She visibly swallows. “Yeah. Later.”
And with that promise, I lead her to the door as anticipation spikes my bloodstream. Because I may not be able to give her everything she deserves, but I can certainly give her what she wants—and pray it’ll be enough for both of us.
28GRACIE
Two Weeks Before the Wedding
The best way to completely ignore the feelings you accidentally caught during the best sex of your life? A bone-crushing workload.
Is it fun? No. There’s nothing fun about trying to organize the final details of a two-hundred-person black-tie wedding while your stepsisters keep sending you hostile texts about buying discount shrimp in bulk and storing it inyourfreezer untiltheirparty. But the silver lining is that I’ve barely had time to shower in the last week, much less ruminate on the fact that Jude Larkwood stole the heart right out of my chest.
It’s a highly inconvenient revelation. So much so that given the choice between actually processing it and playing freezer Tetris with seven trays of shrimp cocktail, I choose the shrimp. But thankfully, I have something far more important to focus on today: Sofia.
In the almost week since I had dinner at her parents’ house, I’ve only called once (reasonable) but texted five times (admittedly less reasonable) before finally getting a message that read: “I love you, but I need some space.”
Seeing those words crushed the air out of my lungs, even if I understood why she sent them. So, in an effort not to be an assholeagain, I told her to take her time.
It’s why I was so relieved and anxious when she texted yesterday, asking to come do a last run-through of the photo spots Calvin andBrooke requested. It’s a chance to support her the way I should have after dinner, and this time, I don’t plan on squandering it.
Leaving the cottage, I spot her almost at once. The sight of her slight figure coming toward me with her big camera fills me with so many feelings, I wish I had an overflow bucket for them.
“Hi,” I say when we stop in front of each other. I offer a tentative smile, but she doesn’t return it. She looks exhausted.
“Hey.”
At her lifeless tone, the impassioned speech I had planned shrivels up until all that’s left is the through line. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wobbling under the weight of my regret.
She stares at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, too.”
I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn’t have expected you to tell me about your parents sooner, oranytime before you were ready. I should have been grateful to be told at all.” My breath catches. “I should have supported you the way you’vealwayssupported me. Without question.”
“Friends confide in each other,” she argues. “When you told me I was being overprotective, you were right. I think my whole family has done that with you since you were little, and it’s not fair. I should have trusted you to be able to handle it, and I didn’t think about how it would make you feel to be left out.”
My throat tightens. “Youneverowe me information that you’re not ready to share. And even if you were ready to tell me sooner, it’s not exactly easy to confide in someone who keeps running away from their own problems. I know I haven’t exactly been a pillar of strength lately. For myself, or for our friendship.”
She frowns, looking offended on my behalf. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Gracie.”
I think about the last week—the way I’ve buried myself in wedding tasks to avoid facing what happened with Sofia and my feelings for Jude. I think of the megaton of frozen shrimp cocktail I bought just to avoid my family’s discontent.
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “But I do know you had every right to tell me about your parents’ separation on your terms. Not mine.” I swallow down the jagged lump of guilt that’s been stuck inmy throat all week. “I said I wanted you to share the big things with me, but lately, I haven’t been the kind of friend who’s earned that kind of trust. Even when you gave me the chance to support you after dinner with your family, I blew it. I made it about myself.” I shake my head, nose stinging. “I’m so sorry I let my own insecurities get in the way of seeing the bigger picture, and for not being there when you needed me most.”
Sofia’s eyes are brimming as her chin crumples up. “It’s been a really hard week without you,” she says shakily.
“You’re telling me,” I respond, my own eyes blurring.
I don’t know who makes the first move, but then we’re in each other’s arms, hugging like we haven’t seen each other in a year. She smells like cinnamon and home, and I realize Jude was right: some loves can survive any tear if you’re brave enough to stitch them together again. You just have to try.
When we release each other, she has the same relieved smile I know I’m wearing, too. “How’s your mom?” I ask.
We begin walking the grounds, vaguely heading in the direction of the ceremony site that Calvin and Brooke chose, and she tells me about Mrs. Morales’s new pottery class and the way she pretends to be scandalized by the romance novels Sofia keeps dropping off. When I ask about her father, she’s less sure about her feelings but tells me her new therapist is helping her sort them out.
“And what about you?” she asks me as I unlock the front door of Larkwood and we head to where the cocktail hour will be. “You never got to tell me about your date with Henry. What else happened during our Frism?”
“Frism?” I repeat over the sound of our shoes on the polished marble.
“Friend schism.”
I smile faintly but hardly know how to begin explaining that the date with Henry seemed tailor-made for a lost version of myself. Or how the discovery of her parents’ separation sent me into an emotional tailspin that led directly to his best friend’s bedroom.
