Page 103 of I Saw Her First

There’s a crack in Jesse’s anger for a split second, but he quickly hides it, snapping, “So you slept with him?”

“Of course not. We actually agreed not to see each other because of you. We decided it was for the best. I only used the darkroom when he wasn’t there. But then it was his birthday, and…” I shake my head, pulling my hair over one shoulder and fiddling with a split end. “I made him a lemon cake, and he—”

“Lemon cake?” Jesse’s tone is a knife-edge of sadness and hostility. “My mom used to make those.”

“I know. I mean, I didn’t know that until after. It was a coincidence. But… I think your dad was having a hard time on his birthday, not hearing from you. I was going to give him the cake and leave, but I didn’t. You need to know”—I touch Jesse’s arm so he looks at me—“it’s not his fault. He was very clear that nothing could happen between us. If I hadn’t showed up with that cake…” I trail off here, because I want to believe Wes and I would have gotten together anyway. I can’t let myself imagine a world where we didn’t.

Jess leans his elbows onto his knees, heaving out a long breath, absorbing everything.

“I’m sorry we kept it from you, and I’m really sorry you found out the way you did.” I grimace, remembering the photos strewn across the kitchen island, the disgust on Jesse’s face. “That must have been awful.”

He grunts a sardonic laugh.

“But I’m not sorry I fell in love with him. It’s probably hard for you to imagine, but he and I are a good fit. I’d never dream of replacing your mom,” I add quickly. “But I think… I think Imake him happy. And doesn’t he deserve that, after everything he’s been through?”

Jess digs his hands into his hair, staring at the ground. There’s a moment where I think he’s coming around, but when he finally sits up to look at me, his eyes are dark with misery and red-rimmed.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, shoving to his feet.

Panic flares in my chest. What happened? It felt like we were making progress.

“Jess, please—”

“Look, I might be able to forgiveyou, but my dad…”

I grab Jesse’s arm, desperate for him to hear me. “It wasn’t his fault. I was the one who—”

“The one who lied to my face for a whole week after I moved home?” Jess snaps, shaking my hand off. “Who pretended everything between us was fine?”

“He was scared to lose you again. You have to understand—”

“I don’t, actually.” Jess stares at me hard for a long moment, grinding his jaw, then shakes his head, turning away. “I have to get back to work.”

“Jess—” I call desperately, but he doesn’t so much as turn around.

I know there’s no point in following him. I’ve said all I wanted to say, and I can only hope that in time, he’ll come around.

With a leaden heart I watch him stalk away from me, then I head home to another lonely night without Weston.

41

Weston

Iwake early on Sunday, my heart bright and full at the knowledge that I’ll see Daisy at the wedding today. The two weeks since I last saw her have been unbearable. I’ve fought every day not to pick up the phone and call her, to hear her voice and beg her to change her mind. I know she’s doing the noble thing by putting my relationship with Jess first, but we can’t control how he feels. We can’t force him to forgive us—forgiveme. And so, we’re sacrificing our own happiness.

I spend the morning at the pool, swimming laps for over two hours. The only good thing to come out of the time I’ve spent away from Daisy is the improvement of my swimming times. I never used to pay much attention to my time, but it’s given me something to focus on while we’re apart. Something to pretend to care about.

The ceremony doesn’t start until five, so I still have the entire afternoon to kill before it’s time to get ready. I spend the time in the attic, going through some of Lydia’s stuff, choosing a few framed pictures to put around the house. It’s good to see her again, if a little painful. But Daisy was right—it’s easier now than it used to be, and I’m glad to be reminded of her. I still can’tbelieve Daisy encouraged me to do that, and it makes me love her even more.

After that, I set about fixing the busted handle on the door to the darkroom, so it’s ready for Daisy when she’s ready to use it again. I have to believe she will, that this isn’t it for us. Otherwise, what was the point? We found each other only to give each other up, and for what?

I push these thoughts from my mind as I dress for the wedding, pulling on a light-gray suit over a crisp white dress shirt, knotting a navy-blue tie at my throat. Then I pick up the gift I chose for my neighbors—a set of Le Creuset cast-iron cookware wrapped in gold paper—and head next door.

Violet and Kyle have decorated their stoop with white ribbons and flower garlands. I climb the steps and knock on their front door, and a moment later a vivacious redhead in a floor-length, emerald-green dress with russet-colored curls spilling over her shoulders greets me. She shoots me a wide, beaming smile.

“Hello! I’m Sadie, the maid of honor.” Her gaze drifts over me appreciatively, drinking in my suit, and I stifle a chuckle.

“Weston. I live next door.”

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