“You’ll find a way.” Her voice softens. “You need to forgive yourself. You were young, you were overwhelmed. You did the best you could.”
“He’ll hate me.I’dhate me.”
“You don’t know that. And if he’s matured the way you say he has, I think he might surprise you. Give him a chance,” she says gently. “I know you’re scared, and I understand why. But I’m actually excited for you. You deserve to set down your own burden. It’s time.”
Salty tears roll down my face. “I’m sorry I hung up on you yesterday,” I blubber, overwhelmed by emotion.
“You should be.” I snort through my snuffling. “To make it up to me, I’d like you to pinch Jason’s butt for me.”
Now I’m laughing through my tears. “Leave me out of your weird little situationship, okay? Besides, you should be here to pinch his butt yourself.”
“I’m playing the long game,” she says breezily. “And just you wait—one day that man will wake up and realize I’m the best thing that never happened to him.”
When I hang up the phone, I sit down and draft a response to his text.
Ry,
I loved your love letter. It made me cry. You are definitely older and improved, and I love your beard. Please don’t ever shave it.
To answer your question, I have lain awake many nights thinking of you, wishing things were different and missing you so much I could hardly breathe. We may have lived without each other for ten years, but you’ve always been with me, Ry. Even when I tried to move on, some part of me never could. I learned to live with a broken heart, and it might take me a little time to let you all the way in again. Please be patient with me.
Back then so many things felt unsteady, like we built our foundation on quicksand. For years I told myself we were too young, that we were in over our heads, and maybe that was true. But if I could go back, I’d have more faith in us, and especially in you. I’m sorry I didn’t. I never expected to meet this version of you: master of sea and sky, early retiree, hot homemaker. Sober and stable. The life you’ve built looks good on you. I’m so proud of you, Ry. Your mom would be too.
I have a lot more to say, but I’ll save it for in person. I’d love to go with you to the concert tonight. Pick me up around 5?
♥
Scarlett
That afternoon, Igo for a long walk on the beach, getting my thoughts in order for the night ahead, sorting through everything I want to say. It’s surreal to think that the conversation I never planned to have is suddenly right in front of me, and while the fear is still there, it’s softened by something else: hope.
I decide to cancel the hair and makeup team Samira set up for me, electing to protect my peace and get ready by myself instead. Staying on theme, my stylist had picked a stunning ruby-red dress for this week’s capstone event: soft chiffon, light and airy, with fluttering sleeves and a dramatic open back. It feels bold yet romantic, like I’m stepping into the fearless version of myself I used to be. I apply my makeup, making sure to send selfies to Kendall for her approval, and do my best to coax my curls into something resembling soft, vintage-inspired waves.
Tonight we’ll attend the benefit concert, where legendary singer Sierra Wilder will perform “Star-Crossed,” the soaring power ballad that played over the movie’s end credits, spent eight weeks at number one, and helped catapultThe Lost Letterinto one of the best-selling soundtracks of all time. It’s a song I’ve never been able to listen to without crying. Tonight, I’ll listen to it while holding Ryder’s hand.
Maybe if we have a perfect, romantic night beforehand, he won’t hate me.
When I hear his knock at the door, I look in the mirror and take a deep, cleansing breath. “Have faith in him,” I say quietly.
When I swing open the door, my breath catches in my chest. He’s blindingly handsome, a silver-screen dream airbrushed into real life. His blond hair’s been styled by the angels, his burnished brown eyes weaponized in a lethal gleam. But it’s his smile—beaming and boyish and unguarded, the same one I fell for all those years ago—that stirs up every feeling I’ve spent years trying to suppress. The intensity of what I feel for him wraps around me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I let my eyes travel over him, drinking him in like I’m dying of dehydration. His navy blue suit is tailored to perfection, his collared shirt crisp enough to cut glass, skimming against a jaw that could do the same. His tanned collarbone draws my eyes like a magnet, tempting me more than dessert ever could. That collarbone should come with a safe word.
It’s only when my gaze drifts down his torso that I see he’s holding a bouquet of flowers.
Violets.
Shock, grief, and heartbreak slam into me all at once, pummeling me like a rogue wave I’m not fast enough to brace against. It drags me under, spins me around until I can’t tell up from down or dark from light. I’m tumbling, lost in it, every emotion crashing over me before I can catch my breath.
My vision blurs and I start to sway, the world fading at the edges. The last thing I hear is him calling my name as I faint dead away.
19
Now
“Scarlett, wake up.”There’s a pause. “Scarlett, please open your eyes. You’re scaring me.”
The words sound like they’re coming from the end of a long tunnel, muffled and far away. The loudsmackof hands clapping next to my ear jolts me into consciousness, and I gasp like I’ve been shocked by a doctor’s paddles. “That counts,” his voice says on an exhale.
