Stella throws her head back and laughs. My heart feels light and fizzy at the sight. It’s so good to see her having moments of lighthearted happiness again. “That’s amazing. What are you listening to? And what brought on the sudden need for a nostalgic walk down memory lane?”

  I set the Discman aside and reach for my own coffee. I’ve been awake for over an hour, curled up in my favorite armchair with Wesley’s birthday mix playing quietly in my ears. When I got home last night and discovered Stella was out, I poured myself a glass of wine, turned the lights down low, and put the CD in the stereo. I listened to it all the way through, grinning like an idiot and tearing up on several occasions as the songs brought up countless memories, some of which were so powerful I felt like I’d been transported through time.

  Before going to bed, I went in search of my old mixes from Wesley and discovered the Discman. It felt fitting to listen to his newest mix again on this old relic, since most of the songs are from the ’90s and early 2000s, when I rarely left home without my Discman and a sleeve of CDs.

  “The answer to both of those questions involves your brother,” I say.

  Stella’s eyes brighten. “Is he back in town already? Have you spoken to him?”

  “I ran into him yesterday after I left Mom’s, and we hung out at the diner for a few hours. He gave me this CD before we parted ways last night.”

  “How was it? Seeing him, I mean?” Stella reaches for the jewel case and scans the list of songs. “You look kinda moony. Moony and swoony.”

  “Moony and swoony,” I mutter. I suck in a breath and let it out on a long, slow exhale. “Seeing Wesley was…wonderful. It stirred up a lot of old stuff, though.”

  Stella makes a sympathetic face, her eyes flicking from the song list in her hands to me. Whatever my expression is, it catches her attention because she lifts her head and holds my gaze. Stella knows about my feelings for Wesley; in fact, she knew I was falling for him before I even realized it. She wasn’t one of those friends who proclaimed her brother off limits or warned me to stay away from him. Quite the opposite, actually. Since our families were already so connected, she hoped Wesley and I would get together someday and cement the familial bonds.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Stella asks.

  “Not really?” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement. “What is there to say? He lives in Ottawa and has a serious girlfriend.”

  “Ugh, the girlfriend.”

  I hold in a laugh at the way she rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose. Stella has never made her dislike of Wesley’s girlfriend a secret, even though she’s only met her a few times. Wesley wasn’t fond of Stella’s ex-husband either, which drove a bit of a wedge between the siblings over the last few years. Since Stella moved back to town, she and Wesley have been communicating more, so I’m hoping they’re on their way to regaining the close bond they once had.

  “Anyway,” I say pointedly. “What were you up to last night?”

  The way she appears to gather herself and straighten her spine tells me I’m not going to like the answer. “I was out with Tannis.”

  I press my lips together to prevent myself from saying ‘ugh, Tannis’. After a beat, during which Stella starts to squirm, I force myself to unclench my jaw. “Did you have a good time?”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  I lift one shoulder. “What else is there to say, Stels? You know I don’t like her. You know I don’t think she’s a good fit for you.”

  I have to stop myself from saying a million other things. Like the fact it feels as if history is repeating itself since Stella dated Tannis off and on before she met her now-ex-husband, Lars, and she always treated Stella like her dirty little secret. Or reminding her about the pact we made after she divorced Lars, where we promised to always be honest with each other about the people we date, and if we spotted any red flags the other was too blinded by love—or lust—to see.

  Stella slumps forward like a balloon that’s had all the air let out of it. Her chin wobbles as she says, “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever stop making bad decisions.”

  I jump up from my chair and practically leap across the coffee table in my hurry to sit beside her and take her hand.

  “Ever since my accident, I feel like all I’ve done is screw up.” Her eyes are misty, but she’s blinking furiously in an attempt to keep the tears in. “I had my whole life planned out and it was all ripped away in a matter of minutes.”

  When Stella started her skating lessons all those years ago, I figured it would be a passing interest. Her parents had already enrolled her in gymnastics and karate, neither of which lasted long before Stella begged them to let her quit. It became evident early on that skating would be different, though. Stella had finally found something she loved. She was also good enough to catch the eye of a well-known local trainer who encouraged the McGraths to pursue professional training.

  The same year my family made our big move across town, Stella was in a horrible car accident on her way to a skating competition with another competitor and his mother. Thankfully, they only suffered minor cuts and scrapes, but Stella was left battered and bruised, with injuries ranging from broken bones in her left leg to a severe concussion. She spent weeks in the hospital and months after that convalescing at home. Despite eventually making a full recovery physically—with the exception of a slight limp from her leg not healing quite right—Stella was never the same after the accident. All her hopes and plans for a future as a professional skater were crushed, and it took her a long time and a lot of therapy to come to terms with it.

  “My whole adult life has been so aimless,” Stella says, her voice wavering. “I’m almost thirty-five and what do I have to show for it? What have I accomplished?”

  “You’re working on that, though,” I say. “You’re trying, and that counts for something. That counts for a lot. You’re back home where you belong, and you know I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “You’ve already done so much for me,” she says, sniffling pathetically.

  “Because you’re my very best friend in the whole world, Stella. And I’ll continue to do everything I can for you until you have the life you want. The life you deserve.”

  “What if that never happens?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and it makes my heart squeeze painfully. “What if I never find a career I love or a person to share my life with? What if I just keep going from job to job and person to person? Or get to a point where I decide I’ve had enough of dating and I end up alone?”

  What do I say to that? I’m aware of how fortunate I am to have a career I not only enjoy but that I’m also good at. I understand her other fears, though; I’m proud of the life I’ve built and I enjoy my independence, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have the same fear of ending up alone. Of never finding someone to share my life with, someone who loves me fiercely and unconditionally.

  I shift on the couch to face Stella. “I wish I had the answers for you. I thought by the time we got to this age, we’d have everything figured out, but that’s a joke, isn’t it?” I pause, relieved to see her lips curving slightly as she nods. “I don’t know many things for certain, but I do know you’ll never be alone. You’ll always have me. I know it’s not the same as being in love and having a partner, but—”

  Stella cuts me off with a quick shake of her head. “Having you in my life is more than enough, Evie. Our friendship, the love we share…” She trails off, her throat working as she swallows several times. She clears her throat and continues. “The love we share is more than some people ever get in a lifetime.”

  “Well damn, now you’re going to make me cry.” Blinking back tears, I pull my hand from hers to wave it in front of my face. We spend a minute or two unsuccessfully attempting to stop our laugh-crying, and then I shift to face Stella again. “Can I just say one thing? And have you understand that it comes from a place of loving you and wanting the best for you?”

  “Okay…” she says warily.

  “Stop settling. For some unfathomable reason, you seem to think you don’t deserve good things, even though you deserve the very best. So stop settling for jobs you hate, stop settling for people you don’t even really like and who don’t treat you right. You know you can stay here for as long as you want, so consider this in-between time a gift. A chance to dig deep, figure out what you really want, and find the courage to go for it. And…” I gather my own courage, remembering our pact. “In that same vein, stop dating people like Tannis because you think you don’t deserve better.”

  Stella’s face is blank by the time I finish speaking. She’s nodding her head slowly, though, which tells me she’s processing everything I said.

  The alarm on my phone goes off, startling us both. Stella raises her eyebrows at my good-natured eye roll as I grab my phone and swipe to snooze the alarm. “Mom called first thing this morning to ask me to pick up a few things for Thanksgiving tomorrow. She’d normally have her worker bees doing all the prep, but she gave most of them the weekend off since she thought it would be just the three of us for the holiday. It can wait until we finish this conversation, though.”

  “No, no, you go ahead,” Stella says quickly. “I need some time to process. And just so you know, you’re right. As always. Which is supremely annoying.”

  I laugh, relieved she’s not upset. “We’ll talk more later, yeah? Maybe work on a plan?”

  “You and your plans.” She picks up Wesley’s CD from where she set it on the arm of the couch and goes back to scanning the list of songs. “Always with the lists and plans. I guess I shouldn’t make fun since you’re so successful. Hey, remember when we decided to form our own Baby-Sitters Club and you took on the role of President because you were so clearly the Kristy of the group? You had the visor and everything. You had notebooks full of ideas and lists and plans and—” Her words cut off abruptly, her eyes going wide as she flips the little CD booklet open. “Did you look at this? The insert?”

  I shake my head at the sudden change of topic. I was ready for another stroll down memory lane with talk of our short-lived yet successful Baby-Sitters Club. “No. I wanted to go in without knowing what songs were on it and be surprised.”

  “Mm, that’s a nice idea,” she says, her tone far too casual. “You might want to have a look at it, though.”

  The snoozed alarm on my phone goes off, and I silence it. “Okay, just leave it there and I’ll have a look when I get home.”

  Stella appears as if she wants to argue, but she simply presses her lips together and nods. Wanting to see her smile again, I lean over and plant a noisy kiss on her cheek.

  Her face relaxes into a grin. “Love you, Ev.”

  “Love you too. Give your parents my love when you head over for dinner later.” Stella’s parents are having their Thanksgiving dinner today because they’re going out of town tomorrow.

  “Will do.” She taps her rainbow-colored nails on the CD case, her expression morphing into the picture of innocence. “Should I pass your love along to Wesley too?”

  Right, Wesley. Even though I knew he was back in town, I didn’t think about him being at Thanksgiving for some reason. The last twenty-four hours have left my head spinning.

  “Of course,” I say, aiming for a tone as guileless as her expression. “Feel free to invite him to tomorrow’s Thanksgiving too. I know my parents would love to see him.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Oh, Evelyn, there you are.”

  Damn. I plaster on a smile and turn to face my mom, relieved to see she’s alone. In the hour since guests have been arriving for Thanksgiving dinner, Mom has forced me into conversations with two single thirty-something men, extolled my virtues to a man who was recently divorced and is apparently ready to start dating again, and promised a fourth man I’d sit next to him at dinner. Needing a break from my mother, her string of potential ‘suitors’, and the noise of more attendees than I’d expected, I managed to escape and slip into the back hall. I should have known Mom would find me within minutes.

  “Why are you hiding out back here when you should be mingling with guests?” she asks. “Ned Goldberg was telling me how much he enjoyed talking to you and that he’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Oh joy,” I mutter.

  “What’s that?”

  My phone buzzes in my hand with the text I’ve been impatiently waiting for. My salvation has arrived. “I said ‘oh joy’, the girls are here. I’ll go meet them at the door. Excuse me, Mom. Don’t hide out back here for too long.”

  The sound of her sputtering follows me down the hall. At events like this, where I have to be ‘on’ nearly every second, forced into conversation with people I rarely have anything in common with, and feeling like I’m about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, I take my kicks where I can get them. Immature? Probably. And yet, occasionally needling my mom seems like a better alternative to exploding at her and demanding she back off.

  I hurry to the door and throw it open as the girls approach. Like the amazing friends they are, they offered to be here from the beginning, but I wanted to spare them as much boredom as possible, so I suggested they arrive closer to dinnertime. They’ll do their share of chatting with strangers in less than a week at my birthday party anyway.

  I’m about to usher them inside when I notice the handsome man standing behind Hollie. The old-fashioned lamps above the door shine on his dark auburn hair, making me think of the beautiful autumnal floral arrangements Mom had me pick up yesterday.

  “Evie, this is Fergus MacKinnon,” Hollie says. “Fergus, this is Evie Hathaway.”

  Fergus steps forward with a smile and shakes my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Evie.” Despite knowing he was Scottish, I’m delighted to hear his accent. “Hollie speaks of you often, and you made quite an impression on my cousin Hugh when you worked together recently.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear. I’m glad you could come tonight. Any friend of Hollie’s is a friend of ours.”

  He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level as he says, “I hear you might need me to be a buffer of sorts between your mum and her matchmaking attempts. I’m happy to be of service.” It’s only when he squeezes my fingers that I realize our hands are still clasped. And am I…blushing?

  The rapid click-clack of approaching high heels brings me back to the present a second before my mom says, “Evelyn, don’t leave our guests standing on the doorstep! Oh, hello there.” Without looking, I know her gaze has settled on Fergus. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s affected by the handsome Scot. Wait ’til she hears him speak.

  Fergus winks at me as he moves past me to introduce himself to my mom, giving her a warm handshake and offering her a gift bag I hadn’t noticed before. “I figured a woman such as yourself would be well stocked with wine, so I brought a bottle of Drambuie for you and Mr. Hathaway. It was always a favorite of my mum’s.”

  While Mom gushes over Fergus’s thoughtfulness, I turn to Hollie and grip her shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek. “You’re a genius and I owe you.”

  I hug Stella and Louisa next. Louisa looks pale, despite the small smile she gives me; parties like this have always set off her anxiety, although she’s come a long way over the years. She used to avoid large gatherings altogether because they distressed her so much she’d become physically ill.

  I linger over our hug as the others greet my mom with embraces of their own. “If you need to escape at any point, we’ll all understand,” I say quietly into her ear. “You can head up to my bedroom or into the media room. Both places will be quiet and no one will disturb you there. Feel free to grab one of us for company if you want. Actually, feel free to grab me, whether you want company or not.”

  I barely hear Louisa’s answering laugh as a shadow moves outside the still-open front door. A second later, Wesley steps into the light, looking like a dream come true in dark trousers and an eggplant-colored dress shirt that’s open at the collar.

  “Buttercup,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

  I blink and realize Louisa is no longer in my arms, and I’m somehow standing in front of Wesley. I didn’t know if he was coming; Stella told me earlier that he was non-committal about attending. I can’t help the wild grin that overtakes my face at the sight of him.

  Despite having feelings for Wesley for more years than I can count, I don’t remember ever being this affected by him. I haven’t been able to get him off my mind since the other night when we ran into each other downtown. Seeing him again has reminded me of all the things I forced myself to forget, like how heart-stoppingly beautiful his smile is, how sexy his voice is, how his hands look strong and capable and…gah, I need to stop.

  I grab his hand and pull him inside. It’s something I’ve done a million times before, so I’m sure he’d never guess it’s because I’m desperate to touch him, even if it’s as innocent as holding his hand for the briefest of moments. “You’re right on time. Welcome back to Hathaway Manor, Wesley. It’s been way too long.”

  *****

  Mom was so taken with Fergus, she arranged for us to sit next to each other at dinner. When Ned Goldberg attempted to slide into the seat on my other side, Wesley headed him off with a request to sit beside his ‘long lost best friend’ so we could catch up. Apparently even Ned wasn’t immune to Wesley’s puppy dog eyes, which means I ended up feeling like the very lucky filling in an unlikely Thanksgiving sandwich between a hot Scot and my first love.

  Dinner has been over for an hour and the party’s still going strong. I had hoped guests wouldn’t linger too long after the meal, but no such luck. Blame it on the free-flowing alcohol and the fact there are servers circulating with trays of tiny, delicious desserts.

  My friends stick together, moving around the room like an inseparable flock of beautiful birds. Any time I’m with them for too long, my mom ushers me away to speak to someone else. While I knew there was no point in asking her not to play matchmaker, I did make one request before the evening began. It seemed like a simple enough request: no work talk. And yet, time and time again, Mom introduces me to people who are in the market for real estate, and I end up talking about houses on the market, good investment properties, rental opportunities, and, of course, my recent news-making deal with the MacKinnon Group.