Page 33 of Unlucky in Love
Ryan’s fingers brushed hers, steadying her. “And Paris…maybe that’s still waiting.”
Taylor blinked at him, her chest aching. This was supposed to be a silly jukebox clue. A ridiculous dance. Instead, it felt like the whole diner had shifted, all their memories crowding in to remind her how much he’d always been part of her story.
The song faded, but Ryan didn’t let her go right away. He just looked at her, as if memorizing something important. Finally, he pointed to the side of the jukebox, to something she hadn’t noticed before. Tapes to the side was a USB drive, labeled in neat handwriting: For the heroine.
Her breath caught.
Ryan’s voice was low, teasing, but there was weight behind it. “Guess your admirer wants to make sure you’ve always got music to go with your story.”
Taylor’s fingers closed tight around it.
“Music, yes, but what if there’s more to it?” she asked.
Ryan gave her a wide grin. “Only one way to find out.”
* * *
The ride back to her apartment was a blur of neon signs and the USB clutched tight in her hand. Taylor’s nerves buzzed with anticipation, half from the dance, half from the thought of inviting Ryan inside. When she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she tried not to think about how it had been years since anyone but Emma had stepped foot past that threshold.
Ryan lingered just inside, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he looked around. “Cozy,” he said.
“It’s small.” She tossed her bag on the counter and booted up her laptop. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’re just here to see what’s on this thing.”
He smirked, watching her fumble with the USB. “Sure. Just business.”
Taylor shot him a look, but her cheeks betrayed her with heat. She plugged it in, the drive humming to life. A folder appeared on her desktop labeled: For the heroine.
She clicked it open.
Music files filled the screen. Song after song, each one painfully familiar.
Taylor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God. These are…”
“Our high school playlist,” Ryan finished quietly, stepping closer.
It was true. Each title jolted her with memories. The song Emma made them scream-sing in the car on the way to football games. The ballad Taylor had once scribbled lyrics to in the margins of her math notebook. The track Ryan had blasted on repeat the summer he got his first truck.
Taylor’s chest ached. “Whoever’s doing this…they know everything.”
Ryan’s eyes flickered. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “They do.”
She clicked the last file in the list, expecting another song. Instead, a PDF opened. A single line of text scrolled across the screen:
“Back to where wishes begin. Look beneath the fountain.”
Taylor’s breath caught. “The park.”
Ryan nodded once, already moving toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The park was quiet under the moonlight, swings creaking faintly in the cold breeze. Taylor’s boots crunched on the gravel path as she led the way toward the old stone fountain at the center. Its basin was cracked, water shut off for the winter, but the place was thick with memories.
She crouched, fingers brushing the underside of the ledge, and found a huge manila envelope taped there. She pulled it free and tore it open.
Inside was a small glass jar filled with pennies, a folded note tucked against the lid.
“Every wish counts, even the ones you never say aloud.”
Taylor’s throat tightened. She sat on the fountain’s edge, turning the jar in her hands, watching the copper coins glint in the lamplight. “We used to come here all the time,” she whispered. “Emma and I would throw pennies and make the dumbest wishes.”
