Page 113 of Most Likely to Deny Love

“Yes, darlin’,” he replied with mock seriousness, but the love in his eyes was unmistakable.

We watched as Harle whistled for the dogs and headed down the path toward the lake, two furry shapes bounding ahead of him. When he was out of earshot, Cassidy turned to me with a determined expression.

“I have a confession to make,” she said, setting her mug down.

“Okay.” Something in her tone made me nervous.

“When I got your message, I texted all the girls and put them on standby, in case we needed them.”

I frowned, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“They’re five minutes away, in Creswell, waiting for the call up.” She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. “And I think we do need them for this, so I’m going to let them know to come over. And then we’re all going to have a talk.”

Oh. Fuck.

My stomach dropped as Cassidy fired off a text. I took a long sip of my coffee, wishing it was something stronger. The thought of facing all my friends, of having them witness whatever emotional breakdown was brewing inside me, made me want to sprint for my car.

“Don’t even think about it,” Cassidy warned, not looking up from her phone. “I can see you plotting your escape route.”

“I’m not plotting anything,” I lied.

“Sure you’re not.” She set her phone down. “They’ll be here in about five minutes.”

We sat in silence, watching the lake shimmer in the afternoon light. True to Cassidy’s word, I soon heard the crunch of tires on gravel, followed by car doors slamming and the murmur of familiar voices. My heart rate kicked up a notch.

They rounded the corner of the cabin like a small army: Emily leading the charge, followed by Poppy, Maya, Hannah, Samara, and Annie. Each carried something, bags of snacks, bottles of wine, and what looked suspiciously like a box of tissues.

“Hey, babe.” Emily dropped a kiss on the top of my head before taking a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs. The others arranged themselves around the fire pit, their expressions a mix of concern and determination that made my skin prickle with unease.

“So,” Maya began, settling into her chair with deliberate casualness, “Jack, huh?”

Cassidy interrupted, standing up . “One minute. I just need to grab something.” She disappeared into the house, leaving me to face five pairs of expectant eyes.

“This feels like an intervention,” I muttered, pulling the blanket higher.

“That’s because it is,” Hannah confirmed with a sympathetic smile.

Before I could respond, Cassidy returned, clutching what looked like an old, battered scrapbook. My stomach dropped. I recognized that book, with its glitter-encrusted cover and uneven edges.

“Is that...?” My voice trailed off as Cassidy resumed her seat beside me.

“Our very own high school yearbook.” She opened the book, flipping through pages filled with teenage handwriting and faded photos. “Remember this?”

Of course I remembered. Poppy and Hannah had spent weeks creating the yearbook for our friend group, a much more personal version of the usual thing. We’d all laughed at the time, but looking back, the damn thing had been eerily accurate.

Cassidy found the page she was looking for and turned the book toward me. There I was, smiling awkwardly at the camera, braces glinting and eyes squinting against the sun. Beneath the photo, in Poppy’s looping handwriting:

Mia Harris: Most Likely to Deny Love

“That’s not fair,” I protested weakly. “We were kids.”

“And yet,” Emily said from across the circle, “here we are, over a decade later, watching you do exactly that.”

“I’m not denying anything,” I insisted, but the words were hollow.

“Sweetie,” Poppy leaned forward, her pink hair falling across her forehead, “you’ve been in love with Jack since about five minutes after you met him.”

“That’s not?—”

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