As we reach the ferry parking lot, the sun slips behind the blue-shadowed mountains, painting the sky in shades of peach and lavender.
I draw a deep, wonder-struck breath. I want to memorize that color. Paint with it, slide it across the top of a fresh sheet of hot-press watercolor paper.
It will always remind me of this perfect, magical day.
With the world bathed in light so gorgeous it makes my soul ache, we board the boat that’ll whisk us to our swanky hotel on an island in the middle of the lake.
“Wow,” I sigh. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Jesse rumbles, his arm around my waist.
I lean against the boat railing beside him, relishing the breeze on my face and the sweet, mineral scent of the water.
I’m so happy it’s stupid. Truly, honestly stupid.
Because this moment isn’t what it feels like.
I’m most decidedly not on a romantic adventure with my incredible boyfriend who knows me so well he had a backup plan ready to deploy in the event of bug-related camping catastrophes.
I am on a friends-with-sexy-times trip with my good friend who will be leaving in a little over a week. Soon, he’ll be banging sexy starlets thousands of miles away.
On the other side of the country . . .
The thought sends a stab of pain through me, but I push it away. I refuse to let my rational brain ruin this trip—this detour. I’m going to keep enjoying it for what it is. I refuse to think about Jesse leaving or who he’ll be giving orgasms to in the future.
But turns out it’s not my brain that’s the problem.
It’s my heart, thumping harder in my chest as Jesse takes my hand when we disembark, keeping me steady on the gently wobbling plank. My heart patters faster as we cross the magnificent hotel grounds, walking past beautifully maintained gardens and a stunning pool with a view of the lake and mountains, and then inside a lobby where a soaring glass ceiling lets in the dreamy pink light.
My heart skips a beat as Jesse books a suite on the top floor for two nights.
Minutes later, we step through the door into the most gorgeous hotel room I’ve ever seen. “Oh my God.” I press a hand to my chest, padding across the thick carpet into the tastefully furnished sitting room with its floor-to-ceiling windows.
The mountains and the calm mirror of the lake far below are breathtaking.
Literally. For a second I can’t breathe. It’s just too perfect.
“You like?” Jesse drops our bags in the bedroom and then comes to stand beside me, his arms around me the only thing that could make this moment more beautiful.
I lean back against his chest. “I love. It’s crazy fancy and you shouldn’t have spent all this money, but . . .” I glance over my shoulder with a grin. “But I really, really love it. I’m never going to forget this trip. Never ever.”
A shadow crosses his face—there and gone in an instant.
That’s odd.
I could swear I saw that same shadow when we left the cabin. I’d chalked it up to him not looking forward to telling Rachel that we were leaving early, then, but now . . .
Now, I wonder if maybe he’s bummed. That maybe I ruined his plans.
I turn in his arms. “Hey . . . if you want to try camping again tomorrow night, we can. We have two nights, right? I can definitely psych myself up for sleeping in the woods. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” he says, his voice soft and low and weird.
I frown. “You look disappointed.”
He sighs, and his hands fall from my hips. “Ruby . . . we need to talk.”
My stomach twists into a hard, aching knot, without my even knowing what it’s about. That is not a good tone. That is an “I’m about to say things you’re not going to like” tone.
I step back, trying to keep my expression neutral even as my pulse begins to race. I have to remain calm. The only thing worse than getting dumped is knowing the person doing the dumping can see how much they’ve hurt you.
How much you want to not be dumped. How much you wish you were still going to bed with him tonight.
That has to be what this is about.
Jesse must realize I’m starting to have more-than-friends feelings. Bet he feels obligated to let me down easy before I wade any deeper into the love ocean I’m already swimming in.
My face flushes hot even as my hands go cold, shame rushing in so fast there’s no chance to head it off at the pass. The best I can do is try to breathe through it as I ask, “About what?”
Jesse rakes a hand through his hair and nods toward the balcony. “Should we sit outside? It’s nice out there.”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “Okay. Sure.”
I follow him into the cool, sweet evening air, settling into a wicker chair with a cushion so soft it cradles my bottom like a lover’s hands.
Like Jesse’s hands.
If he weren’t looking at me like he’s afraid I’m about shatter into a million pieces, I would make a joke about it.
But nothing is funny right now. And I can’t handle another second of waiting for the hammer to fall.
“Please, just . . . tell me,” I say, my voice wobbly. “I hate suspense.”
He pulls in a deep breath. “Yeah, me too, I just . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” I say, forcing a lighter tone as I add, “and when you get to the part that’s going to make me sad, stop right before that.”
His lips twitch but don’t come anywhere close to a smile. “You read me pretty well.” He leans forward in the chair next to mine, elbows braced on his knees.
“It’s not that hard. You look like your dog died.”
“You know I’m a cat guy,” he says, still stalling. “Going to adopt a few when I get to L.A. Finally feel ready again.”
Jesse’s cat, Mustang Sally, died of old age a few days after the accident, while I was still in a coma and Claire was awake in the hospital. When everyone thought I was going to be the one to die. But then a blood clot took Claire and I woke up.
Our nightmare had a twist ending.
A shitty twist.
“I like cats too,” I whisper, “but I don’t want to talk about them right now. Whatever it is, I can handle it, Jesse.”
I hear the words emerge from my lips and realize . . . they’re true.
I can handle it. Even if Jesse dumps me like Chad did, I can handle it. And it wouldn’t be like Chad, anyway. Jesse and I were never a couple. And Jesse and I will still love each other, even if we decide never to kiss again.
And yes, I really want to keep kissing him. I would gladly kiss him and only him for the rest of my life, actually. I’d make that bargain with the kissing gods without a beat of hesitation.
But what we have is much more than sex.
We are forever—one way or another.
It’s so clear to me that I follow my gut and reach out, taking his hand, curling my fingers around his warmer ones. I wait until he lifts his gaze to mine and say, “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m always going to be your friend. I wouldn’t know how to stop. You are forever for me. Even if you move away and never come home, you’re going to be in my heart.”
Pain flickers across his face. He drags in a ragged breath. “Claire gave me the list after the crash. Right after. We were in hospital and you were in a coma. Her back was so messed up I had to help hold her arm while she wrote . . .” He swallows and blinks faster, his eyes beginning to shine. “She said it was going to be magic. That it would bring you back from wherever you’d gone. That somehow, you’d see how much life you had left to live and you’d come back to her. To us.”
I sit back, my hand sliding from his as I connect the dots. My blood stills. “The list . . . you mean . . .”
He nods, his throat working. “I didn’t find it while I was cleaning up her room like I said. I’ve had it for two years. She made me promise to give it to you the second you woke up. Like, if she was asleep or something and I knew you were awake before she did. But then she . . .” He presses his lips together. “She died. And you woke up and we had to tell you that she was gone and . . . I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see that list doing anything good for you at that point. I thought . . .” He sighs, shrugging stiff shoulders. “I thought it would break your fucking heart the way it broke mine.”
My jaw cramps, the back of my nose fills with razorblades, and my vision swims with tears. I sit frozen, torn between crawling into his lap and hugging him tight—so tight, offering every bit of comfort I can—and a voice in my head shouting that this isn’t okay.
That it wasn’t his choice to make.
That he made a promise and he broke it, keeping Claire from me for two miserable years. This list has brought my best friend in the universe back to me, made me feel her presence in a way I haven’t in ages. I’ve been so lonely and lost, and now . . .
Now, I feel whole again, the way I did when Claire was alive. When I could call her up any time of the day or night and get advice—or just the patient ear of someone who knew me inside and out, and loved me just the way I am.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse adds, his voice a minefield of emotions—none of them good ones. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.
“Why did you tell me that you found it?” I don’t bother to mask the hurt I feel everywhere. “Why lie, Jesse? You don’t lie. Ever. Why start with me?”
He leans closer, his pleading eyes locking with mine. “I know. And I’m sorry, Ruby. I swear. I didn’t want you being angry with me to get in the way of something you needed. The past few months, seeing you healthy and strong, but still with no light in your eyes, no sign that you were ever going to be the person you were before . . .” He scrubs a hand restlessly over his jaw, over and over. “It became pretty clear that Claire was right. You needed that list. And my gut said you wouldn’t be brave enough to do it without me.”
Teeth digging into my bottom lip, I rise and cross to the balcony railing. Below our suite, kids chase fireflies in the grass as their parents spread out picnic blankets on the lawn in front of a huge screen set up on the far side of the hotel grounds.
A movie night. It’s charming.
Claire would have insisted we go down and join in. She’d have filled her water bottle with Chardonnay from the mini fridge. I’d have grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, and we’d have snuggled up on the grass under the stars and whispered and giggled our way through the entire movie.
That’s who Claire was.
She was the leader.
I was the follower. A happy follower, but a follower, nonetheless. If I’d been here alone for some reason, I would have stayed in my room.
I would have been worried about being the only solo adult. Been more concerned about curious glances or pitying looks than enjoying myself.
Than doing what I wanted to do.
Or at least, I would have before the list.
Things are different now. I’m different.
I’d smuggle Chardonnay and watch a flick under the stars.
I’d do it alone.
I’d do it because of the list.
Because it did everything it was supposed to do—it brought me back, better than I was before.
The list made me possible.
The me I didn’t know I wanted to be. But the me I . . .
The me I love.
I turn back to Jesse, still hunched in his chair. “You’re probably right,” I say softly. “But that wasn’t your call to make, Jesse. None of it was. It was Claire’s call. And mine.”
He stands but doesn’t move any closer. The sorrow in his eyes, the resignation in the set of his jaw—they say he’s not going to argue on this count. “You’re right. I was just trying to do what was best for you.”
I huff. “But that’s not your job. I’m not a child. I don’t need or want other people making decisions for me.”
Jesse’s brows pinch together. “But isn’t that what the list is, in a way? Claire telling you what to do? What you need to be happy?”
I shake my head. The list has given me whiplash at times, but in a surprisingly good way. “No. She presented me with an opportunity. What I did with that opportunity was up to me. Or it should have been.” I take a beat, letting my thoughts take shape fully. “I understand that you were trying to be protective and kind, but . . .” I swallow. “Do you know how often I’ve wondered what was going through her head after the crash? Wondered what she was thinking when I was lying there unconscious and she was awake and not sure if I was going to make it?” My voice falters, tripping over itself.
“I told you, she couldn’t stop talking about you,” he says, just as wobbly. “She—”
“It’s not the same,” I cut in. “It’s just . . . not. You’re right—I probably wouldn’t have felt up to tackling that list, not for a long time, but having it with me . . . being able to put it up on my fridge and look at it every day when I went to get cream for my coffee . . . when I went to physical therapy . . . when I was still struggling to get around Brooklyn in a wheelchair. It might have made a difference then. Back when I was empty and lost.” Tears slip down my face.
“I’m so sorry, Ruby.” He starts toward me, but I hold up a hand and he stops mid-step.
“I know you are, and . . . I’m not mad, not really.” I pull in a deeper breath, swiping the tears away, and I square my shoulders. “I’m just sad. And disappointed. And . . .”
And what?