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She was never cool enough, or smart enough, or artsy enough, which he reminded her of regularly. (How had she never heard of that musician, or seen that art exhibition? What exactly had she been doing with her life?)

So, Iris had tried hard to become the cultured, counter-culture girl that Trevor wanted to be with. She thought she loved him, and she told herself that since she was transforming into the girl he wanted, he must love her too, even if he hadn’t said it yet.

He was Iris’ first boyfriend, her first kiss (behind the stacks in the library when they took a break from writing their final papers), her first love.

He was also her last.

But Audrey was right about one thing: Though he had meant a lot to her, Iris always felt like Trevor held something of himself back. There were pieces of his soul he kept tucked away, and no matter how many questions she’d asked about his fraught relationship with his sister or his friend who had died from suicide or that time he had flunked out of jazz band, he had never shared anything more than surface details.

She had all but begged Trevor to show her the cracks in his facade, and all he had handed her were bricks, built tough and strong and impenetrable. Iris remembered wondering if Trevor never stopped to examine himself for long enough to find any deeper, hidden layers to his own story, or whether he knew them well and had just decided she wasn’t worth the bother of confiding in.

Because Iris hadn’t realized that to Trevor, she was transitory.

In fact, she was one of many transitory girls and boys he had revolving around him like a mobile.

And when he left, after the tears and overwhelming hopelessness, after being held and consoled by Audrey—who had comforted her with all of the standard best friend breakup standbys like you can do so much better and you’re way too good for him anyway—Iris promised herself that when he came crawling back, she would turn him away. That was how she would regain power over her own life, by rejecting the boy she loved.

But he had never come crawling back.

And Iris knew that the year she’d spent with him just hadn’t been worth the heartache.

Which was why when she met Gabriel, she hadn’t wanted to ruin their friendship by introducing romance into it. What they had was so much deeper than that, a transcendent, uncomplicated kind of love.

Gabriel had never been interested in having a romantic relationship, he’d told her. She’d told him she felt the same, even if that wasn’t exactly true.

The truth was that once upon a time, she had. Once upon a time, she'd devoured romance novels and cried at the end of her favorite rom-coms and dreamed of happily-ever-afters while dancing in her room to mushy songs.

So was it truly surprising that this had happened? Maybe it had always been a matter of time, whether it took ten years or fifty; maybe she’d always been destined to meet someone who would remind her of the yearnings she’d tucked so deep inside her, she’d almost convinced herself they weren’t there.

Her heart skipped as she thought of Blair, the feel of his hand in hers, the depth in his eyes, the heat of their kiss. The way he bared his soul to her, and the way her soul reached out to his in return.

Still, whatever she had going on with Blair, she couldn’t lose Gabriel. She would have to talk to him—no matter how much of an awkward conversation it was sure to be.

23

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, and though still early January, a wave of unseasonable warmth had drifted dreamlike into the heart of Vitford.

The snow was soft beneath Iris’ boots as she meandered up the driveway to the main road. Puddles dotted the streets, and a steady stream of water rushed into waiting storm drains before plunging into the brook’s thawing ice.

Iris shed her hat and gloves, buttoning them into her coat pockets before slinging it over her arm. Her long maroon sweater was more than enough to keep her warm on the short walk into town.

The pathway to the towering library doors was lined with what remained of the ice sculptures from the First Night celebration a few days earlier. Craft fair tents dotted both sides of the front lawn, and townspeople spilled out from beneath them, meandering through the stalls to view the items for sale. Seeing as Christmas had barely passed, Iris was pleased to see what a good turnout they had.

She peeked inside a few of the tents. The first one was full of strong-smelling candles in pretty aluminum jars. The second tent housed eclectic jewelry in bright popping colors, and the next was full of pet essentials. Iris eyed a cute striped pink and white collar fastened on a stuffed dog. Maybe she should butter up Dr. Sumpter by buying it for her chihuahua, Luna, as an apology gift for all of the gossip Iris had stirred up. While she paused at the mouth of the tent, a burly man moved aside, and Iris caught a glimpse of an unpleasantly familiar figure examining a multicolor leash.

Feeling a ripple of dislike, she spun around, hoping to sneak away before she was noticed, only to run headlong into Blair. Before he could say a word, Iris gripped his arm and marched him in the opposite direction.

“What’s wrong?” Blair asked once they were safely inside his own tent.

Instead of answering, Iris ripped away the tiebacks that held the tent flap open, plunging them into a lavender and eucalyptus-scented darkness. She leaned back against one of the tables. “Just stay quiet for a minute.”

“Why?”

Iris hesitated. “I just saw one of my coworkers, April. She’s been gossiping about us. You know, because of New Year’s.”

Through the sunlight permeating the cracks of the tent, Iris watched the color drain from Blair’s face. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”