1. Emily

EMILY

"This is the saddest thing.Why did we come here again?"

I turned my head at Sabrina's huff as we headed into the catering hall.

"Because when we got the invitations, you said, ‘What the hell, let's go and see what everyone looks like.'"

She huffed at me as we navigated through the long hallways, past all the gowns and suits from the different parties that were being held here tonight, and followed the signs to the St. Kate's twentieth high school reunion.

"You couldn't have pointed out what a bad idea it was?"

"I believe I said, ‘Really, you want to go?'" I tapped my chin. "And you said, ‘Sure, it's just one night.'"

"As my best friend, you're supposed to shut me down when I suggest stupid things like this. This sad night is all your fault."

"Well, we're here now. May as well make the best of it," I said, studying the men in front of us. From a quick glimpse of their profiles, I had no clue who they were. Granted, I hadn't seen anyone from high school in a long time, but I'd figured whoever we'd run into tonight would at least look a little familiar.

"Maybe if they didn't have it in the same place as our prom. There's such a thing as too much nostalgia. And who the hell are they?" she whispered and jutted her chin to the men now signing in. "Did they even go here?"

"Why would you sneak into someone else's high school reunion?" I told her while still scrutinizing their faces.

Yep, no clue who they were—then or now.

"Easy hookup. Make up memories and then have a one-nighter for fake old times' sake," Sabrina said as she watched the tallest one stride into the reunion room. "I could pretend I knew him from high school if he wanted me to."

"That sounded like a very thought-out answer."

"It has to be better than swiping on the app, and hooking up now with someone from high school means no pesky aftermath. No rumors at school on Monday about what we did or didn't do. Could be fun." Sabrina tapped my arm as her gaze followed our possibly fake former classmates.

"Having the same boyfriend for all four years limited my high school experience, I guess," I mused as I scanned the registration table for our place cards.

"I told you that a million times, but you never listened to me. It was all Jesse, all the time." She pressed a dramatic hand to her chest.

"I was young and stupid and in love. I didn't listen to anyone else either."

"Now, wait a minute," Sabrina said, leaning over me to snatch one of the table cards. "This boring night may have just gotten interesting." She turned it around to show me the name. "Speaking of, check this out."

Jesse Evans.The name of the boy I'd loved for four straight years. The one who'd taken all my firsts and thrown them back at me when he'd ripped my heart to shreds only two weeks after graduation.

I slipped it out of her fingers, staring at the smeared blue cursive for a long minute before putting it back on the table.

"He's here. So what? He graduated with us, so this isn't a plot twist."

"But the last time we snooped for old classmates on Facebook, he was living in Seattle, remember? I can't see anyone flying in for this thing—" she grimaced as her eyes darted around the room "—so he must be back. Or within drivable distance anyway."

"I flew in for my college reunion, mostly because I didn't want to make the long drive, but a lot of my friends came in from all over the country. I'm sure people do that for high school reunions too."

Like Sabrina, I'd thought—and hoped—Jesse wouldn't be here since he'd lived across the country. I'd managed to forget about him possibly showing up until my stomach plummeted at the sight of his name.

"And if he's here, he's here. It's not like we're anything to each other anymore."

Even though I'd fought hard to push him out of my consciousness back then, his memory now crystallized all too easily and quickly in my brain. The big, dark eyes against his olive skin, the long lashes a boy shouldn't have had the right to have, and the broad shoulders that always made my heart kick up when I'd noticed him from the back in the hallways.

"But you're still pissed at him."

I finally spotted our names and scooped up our place cards.

"Why would I be pissed? It was twenty years ago." I stuffed Sabrina's card into her palm. "We're at table seven. Let's get settled and find the open bar."

I scanned the room, spotting the number 7 at the table right in front of the bar.

"Now, this is good placement," Sabrina said, tossing her purse onto the table and shrugging off her light jacket. "And broken hearts don't have time limits. It's understandable to be nervous about seeing him again."

"I'm not nervous. I'm…uneasy." I lifted a shoulder and took the seat next to Sabrina. "And it's stupid to be uneasy about seeing my high school boyfriend."

"Not stupid. You guys were close, closer than I ever got to a guy in high school." She snickered and reached for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table. "Maybe if you were in love and happily committed to someone, seeing the boy who broke your heart in high school wouldn't bother you as much."

"It doesn't bother me." I peeked at the entrance, trailing the new crowd coming into the room.

"But you're looking for him, aren't you?"

"You know, having fun at your best friend's expense is mean," I teased.

"I'm not having fun at your expense, but it does make the night slightly more exciting. And honestly, in your line of work, you should know that time means nothing to a broken heart," she said, raising her brow as she sipped from her glass. "Wow, this tastes like shit."

"Most table wines at catering halls do." I twisted the glass stem back and forth between my fingers. "And I'm an editor. I don't write love stories, at least not that often. I fix them to make sure they make sense."

"You need to know what makes a good story in order to fix them, and you were always a hopeless romantic. Another reason why all the first-love memories may be throwing you a little."

"I edit all genres, not just romance."

With the travel back and forth to grueling games all over the country during college, I'd lost whatever interest I'd once had in pursuing a lifelong career in sports, but books had remained my solace whenever life became stressful or upsetting.

It was a cheap and convenient defense mechanism I'd learned as a kid with a working single mother who could only afford the bare minimum.

My full sports scholarship ended up financing a degree in communications and English, and now, I read for a living.

While, yes, I still enjoyed reading romance and allowed myself to get lost in a story, after my engagement had imploded a few years ago when we were just months away from the wedding, I'd filed true love under fiction, just like the dragons in the paranormal novel I'd edited last week.

The irony of helping to craft perfect happily ever afters when I couldn't figure out one for myself was not lost on me.

"Again, he was your first love. It's hard to forget that magic, you know?" Her smile was wistful as she lifted a shoulder. "All that sloppy passion mixed in with raging hormones. It warps your mind."

I ignored Sabrina and picked up the program on the table, flipping through until I found my soccer team championship photo. In it, I beamed at the camera, my rosy cheeks obvious even in the black-and-white image. I could still feel the clueless and pure happiness radiating from me.

"What's that? A yearbook?" Sabrina's brows drew together as she glanced over my shoulder.

"Sort of. It looks like someone just pieced together photos from senior year."

"Oh good, a refresher." Sabrina snatched the program from my hand. "Maybe if these shots have captions, we can figure out who some of these people are." She turned the program around, pointing to my soccer team picture. "Damn, girl, look at those quads."

I cracked up at Sabrina's whistle. "It was all those drills." I rubbed my thigh, remembering the pain accompanied by the bile rising in my throat when daily practice became torturous enough to want to throw up.

"Yeah. That's why I always told you to roll up your skirt more. I was jealous of your legs in high school. Not jealous enough to run back and forth after dismissal kicking a soccer ball, but still."

"They aren't bad now, though." I uncrossed my legs and stretched one out, circling my wedge-heeled foot.

"Yep. You still got it, my friend." She patted my knee and scrunched her nose at the cluster of men settling across the table. "I wonder how many weirdos are here that we forgot about in high school," she whispered.

"Nice to see you ladies," one of the men called out to us, raising a beer bottle in our direction.

I nodded back, sneaking a look at Sabrina. She closed her eyes and gave me a quick shake of her head.

"You played soccer, right?" The taller one leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing me as he ran his thumb along his bearded jaw. "Ellie?"

"Emily," I corrected. No, they weren't crashers, but I still couldn't place them.

"I'm sorry for being rude, but I can't place you."

He regarded me as if I'd just lapsed into a different language.

"Gage Sheridan. I guess you were so busy with soccer, you didn't go to any football games." He chuckled as his two sidekicks snickered next to him.

"No shit," Sabrina said, her jaw slack. "Sorry, but I didn't recognize you either."

Gage had been the high school quarterback, with the ego to match his massive shoulders. While I worked out to be healthy and liked to think I still looked good, I was nowhere near the stellar athletic shape I'd been in back in high school and college. Judging by the two-sizes-too-small suit he was sporting like a peacock, he lacked the awareness of who he was now, post-athlete life. I felt bad for the guy as the waistband of his pants appeared to be cutting off his circulation.

"I was busy with soccer and knew who you were then, but I would never have recognized you now." I shrugged, pursing my lips for effect. "Sorry."

"Maybe we can all get reacquainted?" The friend on his left quirked a brow at us. Once I pictured his shiny head with hair, I realized who he was. All three had been on the football team and wouldn't give the girls soccer team the time of day, even though we were the ones with the championship banners hanging in the gym.

I didn't hide my eye roll as I turned to Sabrina.

"Cocktail?"

"God, yes," Sabrina breathed out before popping out of her seat. "And we give this an hour before we get out of here," she whispered behind me.

"I'd like to eat the plate I paid for." I glowered back at Gage and his crew when I spotted them gawking at us. "We'll give it at least two hours."

"I can't believe this shitty turnout," Sabrina said after she ordered our drinks.

"They tried. I guess. Graduates move away or aren't interested. It's probably hard to get people to come."

"Or get people to care to come."

I shrugged. "Maybe reunions just suck in general."

"But the cocktails don't," Sabrina sputtered, setting the glass on the bar after her first sip. "Now that's a drink."

I eyed her over the rim as I sipped my gin and tonic, wincing after the initial burn rolled down my throat.

"It sure is. We're here, so let's make the best of it." I clinked my glass with Sabrina's. "To old times. May we push past them so we can have good ones."

Sabrina's smile was sad as she nodded.

"I will one thousand percent drink to that."

"Sabrina? I thought that was you!"

Our heads whipped around to a—finally—familiar voice.

"Caden! Holy shit, how are you?"

I stuffed a single in the bartender's tip jar as they embraced in a long hug. It took me back to the days I used to warn Sabrina about the weird friends-with-sometimes-benefits relationship they'd had, but watching them simply enjoy seeing each other again made me smile, despite the twinge of envy at their unburdened history.

I reached back to the bar for a napkin as they got reacquainted, but I didn't realize someone was standing right behind me and lost my footing. I tried to grab on to something for purchase but tripped, almost dropping my drink as I fell back into a hard, broad chest.

"I'm so sorry?—"

I gazed into familiar chocolate eyes, now with a few more crinkles in the corners, as a slow grin split his full lips.

"Hey, Em."