My vision is going black around the edges, my rib cage tightening as my breathing goes shallow.

A new message pops up.

RJ.Reads: Just got to the restaurant. Can’t wait to see you.

My entire body goes rigid. I don’t have time to sift through my prior conversations with RJ or mentally analyze my interactions with Ryan. I don’t have time to call my sister and get her advice. And I certainly don’t have time to sit here and freak out.

I need to go. Now.

Teetering in my heels, I hurry down the street to the restaurant. My legs are wobbly, my mind a whirling tornado—shock and confusion and a thousand questions.

How is this possible? Does he know? If he does, why didn’t he tell me? If he doesn’t, will he be happy? Am I happy? What if I’m wrong? Do I want to be wrong?

A rush of impending doom overwhelms me, and I falter. But it’s too late. I’m at the restaurant, and my eyes are scanning the crowd gathered at the entrance. There: Dark blue suit. Light blue shirt. A red rose in the lapel and a bouquet of daisies in his hands.

I slowly lift my eyes to his face and—

All the breath rushes out of my lungs. It’s Ryan.

He’s pale and fidgety and nervous looking. But none of the shock I feel is written on his face.

“You knew,” I whisper.

He blinks. “Wait—did you know?”

I nod, dazed. It was one thing to stare at my phone and put the pieces together. Quite another to stand here, facing him, knowing it for certain. My throat tightens with a feeling somewhere between anger and betrayal.

“Why didn’t you tell me—is this some kind of weird game?”

“No. Of course not.” Ryan takes a step forward, eyes flashing with panic. “Josie. I—I’ve been trying to tell you, I swear, but every time I asked about meeting in person…”

I said no. I kept asking him to be patient, to wait until I was ready—and he did. He did exactly what I asked. So why does my chest hurt so much? Why am I fighting tears and struggling to catch my breath?

“It’s really you?” My voice is faint.

He nods, the bouquet drooping in one hand. “It’s me. Ryan James Lawson.”

“How did you figure it out?” I ask, staring up at him in disbelief.

“I saw you reading—”

“The Princess Bride,” I say, gasping. “You knew before we went to Maine?”

He winces.