Thirty-six hours later, I still haven’t spoken to Jasmine. I can’t. I’m back to feeling like it was all in my head, like I’ve gone ahead and come out to my friends, and for what? What if she’s changed her mind since the night of the dance? What if she’s mad I didn’t go after her? What if she thinks I’m still with Chase?

Part of me is so angry we didn’t have this conversation back when we were exchanging heart emojis, letting a tiny little picture in a text thread mask everything we had to say to each other, everything we felt. I wouldn’t have had to hurt Chase; I wouldn’t have had to keep secrets from everyone …

But, if that hadn’t all happened, would I ever have been able to get here?

And where exactly is here, anyway?

I just want to see her. When she’d first mentioned coming to this event, I was horrified at the thought of her showing up, but … I can’t help wishing she had. These books were something I’d shared with her, something she knew mattered deeply to me. Hell, these books were directly responsible for making sure that night by the bonfire wasn’t a one-time thing.

I really want to share this with her.

There’s more applause, and I realize Clementine’s done with her reading, and I quickly join in the clapping. After, Beth takes questions, and I force myself to clear my head and listen, knowing I’ll regret it if I miss out on her wisdom.

“Where does the inspiration for your work come from?” asks a woman in a green sweater, twisting a long strand of pearls around her fingers.

“Pretty much everywhere,” Clementine says with a smile. “This story in particular was inspired by a similar mishap on one of my vacations. Another woman took my suitcase by accident, and it made me wonder what it would be like to stumble into someone else’s life when you’re most in need of a change. Everything kind of spun off from there.”

Green Sweater looks satisfied, and Beth takes the mic from her and hands it to a woman in a sleeveless denim shirt whose chunky rings flash in the light.

“How does your husband feel about you writing romance, specifically explicit sex scenes? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well, neither is he,” Clementine says with a wink, and everyone laughs and applauds.

That’s when I hear it—the familiar jingle of bangle bracelets. I crane my neck and sure enough, there’s Jasmine, casual and beautiful in a soft pink sweater and jeans, her dark waves cascading over her shoulders.

She’s here.