Chapter 1
NOW
June
My stomach lurched as I approached the four-way stop that would take me back to my childhood town. I had been driving for fifteen hours, and Istillwasn’t ready to face the house I had grown up in. Why? Because there were only two reasons anyone ever came back to the place they were raised—a wedding or a death. My reason was the latter.
There were no cars at the other stop signs, so I let my attention linger on the sign that pointed left for Tostela, and right for Highland.Just turn right. The house is right.I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm while my brain fought back and forth with the devil on my shoulder. Something in my heart tugged at me to turn left; to head to Tostela, and to the one place that had actually felt like a real home to me.
“Fuck it,” I breathed out as I turned left.
I drove slowly down Main Street and into downtown. Most of the businesses were closed since it was a Sunday morning, but it didn’t look like much had changed in the ten years since I’d last been here.
The ice cream parlor windows were still painted with pictures of ice cream cones, and a melting sundae with dancing bananas. The shoe store still had the same footprints etched into the door, leading to the sign above. I felt like I had been transported straight back in time—until I spotted Delvecchios’ Restaurant.
The awning was blue instead of red, and the once-cursive signage was now a block font. I wondered if the Delvecchio family still owned the restaurant and updated it, or if they’d sold it to new owners. I couldn’t imagine the family wanting to change anything, and I felt a pinch in my chest. I’d spent all my high school years inside that restaurant. I spent more time with that family than my own—and I hadn’t talked to any of them since the night of my high school graduation.
I parked my car across the street and stared at the building. I still had the key to the back door on my key ring. The locks had probably been changed since then, but I couldn’t get rid of it. Every time I felt the etched D on the key, it reminded me why I’d never come back here . . . and why I shouldn’t even be thinking about going in now.
The back of my throat started to sting. I couldn’t believe how emotional I was getting justlookingat this place. Mrs. Delvecchio always did inventory on Sundays, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was inside, walking around with a clipboard, marking off her checklist and counting wine bottles behind the bar.
I got out the car and walked to the front door, which was now gold instead of green. There was a sign taped to it that said “Closed today for engagement party.”
Underneath, the restaurant’s hours were written in white vinyl. They were open on Sundays now; they hadnever,not once in all the years I worked here, been open on a Sunday. There was no way the family still owned it.
I leaned forward and cupped my eyes against the glass. It didn’t seem like anyone was inside, and the overwhelming nostalgia was begging me to see if the door was unlocked. I pushed the handle down and let out a small laugh when it opened. I felt like I was fourteen again, stepping inside for the first time.
They had the A/C running on high, and I walked past the hostess stand, drawn by the familiar sight of the dining room. The lights weren’t on, but even in the dark I could tell it was exactly the same, down to the floral carpeting. I could smell bread baking in the back; that, along with the quiet hum of the song “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan, meant someone was definitely in the kitchen.
Before I could turn and run out the restaurant, a figure came flying through the swinging kitchen doors.
We both stopped in our tracks, sizing each other up from opposite ends of the restaurant. I knew I was fully illuminated from where I was standing, but I couldn’t see the face of the person in the back.
“Addison?” It was a woman’s voice, and before I could register whose it was, she was hurrying toward me with a smile on her face, her dark-brown hair swishing back and forth behind her in a blur.
“Julie?” I said with a laugh before I was wrapped up in a crushing hug. She was embracing me like it hadn’t been a decade since the last time I saw her, or gave her a hug.
“Are you a ghost?” she said before leaning back to survey my face. “Oh my god.” I examined her facial expression; there was no hint of animosity there. She just looked . . .happyto see me. My heart warmed. Julie didn’t hate me.
She was still just as beautiful as she had been at eighteen, when I first met her. Her long, dark-brown hair from her teens was now curled in perfect short waves at her shoulders, and she was wearing a pink floral dress that cut off at her knees.
“I didn’t know if you guys still owned the restaurant,” I said as I let myself fully look around, noticing a stack of little dinner napkins on the table closest to us with “J & S” printed on them.
“Jackson owns it now.” Her features softened as she waited to see my reaction. I was shocked to hear Jackson owned it—he’d acted like he hated this place when we worked here. He treated it like a death sentence, while I found it a sanctuary.
“That’s great,” I said as I managed a smile. “Are you getting married?” I asked as I picked up one of the napkins. I looked down to her left hand, finding a princess cut diamond on a gold band. And it washuge.“Who’s the lucky S to your J?” I teased.
“Oh. Um, I’m not the one getting married,” she said as she licked her lips nervously. “I’m already married.”
“Oh, is Sam back?”
“Addie, it’s—”
The kitchen doors flew open behind her, cutting her off mid-sentence. The lights in the dining room turned on, and I looked past Julie’s shoulder to find a face I hadn’t been sure I’d ever see again. Every emotion I had buried deep in my chest over the past ten years was suddenly fighting for my attention. I felt betrayal, hurt, and confusion, but what surprised me most was howrelievedI was to see him. The boy who broke my heart was standing ten feet away from me—and he looked just as relieved to see me as I was him.
“Addie?” The sound of his deep voice reverberated through me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He was grown now, and so very adult. The past ten years had been good to him. His blackhair was cut shorter—no longer wavy, and falling over his forehead. He looked taller, broader, and he was dressed in a short-sleeve blue polo and black pants. His right arm was filled with black tattoos now, and he still had a silver hoop in his left nostril that was a mirror image to the one in mine. The memory of us getting our noses pierced together as teenagers smacked against my brain.
“Jackson.” My voice came out airy; I didn’t even sound like myself. It was almost as if I’d exhaled, and his name was the sound my breaths were made of.
