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“Considering Mom’s busy makingYakgwa, you’ll live at least long enough to eat. And in case you didn’t remember,Yakgwaare?—”
“Sweet, gingery cookies, deep-fried to perfection, then soaked in honey syrup, traditionally served at special occasions. Like weddings. And let’s not forget they’re one of your favorites—heaven help anyone who tries to snag one before you do, because you’re liable to bite off their hand. I remember.”
“You do?” If I wasn’t already sitting down, I might’ve swooned.
“I remember everything about you, Jules.” My heart skips a beat, and yeah, I’m definitely swooning. “See you at eight.”
CHAPTER 24
Jules
Stars glimmer above, like shards of glass scattered across the velvet sky I’ve known since childhood. The crisp scent of pine mingles with the smoky warmth of a distant bonfire, and the cool Adirondack breeze plays with the hem of my gown.
I step out of the vehicle, my feet finding familiar ground on the sprawling east side of Bishop Mountain. A strange sense of nostalgia washes over me.
I’m home.
Or, at least, the place that feels most like it when I think back to growing up—skinning my knee on dozens of trails, swimming laps in the lake, and that first, hopeful wish on a falling star. The one I’ve tried to forget.
That one day, Brian Bishop would fall in love with me.
In my defense, he and his pain-in-the-ass self were always around, impossible to avoid. And sure, no one’s exactly tossing around the L-word. But there’s something about being here that tugs on my heartstrings.
It’s as if the mountain itself holds on to every wish I’ve evermade, whispered back and forth between the earth and the stars.
“Ready?” Taylor asks.
Not even close. “Ready.”
Mrs. D. greets Taylor and me and wraps me in one of her signature warm hugs, the kind that smells like fresh-baked cookies and feels like a sweater in fall. “Look at you,” she beams, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy. “I always knew you and Brian were meant to be.”
Her words sink in slowly, like a stone dropping to the bottom of a pond, rippling out through me until all I feel is the weight of the lie.
The more she gushes, going on about how perfect we are for each other, the more I feel my stomach twist. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and I’m the one driving.
First, I’m lying to my parents, and now to Mrs. D., a woman who’s practically family. The guilt gnaws at me, each word solidifying how I’m all paid up on that timeshare in hell.
Taylor, standing beside me, gives my hand a quick squeeze, her silent support a lifeline in this inky-black sea of deception.
“Brian Bishop won’t know what hit him when he sees you in that dress,” Mrs. D. says, brushing a stray hair from my face. “Your family is inside, and Brian will be waiting for you in the garden with the pastor. He’s the one with the tux and that goofy grin of his.” She winks.
I think I’m going to be sick.
We all make our way inside, and my eyes land on Dad and his tall, steady presence in a tux. It’s slightly rumpled, and just a hair snug. But it’s the most dressed up I’ve seen him in, oh, ever.
The moment his eyes meet mine, his expression softens, andthat familiar, reassuring smile plays at the corners of his mouth. He crosses the room with purpose, his strong hands resting gently on my shoulders, grounding me in the whirlwind of emotions.
“It’s not too late, kiddo,” he says, his voice steady but filled with a tenderness that only he can offer. “I’ve got the engine running outside. We can still ditch this whole thing and head to your favorite ice cream shop.” He pauses, his smile widening as he adds, “My treat.” Then, he asks, “You love him?”
And here’s the thing. I can’t lie to my dad. I end up stammering to the point of near hyperventilation and break out in hives like no tomorrow.
“Mr. Spenser!” Taylor wraps him in a big hug. “It’s so great to see you. Where’s Mrs. Spenser and Halmeoni?” she ask, her voice steady.
He chuckles softly. “Outside. My wife’s bawling her eyes out on Brian’s shoulder like it’s the stampede scene ofThe Lion King,and Halmeoni’s busy picking flowers from the garden—something about bringing two gardens together for luck.”
“I’d better go find them.”
I move to walk off when a big, familiar hand hooks my arm. “You didn’t answer my question, young lady.” Dad narrows his eyes, a living, breathing parental lie detector. “Do you love him?”
