Is this how you define love? Acting selflessly with the innate desire to make someone happy by any means necessary? Even if that means a happiness without you?

“As someone who recently went through this, I can admit it’s scary,” Jack says. “Don’t be like me and try to leave. Don’t give up. If you do, there’s no guarantee she’ll come after you. If you want to be with her, it’s worth the risk to share your feelings with her. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”

“Okay.” I exhale. My limbs are lighter, and it’s not from the alcohol. These are my guys, my best friends, and if they think I can get through this, I do too—no matter how fucking terrifying it is. “Yes, I want her. Just her. I think about her at night and when I wake up. Not like that, you pervs.” I throw my napkin at the snickering pair across from me. “I miss her smile.”

I think of all the other parts of her I miss. How the corner of her mouth dips down when she’s thinking hard; it’s not a frown but more of a pensive look. Her eyes sparkling brighter when she’s talking about something or someone she loves. The delicate hands that fit so perfectly in mine. The faint trail of freckles scattered across her nose, more prominent when the sun is setting, casting a halo around her blonde hair.

“Okay, Shakespeare, calm down,” Neil laughs. “We’re not telling you to write her a sonnet. We want to make sure you know you have one chance with her. Maybe. If she’ll let you have a second opportunity. You have to make a grand gesture. Stand outside her window with a boombox. Oh! Or on her porch with signs.”

“She might kill me if I do either of those.” Emma isn’t a difficult woman to understand. She’s a secret romantic who blushes while reading romance novels and likes to be told what to do. A woman who spends her evenings on the couch, switching the television between baking in tents and historical documentaries. A strong, independent person who never wears matching socks.

History.

That’s it.

I sit up straighter, an idea forming in my head.

“He has a plan,” Noah observes.

“I do,” I say excitedly. “And I’m going to need your help, and to be on standby until Emma tells me she wants to talk.”

“All of us?” Jack asks, and I nod.

“Yup. Boys, I’m going to need a shit ton of sunflowers. Some love letters. Zebra Cakes. The most ridiculous coffee order known to man. Noah, I’m going to need you to use your charm to call in a special favor.”

“To who?”

I grin conspiratorially. “You’ll see.”

FORTY-TWO

VRG: Henry?

HD: Hey, Sunflower.

VRG: Hi.