“Okay, that one's a little weird.”
“Grayson.” I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I'm not ready for this.”
He walks over, takes the tie from my hands, and starts knotting it. “You're not ready to be honest? Or you're not ready for people to see you?”
“Both. Either. I don't know.”
“Let me tell you something.” He finishes the knot—perfect, of course—and straightens my collar. “A year ago, I was the guy who thought vulnerability was a weakness. I had walls so high you couldn't see over them with a ladder. And then Michelle crashed into my life and made me realize that the walls weren't protecting me—they were just keeping me alone.”
“Is this a pep talk? Because it feels like you're describing my entire personality.”
“It's a mirror, Scott.” He steps back. “You've hidden behind V. Langley because you were scared people would see the real you. The guy who writes about feelings and believes in happy endings.” He pauses. “Who's in love with his tenant and wrote an entire book about it.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds?—”
“Romantic. Because it is.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Now get out there and let people see the real you. The one Jessica fell in love with.”
“What if they hate me?”
“Then they do. But at least they'll despise the real you instead of loving a version that doesn't exist.”
I take a breath. Then another.
“That's surprisingly wise.”
“Michelle's influence. She's making me emotionally intelligent against my will.”
The Hensley Househas transformed into a romance novel personified.
Hazel has outdone herself. There are fairy lights strung through the backyard and enough flowers to make a florist weep with joy. A small stage has been set up with a podium and a large easel covered by a velvet cloth—the cover reveal.
The whole town appears to be here. I spot the mayor and his wife—Penelope, who's wearing an expression of barely contained anticipation, like she's hoping for another public meltdown to record. The book club is clustered near the front, saving seats. Mrs. Ziegler from the library is chatting with Mr. Sanders from the hardware store. Even Harold Brix showed up, probably hoping to network.
And there, standing near the rose garden with Michelle, is Jessica.
She's wearing a green dress that makes her hair look like fire, and she's laughing at something Michelle said, and she's so beautiful it physically hurts to look at her.
She catches my eye across the crowd. Smiles. Mouths something that might be “breathe.”
Right. Breathing. I should do that.
“Scott!” Grandma Hensley appears at my elbow like a tiny, terrifying fairy godmother. “There you are. We're starting in ten minutes. Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Perfect. That means you're taking it seriously.” She adjusts my tie—which Grayson already adjusted—and brushes invisible lint from my jacket. “I've waited fifteen years to tell people my honorary grandson is V. Langley. Don't you dare chicken out now.”
“Honorary grandson?”
“You're one of us now.” She pats my cheek. “That makes you family. Now go make me proud.”
Something warm blooms in my chest that feels suspiciously like belonging.
“Your snickerdoodles are the only thing keeping me alive,” I manage.
“I know, dear. That's why I always make extra.” She winks. “Now go.”
She pushes me toward the stage with surprising force for someone who barely reaches my shoulder.
