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Despite the bright thread of anticipation surging to the lead, I sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She was undeterred. “It’s a great idea. I know he’s at home. He just bought it, actually. Moved in last week. Not that he had much. I swear, he came home from London with like, two duffel bags, and that’s it.” She spoke in a rush, excitement bleeding from every word. “He’d love to see you, Harlow, I know it.”
I rubbed at my chest, wondering if some visible manifestation of my nerves poured from my skin. Did Ian want to see me? I wasn’t so sure.
We didn’t part on bad terms. It had been a necessary separation for so many reasons, but there was so much distance, so much silence over so many years, that it was hard to remember the man who’d once been the most important person in my entire life. He was the first person who truly took care of me—without expectation and without strings.
Our last phone call, a few years after I’d left, echoed in my head. Me in tears because I was ready to pack up and come home. Him doing that silent, broody thing that he was so damn good at until he’d figured out exactly what he wanted to say.
“You cannot give up, Keaton,” he’d said. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
“It’s not like I want to prove them right, I told him through my frustrated tears. I’m just … tired. I’m so fucking tired, and I just want to hide under a blanket and watch a movie with my friend, and if I was home, I could do that.”
He paused then, and I could practically see him rubbing the back of his neck. “I got a job offer in Chicago, Harlow.” While I processed that, he continued. “It’s a good one, too. Everyone who starts there ends up working out of their London offices, and I’ve kinda been thinking about moving since you left. But maybe I could … maybe I could ask about an extension, or?—”
I dashed at the tears on my face, pinching my eyes shut. “Don’t you dare turn that down, Ian Wilder. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
He exhaled a sharp puff of air. “But if you come back…”
“I’ll stay here,” I said quietly. “Maybe, maybe we’re just making it harder on ourselves because it’s always easier if we’re together.”
“Fuck,” he said harshly. “I know.”
My voice trembled as I spoke, but I forced the words out. “Maybe these Sunday night calls are just making everything worse. Because I’ll come home if I know you’re there. And you won’t want to leave if you know I’m coming home…”
And like it always did, Ian’s silence screamed loud and clear into my heart. He knew I was right. I knew I was right. And even knowing that, it didn’t make it easier when the weekly phone calls dropped to every other. And every other to once a month. The occasional emails sputtered out. Because for both of us, it was too damn hard not to want to swoop in and save each other.
I could’ve written a book about the things my friendship with Ian Wilder taught me. The very first being the real and true heartbreak you could experience from the self-sacrificing distance between two slightly codependent friends.
There was every indication that he wanted nothing to do with me. That we’d stand in the same room and have nothing to say to each other. Awkwardness would ensue, and I’d end up blurting out something stupid because that was what I always did when I was uncomfortable, and yet…
Yet there was no way on God’s green earth that I’d be able to resist the urge to lay eyes on him again.
“He moved back?” I heard myself asking.
She nodded, eyes bright and fervent. “Yes, and he’s got this gorgeous farmhouse he just bought from Cameron’s girlfriend. Shocked the hell out of all of us when he did it. Didn’t tell anyone he put in an offer.” She paused, giving me an encouraging smile. “I texted him to see if he’s home, and he is.”
My throat went tight, and holy hell, I wanted to fidget with my hair or something. Had I put on mascara that morning?
I wasn’t the same girl who’d left Sisters seventeen years earlier. I’d had a child, for shit’s sake. And he likely had just as many stories.
“He’s home, but he has no idea you’re bringing me over?” I asked.
“Ian loves surprises.”
I scoffed. “He hates them.”
She paused. “Okay, fine. He hates surprises, but this one, he’ll love.”
My stomach turned to ice. “It feels like a recipe for disaster, Poppy.”
She bounced excitedly. “It’s going to be great.”
I sank in my seat and sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Great.”
Chapter 2
Ian
