Page 65 of It Should Have Been You

She catches my eye, and then, in perfect unison, we both say, “Jed’s Deep-Fried Twinkies!”

The shared memory prompts laughter from both of us. It’s a ridiculous contrast—comparing The Plaza with a deep-fried delicacy from a small-town fair.

Emily continues to speak, but my attention is suddenly yanked from her words.

Across the crowded room, in a sea of glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos… it’s her.

The sight is like a punch to the gut.

Dressed in a simple yet elegant dress, her hair is back from her shoulders, revealing the graceful curve of her neck, her eyes as bright as I remember.

Emily’s voice is a distant blur because my eyes are trained on the woman walking into the center of the room. Even from here, I see the fear on her face, but when she steps fully into the light, my breath catches.

Bethany Rose.

With just the sight of her, I go tumbling back in time.

Slowly, she scans the room, turning so her eyes lock with mine. I know she can’t see me from where I’m cloaked in shadow, but I still feel the gravity of her stare. The red light floating over the room shrouds her for a second. She squints and steps back, hiding herself.

Instinctively, I take a step forward.

Then those full lips lift into a smile, the accompanying dimples etching grooves into her cheeks.

Fuck me.

That’s the knockout punch.

I take another step, but Jake and Claire beat me to it.

“Logan, are you even listening to me?” Emily laughs, resting her hand on my arm.

I’m not.

I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

I shake my head, attempting to put pieces together that don’t fit. Jake has been my friend since college, and I’ve never heard him mention her. Looking at her, laughing alongside Claire in the heart of the gallery, sharing a private moment, I realize they are far more than acquaintances.

The two women are friends.

I’ve been around Jake and Claire enough, but I’ve never set eyes on Bethany Rose again since that night all those years ago.

“Ah,” Emily purrs, following my line of sight. “She’s stunning. Need a wing woman?”

“No,” I snap, immediately regretting it. “Sorry. Thought I spotted a familiar face.”

“Is it a ghost? Because you look like you’ve seen one.”

I think I have.

Forcing my eyes away, I turn back to Emily.

Maybe I’m wrong. It’s been a decade. I probably shouldn’t recognize her, not to the extent I do—every detail memorized.

It’s agonizing minutes of conversation I can’t keep track of before I finally let my gaze drift again. More people I recognize make their way toward me. I shake hands, nod when I think I’m supposed to, yet my focus stays stubbornly attached to the elusive figure on the other side of the gallery.

When I glance over for the last time, she’s taking determined strides toward the balcony. I take a deep breath, telling myself to let it be. To let her go.

And I do… for all of two minutes.

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