“Never,” he says, taking a step closer to duck his head and catch my gaze with his. “None of this is anyone’s fault. Okay, maybe your father can take some of the blame.”

“And Adrian.”

“And Adrian,” he agrees. “And mistakes were definitely made by several parties, myself included. But what I’m trying to say is that there’s room for a lot of things between us, but not shame.”

My heart lifts and catches in my throat. “What about forgiveness? Is there room for that?”

“You told me to trust you. That was the last thing you told me when you were leaving in the car that night with your mom.”

“I remember.”

“No one hurts me like you do.”

A knife-like pain stabs my heart. “I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone less.”

“Josie?”

“Yes?”

“Can we just agree to smash the invisible wall for good? It’s done nothing but keep us apart, and I don’t want it up anymore. I’d rather be hurt than feel nothing at all. But right now, I’m just tired of missing you. Are you tired of missing me?”

“So very tired,” I whisper.

“Then I need to tell you one more thing. Come here and listen.”

Lucky reaches for my face, and I lean my cheek into his hand, solid and warm and familiar. Gravity tugs me into him, and his arm comes around my shoulders. He winds himself around me and pulls me closer, and we cling to each other. He’s heavy against me, a brick wall, and nothing has ever felt so good.

He doesn’t speak, but he says everything I need to know. That I’m forgiven. That it’s okay. We’re okay. That there’s a bond between us that’s changed into something different and stronger.

My best friend. My lover. My boy.

The one person in the world I can talk to without even saying a single word.

Chapter 26

NOW LEAVING BEAUTY. HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAY AND COME AGAIN SOON: Roadside sign on the highway north of Beauty, Rhode Island. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 26

October

There’s a long-held belief in my family that all the Saint-Martin women are romantically cursed: unlucky in love, doomed to end up miserable and alone.

But as my grandmother would say, that’s a load of bull.

The only thing we’re cursed with is terrible communication skills, and that has nothing to do with any kind of witchy hex. Somewhere along the line, one of the Saint-Martins was a lousy communicator, and she taught the bad habit to her daughter, who then led by example and taught it to hers. And now here we are, three generations of women all facing the fact that we’ve been repeating the same mistakes that our stupid ancestors passed down to us.