She puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine, Camden. We’ll laugh about this later.” She snorts. “I’m laughing about it now.”

  “You’re right. It’s fun just being with you. I just feel bad.”

  “Don’t. I’m having a good time.” She points at me. “But if there are heart-shaped beds and champagne glass tubs, I’m out.”

  I snort, swiping my hand down my face.

  “This is what I get for borrowing the idea from myself years ago…the last time I almost asked you out on a date…”

  “What? You’ve never come anywhere close to asking me out…where was I?” She laughs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SEASONS

  JULIANA

  Past: Juju, age 21, Camden, age 23

  It felt so good to be home. I’d opted to go to Chicago to earn my bachelor’s degree in culinary arts. Goldie was brave to go all the way to California for college, and I’d been tempted to go with her, but being that far from home felt like too much. Chicago already felt too far to me, but at least I’d be able to drive home in a day if I needed to.

  Truth be told, I was a Midwest girl through and through. I could appreciate California and had enjoyed it many times during my visits to see Goldie, but there was so much that I loved about Minnesota…and Chicago too. I loved the seasons, and I loved waiting with anticipation for the leaves to change, bundling up in the winter, and feeling the awe and wonder that came when everything that had looked dry and dead and hopeless sprang back to life in the spring.

  But what I loved most was when everyone was in St. Paul…or Windy Harbor…it didn’t matter which place, as long as we were together. As we got older, it had become harder for the Whitmans and Fairs to all be in one place at the same time. So when we were invited to the Whitmans’ house one night while I was home for winter break, I couldn’t wait to get there.

  Game night at the Whitmans’ had always been chaos, but it was exactly what I’d craved while I was away. Between the snacks our moms had laid out, Goldie’s excited chatter, Dylan’s loud storytelling, Tully’s heckling of everyone before we’d even picked teams, and Noah’s cuddling with his girlfriend Margo, who were stealing kisses every chance they got, the place felt like it was vibrating with energy and laughter.

  I hadn’t seen Camden in a long time. He had taken France by storm. He worked at a prestigious restaurant there and was gaining a lot of recognition as an up-and-coming chef. He was living a life I couldn’t imagine. And yet, there he was, sitting on the arm of the couch with his sleeves rolled up and his hair falling into his eyes, looking completely down to earth. And gorgeous. Always gorgeous.

  We hadn’t talked about prom night since it happened, but things had been different after that. Softer edges. I no longer hated him for ditching my friendship all those years ago, though sometimes that old sting pricked if I thought about it too long. Still, he was easier to look at now without wanting to throw something at his pretty face.

  Tully held up his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, teams. I’m gonna do the one, two, one, two thing, and then get in your spots.”

  Camden and I ended up on the same team. He came to sit beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. My stomach gave the tiniest flip. So ridiculous. We played Pictionary, a tradition the Whitmans always wanted to maintain—I think because they had a family full of artists. Let’s just say, my skills lay elsewhere.

  Jackson grabbed a marker and immediately drew something that looked like a potato with legs.

  “Is that supposed to be a horse?” Goldie doubled over laughing. “That’s a horse?”

  “Shut up,” Jackson said, laughing along with her. “It’s obviously a horse.”

  “It’s obviously roadkill,” Tully said.

  The next few minutes, I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. Camden leaned close enough for me to feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine.

  “We’ve got this,” he murmured.

  “Don’t be so sure. I haven’t suddenly developed drawing skills since I last played this,” I said.

  His smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “I can carry us.”

  I didn’t know why my stomach kept diving every time he looked at me or said something, but it was dipping all over the place.

  When our turn came, Camden pulled the slip from the bowl and glanced at me before crouching at the whiteboard.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” he said under his breath.

  I watched his hand move—precise, deliberate strokes, like he actually knew what he was doing. A triangle with something swirling out of it. A stick figure.

  “Uh, house fire?” I guessed.

  Camden pointed at me with the marker, eyes lit up. “Closer.”

  “Bonfire? Fireman?”

  “Yes!” he crowed when I got it, slapping the marker down and looking pleased with himself.

  “You got fireman out of that?” Jackson complained.

  There were a few good-natured boos, and Dylan threw a pretzel at us.

  Camden ducked, grinning. “See? We’re a dream team.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “Too late,” he said, nudging my side.

  Every nerve ending fired and my face heated. I was glad everyone was focused on the game.

  We carried on with more bad drawings, more ridiculous guesses, and more laughter than my stomach could handle. And every time Camden leaned close to whisper a guess, or caught my eye across the board with that secret little grin, I felt it in my gut. I had no idea if it was my imagination or if there was a weird current between us that hadn’t been there before.

  Maybe he still felt sorry for me. Prom had been years ago, and I’d had way better boyfriends than Eric, but it was possible that that night was the memory of me that was stuck in Camden’s head.

  Either way, in the past, I would’ve hated being on a team with him, and this time, I found that I didn’t mind it anymore. At all.

  “No one guesses orangutan that fast without peeking!” Dylan yelled at Tully, and the whole room dissolved into laughter.

  I slipped away to the kitchen for a glass of water. I took a minute to drink it, enjoying the quiet for a second. I was leaning against the counter when Camden walked in, head ducked, like he’d had the same idea.

  “Oh—sorry,” he said, stopping short.

  I moved at the same time, which made us bump shoulders. My glass sloshed, dangerously close to spilling.

  “Watch it,” I said, half laughing, half flustered.

  He reached out instinctively, steadying my wrist before I could drop it.

  “Guess I’ll always be crashing into you. Our origin story coming around full circle again and again,” he said softly.

  The heat of his hand lingered on my skin, and I pulled back reluctantly. “Some things never change.”

  He smiled, softer than his usual smirk, and it made my chest feel strange. “You were good out there,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Turns out I’m excellent at stick figures.”

  “That, and we seemed to know what the other person was thinking, whether the drawings were good or not.” His eyes caught mine, playful. “I drew a circle and you yelled, ‘Santa!’ before I even got to the beard or hat!”

  We laughed. I didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at me, so I filled the glass again just to have something to hold.

  “We did make a pretty good team,” I said.

  “Pretty good.” He nodded. “That’s high praise from you.” His voice had a teasing lilt, but it was quieter, almost thoughtful.

  The noise from the living room surged—Noah shouting, Goldie cackling—and the spell snapped. Camden stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably get back.”

  “Right.” I nodded, clutching the glass.

  As we walked back into the room, I couldn’t shake the awareness of his shoulder brushing mine.

  He leaned in. “Hey, if you’re not too busy, would you want to––”

  There was a loud roar of laughter from everyone, and we glanced over, startled. Goldie waved us over.

  “You’ve got to hear this,” she said, but before she could say anything else, Stella breezed into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  Stella Whitman was one of the most beautiful humans ever…one of my favorite people on earth. Besides being gorgeous, she was warm, and kindness seeped out of her pores. She and my mom had been best friends since the time we moved into this neighborhood, and they were more like sisters at this point. Goldie and I had gone on many little getaways with our moms and always had the best time. I’d missed her almost as much as I’d missed Goldie while I’d been away at school.

  “You kids are eating me out of house and home,” she said, shaking her head, though her smile was full of affection. “I’m going to run to the store and grab a few more things before you empty out the pantry completely.”

  There was a chorus of protests and offers to go with her, but Stella waved everyone off. “I’ll be quick. You won’t even miss me. Keep playing. I love the sound of all my kids here.” She smiled at all of us. “Love all of you people,” she said, giving Everett a kiss.

  “Love you!” everyone called out.

  “Carefully, babe, the snow is picking up out there,” Everett said.

  “Okay, I will,” she said, giving him one more kiss.

  The door shut behind her, and the game carried on. But after a while—forty-five minutes, then an hour—Everett called her. While it was ringing, he asked, “Has anyone heard from Mom?”

  They checked their phones, and no one had gotten a text or call. Thirty minutes later and still no sign of her, Noah got up. “I can go look for her.”

  “She probably ran into someone she knows,” Goldie said, though her voice had a brittle edge.

  The room’s energy had shifted. Worry threaded into the sudden silence.

  The knock at the door startled all of us. Dylan was the closest, and he swung it open.

  Two strangers stood there—a man in uniform, and a woman holding a small folder pressed to her chest. They both had the kind of expressions you only ever see in moments when words are about to shatter someone’s world. I felt like I was watching a movie, and dread bled through me.

  “Mr. Whitman?” the man asked, scanning the room. “Everett Whitman?”

  When he saw Camden’s dad rise from his chair, his face tightened.

  “I’m afraid we have some difficult news,” he said.

  The woman stepped forward, her voice gentle. “Your wife, Stella—there was a car accident. She didn’t survive. I’m so sorry.”

  For a beat, everything froze. The drawings lay scattered on the table, Goldie’s marker still uncapped, a pretzel perched in Tully’s finger.

  And then the silence cracked open. Goldie made a choking sound that didn’t sound like her. Noah swore, shaking his head as if refusing to let the words in. Dylan’s bravado collapsed; he folded in on himself. Tully’s face went blank, but his hands clenched into fists so tight they went white.

  And Camden⁠—

  I’d never seen him look small before. Not at seven, not at seventeen, or twenty-one riding in to save the day. But now he looked like a little boy. Gutted, like the ground had given way beneath him and there was nothing to grab onto.

  I wanted to reach for him, to say something, anything—but the words stuck in my throat. All I could do was stand there with my own heart breaking, watching the Whitmans’ world, and ours too, tilt on its axis in a way none of us could ever fix.

  My mom walked in from the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked, her face draining with color like she already felt the worst. She moved to me, and I whispered what had happened. Her face broke, and I held her up as she wept.

  I didn’t leave that night. None of us did. There was no way I could have walked out, not when Goldie’s whole body shook against me as she sobbed into my shoulder. I held her like I’d never let go, whispering useless words that did nothing but fill the space between her gasps for air. And then just being quiet to listen.

  By morning, Erin was there too. She’d driven in from Windy Harbor as soon as she heard. She looked exhausted, her hair in a messy knot, so unlike her normally perfect pinup-with-an-edge look. Her arms wrapped around both Goldie and me the second she walked through the door.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” she said, her voice thick.

  The three of us stuck close, moving together through the house as casseroles and condolences started pouring in. We tried to do small things—refilling coffee cups, finding tissues, keeping track of who had eaten. But mostly, we just sat with Goldie, letting her cry, letting her talk, letting her be silent.

  The Whitman house didn’t sound the same anymore. I’d never heard it so quiet. The laughter was gone, swallowed by the heavy silence of grief. Every sibling wore it differently, and Camden disappeared. Not physically—he was there, always in the room, always within sight—but it was like he’d built walls overnight. He didn’t sit with us, didn’t let anyone touch him. When I tried—once, softly—just a hand on his arm, he jumped like I’d burned him.

  Later, in the kitchen, I found him gripping the counter so hard his knuckles were white. And then he got something out of the freezer, and I heard him talking about a recipe under his breath. “I think it’ll be enough for everyone,” he said.

  “Camden,” I whispered, not even sure what I could say.

  “Goldie needs you,” he said, his voice raw, his eyes blazing.

  I froze.

  He turned away, but I saw that the tears had finally broken through.

  “I can make food for everyone, if you’re hungry. I’m here for you too, you know, if you need me,” I whispered.

  “I don’t,” he said.

  It hit like a slap. But I didn’t hold it against him.

  I went back to Goldie. Back to the one thing I could do: be the friend she needed. Erin squeezed my hand tight, grounding me, as Goldie leaned against us, her sobs quieting into hiccups.

  What I didn’t realize that night was that whatever closeness I’d felt with Camden was gone. And it would be a long time before he’d let anyone get close again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  FIFTY SHADES OF BROWN

  CAMDEN

  Present

  We’re shivering by the time we close the door of our motel room. We both stand there, staring in shock at the most hideous room I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Brown. There’s so much brown everywhere, so even if it were new decor, which it’s very much not, it would still look dirty. Brown carpet, brown bedspread, brown headboard, tan walls, brown table, artwork with a deer, so also brown…it’s absolutely everywhere, and everything looks like it’s on its last leg. I guess the only other color that would be worse in this head-to-toe lineup would be nausea green, but the brown is right up there. Speaking of up, I glance at the ceiling and see huge wet spots. The room smells damp and like the deer from the picture might’ve run through it and rolled on everything.

  “Oh, Juju. I am so sorry. What have I gotten us into?”

  She laughs. “Well, this is something.”

  “You’re not lying. Can we even do this?”

  “Of course we can. We can do anything,” she says.

  “I had such different visions of how this night would go.” I reach out to take her hand and thread my fingers through hers. “Is the heater even working? It feels just as cold in here as it does outside.”

  “It sounds like it’s working. Maybe it was just turned on right before we got here.”

  “Hopefully it’ll kick in soon. I’m scared of what might be in that bed.” I look at her with a hopeless expression. “We can safely say our first date is not going great, is it?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve had a great time. I’ve never seen such gorgeous northern lights, our picnic was delicious––”

  “There’s more if you’re still hungry,” I say, lifting the picnic basket in my other hand.

  “I’m good,” she says.

  “What about me? How would you rate me after this date? On a scale of one to ten…”

  “Hmm.” She taps her chin and studies me. “The picnic wins you extra points…and so does the creativity of a drive to see the outrageous sky.” She squints and puckers her lips, and I want to kiss them right off. “So I think I’d give you a solid…five.”

  “Five!” I croak.

  She giggles.

  “Damn. And that’s with the extra points? After you’ve had a great time?” I set the picnic basket on the table. It looks only slightly better than any other surface in the room. Then I walk back and put my hands on her waist. “What can I do to improve my score?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “How would you rate the date?”

  “I’d say an eight, and the only thing subtracting those two points would be this dive we’re in right now.” I lean my face closer to hers. “Those kisses in the SUV seemed like you were enjoying yourself.” She fights back a smile, and I laugh as I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “I knew it. You like me more than you’re letting on.”

  “You’re all right.”

  I tug her against me, and even in our wet coats, I feel heated just from being this close to her. “You’re more than all right. You’re incredible. You have been impressing me for as long as I’ve known you. And now that I know how it feels to kiss you, I’m blown away.” I touch my lips to hers and then press the lightest kiss on her mouth, down her jaw, and over to her ear, where I whisper, “Admit it. You––”

  Just then, the loudest wail comes from the heater next to the window, and Juju jumps in my arms.

  “What just happened?” She peers around my shoulder to look at the heater. “It’s not running anymore.”

  Sure enough, the loud rattle that’s been steady since we walked in is gone. It’s like the still of the snowfall outside has moved into this room.

 

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