Isabelle hugs Christian next, thanking him, and Lana pulls me into her. “So, should we talk about the whole Rowan scandal?”
I shake my head and pinch her side. “No,” I grumble.
Lana squeals and pulls an empty-handed Isabelle into her other side. “I love you guys.”
Isabelle snorts. “So, Lana is drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Lana sings just as Christian says, “She’s tipsy.”
We’re all proud of Christian and his sobriety. During the party planning, he wanted us to feel comfortable drinking things other than juice, lemonade, water, or sodas. And of course, we all felt terrible about it and denied it, but he insisted that it was okay—that he was strong enough.
Isa and I held Lana on many sleepless nights, and we don’t want to do it again—even though we would. But wetrustChristian. Over a year and a half sober, and he’s okay. And he’s taking care of one of my bestest friends—my sister.
Both of them are my sisters, and Elena is-slash-was too, before she disappeared from Willow Springs to somewhere in New York, turning a quartet into a trio.
Anyway, we brought wine and beer, and Lana was wary about it herself. Eventually, she ended up pouring herself a glass of white wine and eased up on the idea. Throughout the night, she didn’t spare a glance at Christian, trusting him entirely. It’s admirable, really—their love. I wish I had that. I wish I could feel that connected to someone or something other than my bakery.
Isabelle has her ballet studio, Lana has her bookshop café,Julian has his gym, Rowan has his restaurant, Luca loves being a firefighter, and Nicolas loves being a second grade teacher. And me? I love my bakery. But I’m so disconnected from everything that I’m not sure I even love that anymore.
Lana squeezes us tighter, so we squeeze her back. “I love you guys,” she cries.
“Oh no,” Isa mutters. “CoCo, get her to bed.”
“I didn’t even drink.” Lana pouts like a child being told to go to bed.
“Sure, but you’re overly emotional right now.”
Lana gapes. “What.”
Christian chuckles and wraps his arm around her, kissing the curve of her neck. “It’s okay. I love when you’re emotional.”
“Thank you, baby,” she whispers back. Christian keeps kissing her neck and her eyes roll slightly. Lana giggles, giddy and flushed, and Isa and I yack. “Okay, time for everyone to go now!”
“Ew,” I gag teasingly. “Just say you’re kicking us out so you can fuck.”
“Natalia.” Christian sighs, his eyes stern. “Please leave so we can fuck.”
I groan and roll my eyes, everyone snickering as we say our final goodbyes.
In the expansive driveway, Isa and I meet the rest of our group.
“Pretty sure they’re already doing it against the door,” Luca jokes but shudders.
I snort, and Rowan does too. The guys say goodbye to each other—save for Julian who had to leave earlier to take Grace home after she cried because of a tummy ache—thenIsa and I say goodnight to her brother and her not-really-forbidden love.
“See you tomorrow at Mami and Papi’s, yeah?” Luca asks his sister over the top of his car. She shouts out her agreement and then moves to hug Rowan, who flicks me a look over her shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Isabelle,” Rowan says with a soft smile before he makes his way to his SUV.
Nico lingers with his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. “Goodnight, Isa,” Nico says and leans to kiss her temple.
I watch how easily Isabelle gets flustered by her childhood (and adulthood) crush as she stifles a giggle. They should just do it. Just make out anddo italready.
It’s been will they, won’t they since high school and mostly to spare Luca’s feelings and opinions. They haven’t acted on their crushes out of too much consideration for everyone else.
Isa watches Nico walk away and step into his car, flushed pink from cheeks to ears. She deserves to be selfish for once.
Then she squeals like the four of us girls used to do in middle school whenever we would talk about our crushes. “I hate this,” she groans, pouting. “He’s so pretty.”
