"Me neither. Let's go anyway."
We walk toward the event room, our hands still linked. My heart is racing and my palms are definitely sweating and I'm wearing jeans to a reunion where everyone else is dressed up, but Owen is beside me and he's looking at me like I matter and for the first time in possibly ever, I feel brave.
The music gets louder as we approach. I can hear people laughing, talking, the bass line of some early 2000s pop song that was probably popular when we were in high school. Through the doorway, I can see people clustered in groups: thepopular kids who are still popular, the athletes who still look like athletes, the pretty girls who are still pretty.
I start to slow down.
Owen squeezes my hand. "Hey. You with me?"
I take a breath. Look at him. At this man who somehow thinks I'm worth remembering.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm with you."
"Then let's go show them what they missed."
And we walk in together.
Chapter 4 - Owen
The event room is exactly what I expected. Banners with our graduation year, a photo booth in the corner with props that were dated even in 2010, and a playlist that seems to be stuck in an eternal loop of songs we were all sick of fifteen years ago. The lighting is that weird combination of too bright and too dark, and there are maybe sixty people scattered around in clusters that look suspiciously like the same groups from high school.
Some things never change.
Ivy's hand tightens in mine the second we cross the threshold. I can feel her tensing, see her shoulders drawing up like she's trying to make herself smaller. Invisible.
Not on my watch.
I pull her closer to my side, not possessively, just... there. Present. A united front.
I still can’t believe I’ve already confessed that I've been carrying a torch for her since high school, and admitted that every relationship I've had has failed because none of them were her.
Levi is going to mock me mercilessly when he hears this story.
He's also going to tell me I did the right thing.
Because here's the thing: I spent fifteen years being afraid. Being smart. Building the perfect life on paper—good job, nice apartment, respectable reputation. And the whole time, I was comparing every woman I dated to a memory of a girl I barely knew.
That's insane. I know it's insane.
But seeing Ivy tonight, standing next to her broken-down car in the rain, I realized that the memory wasn't the problem. Theproblem was that I left without ever finding out if the reality could be even better.
So, screw the plan. Screw being careful. I poured my heart out in the bar and whatever happens, happens. At least I'll know. At least I won't spend another fifteen years wondering.
"Owen Harper!" A woman's voice cuts through the noise, and I turn to see Jessica Morton heading our way. She looks exactly like her Facebook photos: perfectly styled blonde hair, designer dress, the kind of smile that's been trained by years of pageants and networking events. "Oh my God, I can't believe you actually came!"
"Hey, Jessica." I keep my arm around Ivy's waist. "Good to see you."
"You look amazing! Still in the city?" She's already scanning me up and down, cataloging details. "I heard you're a doctor now. That's so impressive."
"Family medicine, yeah."
"That's wonderful." Her eyes finally land on Ivy, and there's this fraction of a second where I see her trying to place the face. She fails. "And you brought a date! How sweet."
"This is Ivy Rose," I say, and I don't bother hiding the edge in my voice. "We graduated together. Same class."
Jessica's smile doesn't waver, but I see the calculation behind it. "Oh! Of course. Sorry, I'm terrible with names. How have you been... Ivy?"
"Fine," Ivy says.
