Thankfully, it’s the latter. I’m overtaken by a case of the warm fuzzies as I watch the siblings embrace. To give them some privacy, I sit on the couch and scroll through one of my streaming services. The low rumble of Wesley’s voice reaches my ears, although I can’t hear what he’s saying. Knowing Wes, I imagine it’s something to bolster Stella’s confidence, and perhaps a reminder of how strong she is and how much she’s loved.

  Wesley returns to the living room first, taking one of the armchairs beside the couch where I’m sitting. I can hear Stella moving around in the kitchen and then the sound of the microwave door opening and closing. The scent of buttery popcorn fills the air a second before the telltale series of pops sound from the microwave.

  “She’ll be okay,” Wesley says quietly. “Right now and in general.”

  I nod wordlessly. She will, I have no doubt about that.

  Stella flops down on the couch beside me a few minutes later with a giant bowl of popcorn in her hands. She gives it to me while she scoots to the center cushion and takes the blanket from the back of the couch. After arranging the blanket over our laps, she holds up the end on her other side. “Get over here,” she says to Wesley.

  He obeys without question. Stella requests an autumn romcom, so I choose a mutual favorite, Runaway Bride, and hit play. The three of us pick at the bowl of popcorn, our hands brushing regularly.

  My eyes grow heavy partway through the movie. I let my eyes close for just a minute—I’ve seen this movie countless times anyway—and the next thing I know, I’m waking up to a dark room. Movement catches my eye as Wesley, who’s now standing, sets the remote on the coffee table.

  “You both fell asleep, so I was going to slip out,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

  I shake my head, disentangling myself from the blanket, and getting to my feet. I follow Wesley to the door, suppressing a series of yawns as I watch him don his jacket and shoes.

  “Tonight was fun,” I say when he straightens.

  “It was.” His smile is soft and affectionate as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face. His hand lingers for a moment before dropping to my shoulder. “Go to bed, Ev.”

  “Will you call me if you have some free time to hang out before Saturday?”

  “Of course.” He gathers me in for what I expect will be a quick hug. Blame it on my sleepy brain, but I lean into him and he takes my weight, holding on tight. I fight the urge to ask him to stay. To come to bed with me, even if it’s just to sleep. We’ve slept in the same bed—or couch or tent—countless times, and there was a time when I would have suggested it without hesitation. We’re not kids anymore, though, so those days are long gone.

  Maybe it’s a good thing he’ll likely be too busy to hang out until Saturday. At least at the party there will be buffers and distractions, and we won’t be alone. There’ll be no moonlight dancing in the backyard. My mom let us leave the party on Thanksgiving, but there’s no way she’d allow that at a party where I’m the guest of honor.

  Wesley breaks into my thoughts by kissing my cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Love you, Buttercup.”

  My heart knocks hard against my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. Wesley has said those words to me countless times over the years, but I haven’t heard them in so long. I’m not sure what my expression is, but it has Wesley’s eyes growing wide for the briefest of moments before he recovers.

  “What’s with the face?” he asks.

  “Nothing, nothing. I love you too, Wes.”

  We say good night and he leaves. I close the door and slump against it. Stella is awake now, her sleepy gaze trained on me.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I tilt my head back and forth. What can I say? No, I’m not okay, I’m in love with your brother. Yes, I’m fine, or at least I will be once Wesley leaves town again. “It depends. Was that as painful to watch as it was to experience firsthand?”

  Stella laughs quietly. “Do you want an honest answer?”

  “Always.”

  “You’re so screwed.”

  Don’t I know it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  On Thursday morning, my mother summons me to Hathaway Manor once again. This is becoming a habit. Despite our positive conversation and her more relaxed demeanor yesterday afternoon, I dread to think what she’s going to make me do today.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Mom says absently as she opens the front door. I didn’t linger in the car like I usually do, and I also didn’t see her hovering behind any curtains, watching for my arrival. A glance at my watch shows I’m five minutes early. I suppose it’s unrealistic to expect my mom to change completely overnight.

  “Hello to you too, Mother.” I kiss her cheek as I close the front door behind me.

  Mom gives me a frazzled smile. “Hello, sweetheart.” She shoves her cell phone into the pocket of her perfectly tailored trousers and surprises me by pulling me into a quick, tight hug. “Thanks for coming. Don’t bother taking off your shoes, he should be here any minute.”

  I groan. “He who? Please don’t tell me it’s Ned. I thought you were done with the matchmaking attempts. And why do I need my shoes on for whatever’s about to happen?”

  The doorbell rings as I’m asking the last question. Mom holds up a finger as she reaches past me to open the door. She doesn’t wait for me to move, which means I’m wedged behind it, unable to see who it is.

  “Twice in one week,” she says. “How did I get so lucky? Get in here and give your second mother a hug.”

  I peer around the door, where I’m met with a pair of laughing blue eyes. Wesley shoots me a wink over Mom’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around her. “I’m so glad you called, Eleanor.”

  Mom releases Wesley to hold him at arm’s length, looking him over from head to toe. With his eyes on her, I take a moment to shamelessly check him out. He’s freshly shaved today, and my hands itch to touch his smooth cheeks. I feel a surge of something akin to jealousy as Mom does exactly that before patting Wesley’s cheek fondly.

  “And I’m glad you could come. You’re a lifesaver, truly. I hate putting you to work, but I don’t feel too bad since it means you’ll get to spend some time with Evelyn.”

  At the sound of my name, my gaze snaps up from where it was admiring Wesley’s sturdy, denim-clad thighs.

  “Buttercup,” Wesley says, the word somehow full of both affection and amusement.

  Mom lets out a delighted laugh. “I’d forgotten that was your nickname for Evie! You two were obsessed with that movie. Suzanne and I were always so certain we’d end up taking one or both of you to the hospital one day with an injury either from your sword fighting or from traipsing through the forest.”

  Wesley ducks his head as he chuckles, causing a lock of dark-blond hair to fall across his forehead. My fingers itch at my sides once again. “Let’s just say Evie and I went through a lot of Bandaids and got good at hiding bruises.”

  I snicker at the way Mom’s mouth falls open, followed by another tinkling laugh. I’ve been overwhelmed with sense memories the last few days, and that laugh—so common at one time, yet not heard for ages—brings back countless memories from my childhood. Mom used to laugh like that all the time before we became rich and she cultivated a persona she somehow thought matched her new status.

  “Are you ready to go?” Wesley asks me.

  “Go where? Unlike you, I have no idea why I was summoned here.”

  Mom reaches into the same pocket where she stashed her phone and produces a hand-written list on her personal stationery. “I spoke to Wesley early this morning and happened to mention how swamped I am with preparations for your birthday party, Evelyn. When I told him I was desperate for someone to run a few party-related errands for me, he was nice enough to volunteer. Since you’re off for the week, I thought you could accompany him. It’d be such a big help.”

  I take the list from her and give it a quick once-over. Her idea of ‘a few errands’ will take us across the entire city and will likely take half the day.

  “Everything is already paid for, so you don’t have to worry about any of that,” Mom says. “If you need to stop to eat at any point, it’s my treat.” She fishes something else out of her pocket, but instead of handing it to me, she slides it into the outside pocket of my purse. I catch a quick glimpse of red, which tells me she just forked over a fifty-dollar bill. I’m not sure where she thinks we’d get something to eat that would cost that much. Then again, she is part of the Ladies Who Lunch crowd, and I’m sure an average meal for them costs at least that much, if not more.

  Before I can say anything, Mom claps her hands and ushers me toward the door. Wesley’s eyes go wide as I practically fly in his direction, and he steps outside so I don’t mow him down.

  “You two are the best and I’m so grateful for your help!” Mom trills, gripping the edge of the door and inching it closed the second we’re outside. “Wesley, I hope you’ll join us for dinner once the two of you have completed everything on the list. Call if you need anything! Byyyyye!”

  And with that, she gives a little wave and closes the door in our faces.

  Wesley is practically vibrating with silent laughter beside me. “What was that? She couldn’t get us out the door fast enough.”

  I shake my head and follow him to his car. “There’s some sort of method in her madness. I wouldn’t expect her to do any of this stuff herself, but she has ‘people’ for everything—a team who are literally paid to do her bidding—so I’m not sure why she’d send us, especially with the party being the day after tomorrow.”

  Wesley veers around to the passenger side of the car to open my door. Before I climb in, he stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Whatever her reasons, nefarious or not, I’m glad to have an excuse to hang out with you for a day. Even if it is while running errands.”

  He’s right, of course. I tossed and turned after going to bed last night, thinking about the old feelings that have resurfaced this week, and Wesley’s soft ‘love you’ last night. An inner debate ensued between my mind and my heart. One said to let him slip back out of my life when he returns to Ottawa. The other reasoned there was no way I could do that; as painful as unrequited love is, only having Wesley in my life sporadically these last few years has been far worse. I can’t go back to weeks without speaking to him or months without seeing him, even if that means reburying my feelings. I’m still not sure which voice was my heart and which was my head.

  “You’re right,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat. “Who cares what Mom’s reasons are? I should be thanking her.”

  A grin flashes across Wesley’s face, lighting his eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

  *****

  After our third stop, Wesley and I realize none of the items on Mom’s list are actually for the party, although they’re all for me.

  At the bakery, I assumed we’d be picking up my cake, but Mrs. Romano said it would be delivered to my parents’ house on Saturday. Instead, she led us to a cozy bistro table and informed us we’d be having an autumn cake tasting. As we stuffed ourselves on carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, pumpkin spice cake, and apple cinnamon cake, I told Wesley any of these would be my choice for my party, but Mom always orders half-chocolate, half-vanilla because they’re ‘classic’ flavors that appeal to most people. I’ve never said anything because Mrs. Romano’s cakes are a work of art regardless of the flavor, and my friends always get me a fall-themed cake at some point around my birthday. When we left the bakery, Mrs. Romano handed me a box of macarons in beautiful rainbow pastels, and wished me a happy birthday.

  At the stationery shop, I assumed we’d be picking up thank-you cards. Even though the party isn’t my idea and I’d prefer not to have one, Mom makes me write thank-you cards to everyone who brings a gift or gives me money. But no, we weren’t picking up thank-you cards. Yasmine, the calligrapher, had pulled out a shoebox-sized keepsake box topped with a red bow, and gushed about how much fun it was putting together my mom’s order. Inside the box was a variety of notecards with different hand-painted designs and my name written in swirly calligraphy.

  Wesley and I have just emerged from the florist, where I’ve officially been struck speechless. After the ease of the first two stops, I wondered if this was where things would get tricky and we’d be leaving here with a car full of flower arrangements for the party. I used to get annoyed at how Mom overdid it with the flowers—especially since I would have preferred autumnal arrangements instead of her classic-looking ones—but then I convinced her to donate most of them to nearby nursing homes after the party.

  When I gave Mom’s name, the florist had assured me everything was set for the delivery tomorrow. She then disappeared into the back and emerged with a huge bouquet of autumn blossoms and a small, clear container with a corsage that matches my dress for the party.

  “Your mom is certainly full of surprises,” Wesley says, peering at me from behind the bouquet, which he offered to carry.

  “That she is.” My mind wanders as we set off down the sidewalk. I have no idea where we’re going. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped walking until Wesley steps in front of me.

  “You okay?”

  The question, asked in a soft voice laced with concern, makes my eyes prickle. I blink rapidly, flapping a hand in front of my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. “Gah, what is wrong with me?”

  Wesley catches my flailing hand and holds it in his. “Your eyes are leaking.”

  I give a watery laugh. The first time I ever saw Wesley cry was while we were watching the movie My Girl. A quiet sniffle from his end of the couch had drawn my attention, and it took me a minute to realize my thirteen-year-old companion’s eyes were glistening with tears. I’d whipped my attention back to the screen, but the movement had caught his notice.

  “What?” he’d asked, somewhat defensively. “My eyes are leaking.”

  He’d seen me cry plenty of times—I was one of those people who got teary during movies, whether they were sad, sappy, or romantic—and he never commented on it or made me feel weird about it. I’d wordlessly handed him a tissue, expecting him to covertly dab at his eyes, but he’d swiped at them before blowing his nose loudly. “Man, that was sad,” he’d said, shooting me a rueful smile. “Let’s watch something funny next, ’kay?”

  I fell a little more in love with Wesley that day.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have any tissues to offer you,” Wesley says now.

  My shaky chuckle eases the furrow of worry between his brows. “I have some in my purse.”

  Wesley releases my hand and takes the container with the corsage so I can dig around in my purse. “I can’t believe I’m getting so emotional over this.”

  “What is ‘this’ exactly?”

  “I can’t remember the last time my mom did something like this.” My eyes have stopped ‘leaking’ now that I’ve finally found a tissue, of course. “You remember how she used to be, right? Our families used to have so much fun together, and Mom was often the ringleader of our adventures. Having money changed her. She became this…caricature of who she thought the wife of a wealthy, powerful businessman should be, you know?”

  Wesley nods, his expression full of sympathy. I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. He lived through it with me, listened to me lament about the changes in my mom and my life after we moved out of my childhood home.

  “I expected us to be running errands and hauling home packages of stuff for a birthday party I didn’t want in the first place,” I say. “But this is almost like a scavenger hunt, and it feels like something she would have done when we were kids.”

  One side of Wesley’s mouth tips up in a wistful smile. “Yeah, it does.” He hands me back the container with the corsage, and I admire it again through the clear plastic top. “Do you remember the corsage you had for prom?” he asks suddenly.

  “I do,” I say slowly. “I’m surprised you do.”

  Wesley had finished his first year of university and was back home in Bellevue for the summer when the girls and I graduated from high school. By the time we graduated, all of our lives looked completely different than they had four years prior: I was attending private school; Stella and Hollie were still at our original school, but each bore scars that would change them forever; and Louisa was being homeschooled by her strict and overprotective dad. Since we missed out on a lot of high school experiences as a group, we decided to attend prom together, and Stella and Hollie got tickets for all of us. My mom went all out for us with a pre-party at Hathaway Manor and a limo. Since the four of us were going as each other’s dates, we decided to do a corsage exchange, where each of us pulled a name from a hat and bought a corsage for whoever we selected.

  “Hollie asked me to take her to the florist to pick out your corsage,” he says.

  “I remember her telling me that.” I also remember her telling me on prom night that she understood why I had a crush on Wesley. We’d been swept into posing for pictures right after that, and it never came up again. I’d forgotten about it until this very moment. “I’m guessing something happened that day for you to be bringing it up all these years later?”

  There’s that lopsided smile again and, unless I’m mistaken, there’s a hint of pink coloring Wesley’s cheeks. “Do you think there’s a statute of limitations on secrets from your teenage years?”

  “If it’s something you promised you’d never tell? No. But if it’s something minor…” I trail off. Wesley looks uncertain, so I add, “Would almost-thirty-five-year-old Hollie be mad at you for telling me now?”

  He chuckles. “I doubt it. She’s pretty chill.” I make a ‘go on then’ gesture and he says, “Okay. Hols spent ages that day looking at corsages. I could tell when she found ‘the one’ because her smile lit up her whole face, but after a few seconds, her shoulders kinda slumped and she went back to looking. When I asked her about it, she said she’d found the perfect corsage that matched your dress, but it was out of her price range. She got really flustered when I offered to make up the difference, so I told her it would be our little secret.”