “And I’m not exactly sure how long I’m staying. Until next weekend at least. Maybe longer.”

  “Longer? What about your job and…” I can’t say her name. It’s ridiculous to be jealous of a woman I hardly know. “And your girlfriend?”

  Wesley shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking from his drink to my face and back again before finally meeting and holding my eyes. “They’ll still be there. Between getting your mom’s invitation to your party and Stella moving back to town, I decided it was time to come home for a bit.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth. My cheeks flare with heat as I realize I just mouthed the word ‘home’. Before I can quiz him on how long ‘a bit’ is, he says, “Stella has told me how much she loves living with you.”

  I should call him out for changing the subject, but I don’t. Wesley is one of the most forthright people I know, so if he’s not giving me the whole story, there must be a good reason. “It’s been great,” I say. “Fantasy fulfillment at its finest. We always dreamed of living together, but it never worked out. Who knew it would happen at this stage of our lives?”

  We talk more about Stella and the rest of his family. Wesley tells me about his sporadic DJing gigs in Ottawa and continues to evade questions about work and his girlfriend. I’m in the middle of answering a string of questions about my own job when Bea appears to check on us.

  “I wouldn’t mind something to eat,” Wesley says, shooting me a questioning look.

  As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. Bea looks between us, a knowing smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Burger and fries?” she asks, and I nod.

  “You really do remember everything,” Wesley says, and Bea shoots him a wink over her shoulder as she takes off toward the kitchen. He watches her for a second, then says to me, “Although you did say you still come here all the time, so that would explain her knowing your favorite.”

  “I haven’t ordered a burger and fries in years,” I tell him. “Probably not since the last time you and I had dinner together here. Horatio slowly and somewhat begrudgingly added a few healthier options to the menu when his doctor told him he needed to be eating healthier himself. I usually order one of the all-day breakfast specials or soup and a salad. Sometimes the girls and I split a bunch of appetizers.”

  “Huh.” Wesley’s eyebrows are high on his forehead, as if I just told him some huge, life changing secret.

  “Burgers and fries were always our thing,” I say, probably unnecessarily.

  “Yeah. Yeah, they were.” A smile starts at one corner of his mouth and spreads slowly. “We had a lot of ‘things’, you and I, didn’t we, Buttercup?”

  He sounds almost flirty, but that can’t be right. Wesley and I were many things growing up, but we were never flirty with each other, as much as I wished we were. That, paired with the way he keeps calling me Buttercup—a nickname he hasn’t used in years—is sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wesley gets sidetracked from his maybe-flirting when he sees someone he knows walk by outside, and he starts telling me a story about something the pair of them did in high school. Bea swings by a few minutes later and deposits drinks on the table—Sprite for both of us, something else I haven’t had since the last time I had dinner with Wesley—and returns again shortly with our food.

  I’m dousing my fries in vinegar when I realize Bea is still standing there, hands on hips, her gaze swiveling back and forth between Wesley and me. Her misty eyes match her wistful smile, causing an unexpected lump of emotion to form in my throat. I’m about to ask if she’s okay when she gives a full-body shake, releases a loud sigh, and walks away.