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But was this just—what was the saying her dad liked to use?—putting lipstick on a pig? Was it actually the same thing in disguise?

Maybe Arden was losing her resolve. She had been strong, and now her strength was fading.

She reached into her purse for her phone as the line moved forward again. Would it really be so bad to keep in touch?

“Arden!”

Geez, her conscience was growing louder. That probably meant this was a bad idea. But perhaps she could text Sam to ask him if he thought it was a bad idea.

“Arden.”

But apparently, she wouldn’t have to text him. She could ask him face-to-face. Because Sam Keller was standing in front of her, doubled over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Chapter 37

Phoebe

It’s a startling revelation, realizing that you’re in love with your former best friend whom you haven’t seen in eight years. But for once, Phoebe didn’t feel panicked. Her heart wasn’t racing, her stomach didn’t hurt. She felt incredibly calm. Almost as though she had slipped on a favorite cozy sweater she’d forgotten she owned. Ever since she’d admitted the truth to herself, everything felt right.

But there was one glaring problem: Jonathan had no idea how she felt. And he had indicated, not so subtly, that he didn’t want to see her again.

Phoebe contemplated this dilemma as she drove back to Flamingo Cottage. She weighed her options. Option one: Do nothing and say nothing. This option made her skin itch. She knew telling him how she felt was risky, knew that he might turn her away the way she had done to him all those years ago. But the idea of saying nothing, of choosing fear, felt suffocating. They were reunited after all this time, only for Phoebe to finally realize how she felt about him? Even though it was scary, there was no way she would waste this opportunity. Because if there was one thing she had learned in the past eight years, it was that a spark like the one between her and Jonathan was rare. It was something to be respected and treasured. Not something to be casually tossed aside.

So option two: She had to tell him.

Back at Arden’s house, Phoebe stared around at her belongings strewn everywhere. Reality would be a complicating factor in all this. Because the reality was that she had a flight to catch later this afternoon, and she needed to pack.

She picked up her clothes and absently folded them and stacked them in her suitcase. Should she call Jonathan? No; then he could just ignore her call. She could drop off a letter for him at his parents’ house.

Or—she squared her shoulders and gave herself a stern look in the mirror over Arden’s dresser—she could ring the doorbell and demand to speak with him.

The mere idea made her feel like she’d gone down a steep drop on a roller coaster. But it was the right thing to do. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try. She pictured it for a moment: going back to Seattle without a word to Jonathan, just hopelessly stewing in her own feelings. No. She couldn’t do that.

Right. She had to hurry up, then. Her flight wasn’t until five this afternoon, but there was no time to waste. She sped around Arden’s tiny house and crammed everything into her suitcase, then grabbed her phone.

Phoebe: Where would you go if you wanted to buy a flower arrangement that says I’m sorry, you were right, I was wrong, and also I love you?

Arden: I have so many questions. But here, this is where you need to go.

Phoebe opened the link and plugged the florist into her maps app.

Phoebe: Thank you. I will explain later.

Phoebe parked in front of the Lees’ sweet little house. It looked peaceful, the Christmas lights turned off, the two palm trees swaying in the midday sun. She flashed back to two nights ago, showing up here in a green gown—the way Jonathan had looked at her when she’d walked in the door. The memory of his face made her skin prickle and spurred her onward.

Clutching the largest bouquet the University Florist had to offer—mostly roses and carnations, no pink tulips available this time of year—Phoebe rang the doorbell.

The door opened, and Phoebe’s heart skipped—until she lowered her gaze to the small person who had opened it. Charlotte stood there silently, peering up at Phoebe in confusion.

“Hi!” Phoebe tried to adopt a friendly-and-not-at-all-scary-to-children expression. “Is your uncle Jonathan home?”

Without breaking eye contact, Charlotte yelled, “Mo-o-om!”

Jonathan’s sister, Alice, appeared a moment later. “Phoebe.” The look of polite neutrality on her face told Phoebe that Alice probably knew everything.

“Hi, Alice.” Phoebe wished she could hide the humongous bouquet, but it was too late. “Is Jonathan here?”

Alice eyed the flowers, then turned her head to call to someone in the next room. “Mina, you’re not going to believe this.”