Page 88 of The Moment I Knew

“Make a wish!” Lavender called.

I closed my eyes.

Please. Please let him walk through that door.

My hands clenched together in front of me. I felt the warmth of Ainsley’s shoulder against mine, the rhythm of her breathing. I imagined him walking in, imagined the sound of his coat brushing against the floor, imagined him looking at me and seeing me. My chest tightened.

We inhaled together.

I felt the smoke curl around my nose as we leaned forward. The candle flames bent slightly, then vanished in a collective puff as we blew. My cheeks were warm from the heat, my lips sticky with frosting and lipstick, my heart pounding like it had been holding its breath for an eternity.

The lights snapped back on. The front door stayed closed.

I opened my eyes. The room was full of smiling faces, forks clinking against plates, frosting smeared in little handprints on napkins and table edges. Ainsley fed Sebastian a bite; he made a face and squealed, and she laughed, but I barely heard it.

I scanned the doorway again. Still. Still.

The realization pressed against me like cold water, slow, seeping. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to move but not move, trying to stay present in the room but already half in that hallway, waiting for something that was never going to come.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, soft, aimed at no one in particular. I wasn’t sure if anyone answered. If they did, I didn’t hear it. I turned before I could change my mind.

The hallway swallowed the sound almost immediately. The music from the living room dropped to a dull thud, like it was being pressed flat against a wall. I reached the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I slid the lock into place. I didn’t move right away. I stood there, hands hanging uselessly at my sides, staring at my reflection. The mirror caught me head-on. Mascara dark and clean. No smudges. My curls sat exactly where I’d left them, spirals resting against my collarbone. The dress skimmed my waist without a wrinkle.

And the stupid bright red lipstick on my mouth, that I’d put on just because he’d bought it for me. The memory pushed in before I could stop it.

The mall. The overhead lights buzzing faintly. The smell of pretzels and perfume. Dad standing too close to the counter, turning the lipstick tube between his fingers, careful, like it might break.

“This is the brand you liked, right?”

I glanced at the shade in his hand. “It’s pretty, but I have nowhere to wear that.”

He’d smiled, easy and certain, like it was already decided. “Save it for something special.”

Something special.

My hands slid forward until my fingers hit the edge of the sink. I gripped the porcelain. It was cold and solid under my fingers.

Special.

I reached for the tap and turned it too hard. Water burst out, splashing against the basin, spraying my wrist. I didn’t flinch. I grabbed the hand towel and shoved it under the stream until it was soaked through, heavy and dripping.

When I pressed it to my mouth, the cold stole my breath. I scrubbed. The red moved instantly—smearing past my lip line, streaking my skin. I dragged the towel again, harder. My reflection warped as my eyes filled, the mirror blurring at the edges.

It wasn’t coming off fast enough. I scrubbed again.The towel scraped against tender skin. The color faded in uneven patches. Then more. Then almost gone. My lips burned. Pink. Raw. I kept going.

I only stopped when it stung sharply enough to force a sound out of me—a small, broken inhale.

I dropped the towel into the sink and leaned closer to the mirror. My lips throbbed. I pressed them together once, twice. Then I rinsed the towel and lifted it to my eyes. Dabbed. Careful. One corner, then the other. I checked for mascara fallout. There was a hint at the outer edge. I smoothed concealer over it with my fingertip. Pat. Pat. Blended foundation where my cheeks had gone blotchy.

In. Out. I watched my chest rise. Fall. Finally, I reached for the lock and turned it. The door opened and I walked out, straight into someone.

My hands flew up. I stumbled, heels slipping, but arms caught me firm and steady, fingers wrapping around my forearms before I could fall.

“Hey—”

I looked up.

Cole. He was close. Too close for the hallway. Close enough that I could see the faint line between his brows, the way his eyes searched my face before I said anything. I could feel the heat of him through my sleeves.