I hadn’t planned to fly to Ohio.
I made it all the way to the airport for my New Zealand flight, but when boarding started, all I could think about was Jules. What she was doing, how she was doing, whether she’d landed safely. The hikes and activities I’d spent months planning held as much interest to me as watching paint dry.
So, instead of flying to my number two bucket list destination (after Antarctica), I’d headed straight to the ticket counter and bought the next flight to Columbus.
Trading New Zealand for Whittlesburg. I was truly fucked in the head, and I couldn’t even bring myself to be mad about it.
“Gird your loins,” Jules said as we made a left onto a quiet, tree-lined street. “You’re about to get your mind blown.”
After I dropped off my bag, I’d convinced her to join me on my museum outing. Perhaps I should’ve chosen a more interesting excuse than a crochet museum, but I read about it on my bus ride from Columbus and it was listed as the town’s top attraction. That had to count for something, right?
My eyebrows rose. “Did you just use the phrase gird your loins? What are you, eighty?”
“For your information, Stanley Tucci’s character uses it in The Devil Wears Prada, and both Stanley and the movie are amazing.”
“Yeah, and how old is the amazing Stanley?”
Jules cast a sidelong glance in my direction. “I don’t appreciate the snark, especially considering the free, in-depth tour I just gave you.”
I fought a smile. “It was a fifteen-minute walk, Red.”
“During which I pointed out the town’s best restaurant, the bowling alley, the shop that had a ten-second cameo in a Bruce Willis movie, and the hair salon where I got bangs for a brief, horrifying time in high school,” she said. “That’s priceless information, Chen. You can’t find that anywhere in guidebooks.”
“I’m pretty sure I can find the first three in guidebooks.” I tugged on a lock of her hair. “Not a fan of bangs?”
“Absolutely not. Bangs and pink eyeshadow. My hard nos.”
“Hmm, I think you’d look good with bangs.” Jules would look good with anything.
Even now, with purple shadows smudged beneath her eyes and lines of tension bracketing her mouth, she was so fucking beautiful I couldn’t stop looking at her.
Her looks hadn’t changed drastically over the years, but something had changed.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Before, Jules was beautiful in the way grass was green and oceans were deep. It was a fact of life, but not something that particularly touched me.
Now, she was beautiful in a way that made me want to drown in her, to let her fill every inch of my soul until she fucking consumed me. It didn’t matter if it killed me, because in a world where I was surrounded by death, she was the only thing that made me feel alive.
“Trust me, I don’t. Anyway, enough about my hair.” Jules swept her arm at the building before us. “Behold, the world-famous Betty Jones Crochet Museum.”
My gaze lingered on her as we walked toward the entrance. “Looks impressive.”
I couldn’t have told you the color of the building if you put a gun to my head.
Half an hour and several mind-numbingly boring displays later, I finally yanked myself out of my Jules-induced trance, only to wish I hadn’t.
“What the fuck is that?” I pointed at a blue crochet…dog? Wolf? Whatever it was, its face was lopsided, and its beady crystal eyes glinted menacingly at us from its perch on the shelf, like it was pissed we’d invaded its personal space.
This was what I got for being distracted. If I died at the hands of a haunted toy, I was going to be pissed.
Jules squinted at the little gold plaque beneath the wolf/dog. “It was one of Betty’s daughter’s favorite toys,” she said. “Hand crocheted by a famous local artisan and gifted to her for her fifth birthday.”
“It looks demonic.”
“It does not.” She stared at the toy, which glared back at us. I could’ve sworn its lip curled into a snarl. “But, uh, let’s move on.”
“You know what, I think I’ve had enough crochet for the day.” I’d paid my dues. It was time to get the fuck out of here before the toys came to life a la Night at the Museum. “Unless you want to stare at more quilts and possessed toys.”
Jules’s mouth twitched. “You sure? You did abandon New Zealand for this world-famous museum. You should get your money’s worth.”
“Oh, I did.” My money’s and my nightmare’s worth. I rested my hand on Jules’s lower back and guided her toward the exit. “I’m good, trust me. I’d rather see the rest of town.”
“We already saw most of it on our walk here. Everything else is residential.”
Jesus. “There has to be something we missed. What’s your favorite place in town?”
We stepped out into the dying afternoon light. Golden hour was melting into twilight, and long shadows stretched across the sidewalks as we walked toward downtown.
“It closed an hour ago,” Jules said.
“I want to see it anyway.”
She cast me a strange look but shrugged. “If you insist.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at an ancient-looking bookstore. It was stuffed in between a thrift shop and a Chinese takeout joint, and the words Crabtree Books were scrawled across the dark windows in chipped red paint.
“It’s the only bookstore in town,” Jules said. “I didn’t tell any of my friends, because reading wasn’t considered cool, but it was my favorite place to hang out, especially on rainy days. I came here so often I memorized all the books on the shelves, but I liked browsing it every weekend anyway. It was comforting.” A wry smile touched her lips. “Plus, I knew for a fact I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew here.”
“It was your haven.”
Her face softened with nostalgia. “Yeah.”
My mouth curved at the mental image of a young Jules sneaking into a bookstore and hiding from her friends. A few months ago, when the only Jules I knew was the snarky, hard-partying one, I would’ve called bullshit. But now, I could see it.
Actually, save for Bridget’s bachelorette, it had been a while since I saw Jules party the way she had in college. Hell, it’d been a while since I partied the way I had in college.
Our first impressions stick with us the longest, but contrary to popular opinion, some people do change. The only problem is, they change faster than our prejudices do.
“Do you have a favorite book?” I wanted to know everything about Jules. What she liked, what she hated, what books she read and what music she listened to. Every crumb of information I could get to fill my insatiable need for her.
“I can’t choose one.” She sounded appalled. “That’s like asking someone to choose a favorite ice cream flavor.”
“Easy. Rocky Road for me, salted caramel for you.” I grinned at her scowl. “Your favorite flavor for everything is salted caramel.”
“Not everything,” she muttered. “Fine. If I had to choose one book, just based on how many times I reread it…” Her cheeks colored. “Don’t laugh, because I know it’s a cliché choice and a children’s book, but…Charlotte’s Web. The family that lived in our house before us left a copy behind, and it was the only book I owned as a kid. I was obsessed to the point I refused to let my mom kill any spiders in case it was Charlotte.”
My grin widened. “That’s fucking adorable.”
The pink on her cheeks deepened. “I was young.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
A small smile touched Jules’s mouth, but she didn’t say anything else as we departed from the bookstore.
It was near dinnertime, so we stopped by the diner she dubbed the best restaurant in town before heading back to the hotel.
“This place has the best burgers.” She flipped through the menu, her face alight with anticipation. “It’s one of the few things I missed about Whittlesburg.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I glanced at the red vinyl booths, black and white checkered floors, and the old jukebox in the corner. “This place reminds me of an eighties movie set.”
She laughed. “Probably because the original owner was a big eighties movie fan. We used to hang out here all the time when I was in high school. It was the place to see and be seen. One time—”
“Jules? Is that you?”
Jules’s face paled.
I turned to the speaker, my muscles already coiled in anticipation of a fight, but my tension melted into confusion when I saw who stood next to our table.
The woman was probably in her mid-twenties, though her makeup and platinum bob made her look older. She wore a tight red top and an expectant expression as she stared at Jules.
“It is you!” she exclaimed. “Jules Miller! I can’t believe it. I didn’t know you were back in town! It’s been what, seven years?”
Miller? What the fuck?
I glanced at Jules, who pasted on an obviously fake smile. “Around that time, yeah. How are you, Rita?”
“Oh, you know. Married, two kids, working at my mom’s salon. Same as everyone else, ‘cept for the salon part.” Rita’s eyes lit with interest as she looked me over. “Who’s this?”
“Josh,” I said when Jules remained silent. I didn’t add a label. I wouldn’t know which one to use.
“Nice to meet you, Josh,” Rita purred. “We don’t see the likes of you around here often.”
I managed a polite smile.
Rita seemed harmless enough, but the tension emanating from Jules was so thick I could taste it.
“What’ve you been up to all this time?” Rita shifted her attention back to Jules when I didn’t engage further. “You just disappeared. No goodbyes, no nothing.”
“College.”
Jules didn’t elaborate, but the other woman pressed further. “Where at?”
“It’s small. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
My eyebrows winged up. Thayer was small, but it was one of the most renowned universities in the country. I bet my medical degree a majority of people have heard of it.
“Well, you were lucky to get out when you did.” Rita sighed. “This place sucks the soul out of you, ya know? But what can you do?” She shrugged. “By the way, I’m sorry about what happened with your mom and Alastair. That was crazy.”
“The house fire? That happened years ago,” Jules said.
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Rita waved a hand in the air. “Didn’t you hear? Alastair got caught having sex with one of his business associates’ daughters. She was sixteen, so it was technically legal under state law, but…” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “Anyway, his business associate went apeshit when he found out. Rumor has it he destroyed half of Alastair’s business and Alastair had to take out a bunch of loans to keep it afloat. That’s why your mom got such a small inheritance. It was all he had left. Some people say the associate was also the one who set the house on fire, but we’ll never know.”
Jesus Christ. The whole thing sounded like a daytime soap opera, but one glance at Jules chased away any disbelief I had.
She sat frozen, staring at Rita with wide eyes. Her skin matched the color of the white napkins stuffed into a little metal box on the table. “What—did my mom know? How come this wasn’t in the papers?”
“Alastair’s family kept it out of the papers,” Rita said, obviously delighted she knew something Jules didn’t. “Very hush hush, but someone leaked the info. Can you believe it? Your poor mom. Though she did know and stayed with him after so…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, what brings you back?”
“I…” Jules finally blinked. “My mom died a few days ago.”
A heavy, awkward pause hung in the air.
“Oh.” Rita cleared her throat again, her eyes darting around the diner. Crimson colored her face. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Hey, I gotta run, but it was great seeing you again and, uh, condolences.”
She rushed off, nearly knocking over a server in her haste.
Good fucking riddance.
“Old friend?” I asked.
“In the sense that she used to copy off my math tests.” Jules was starting to regain color, though the shock hadn’t fully left her expression. ”As you can probably tell, she’s the biggest gossip in town.”
“Yeah.” I eyed her with concern. “How are you feeling about the Alastair news?”
I felt partly vindicated by the man’s financial ruin, but Jules had enough going on with her mom’s death without dealing with the ghost of her disgusting stepfather.
“Shocked, but not surprised, if that makes sense.” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad Rita told me. I know they’re just rumors, but when I think about it, it all kind of makes sense—why he left my mom so little money, the mysterious circumstances surrounding the fire. At least Alastair was held somewhat accountable for the things he did.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“And now he’s dead,” Jules repeated. She huffed out a small laugh. “No need to bring up that asshole again.”
“Agreed.”
The server arrived to take our orders, and I waited until she left before I switched the subject. “So, Jules Miller, huh?”
She winced. “I changed my last name. Miller was my mom’s name. I wanted a fresh start after I left Ohio, so I applied for a legal name change.”
I almost choked on my water. “How the fuck didn’t I know this? Ava never mentioned it.”
“That’s because Ava doesn’t know. It’s just a name.” Jules fiddled with her napkin. “It’s not important.”
If it wasn’t important, she wouldn’t have changed it, but I resisted pointing that out. “How’d you come up with Ambrose?”
Some of the tension left her body, and a shadow of mischief crossed her face. “It sounds pretty.”
A laugh rose in my throat. “Well, there are worse reasons to choose a name,” I said dryly. “Is it weird, being back here?”
Jules paused before answering. “It’s funny. Before this trip, I built Whittlesburg up into this monster in my head. I had so many bad memories here—good ones too, but mostly bad. I thought coming back would be a nightmare, but other than the revelation about Alastair, it’s been so…normal. Even running into Rita wasn’t so bad.”
“The monsters in our imagination are often worse than those in reality.”
“Yeah,” Jules said softly. Her gaze lingered on mine. “And what about your monsters, Josh Chen? Are they worse in your imagination or in reality?”
A silent, charged beat passed between us while I debated my answer.
“Michael sends me letters almost every week,” I finally said. The admission tasted sour, like something I’d stored away so long it spoiled before it saw the light of day. “I don’t open them. They sit in my desk drawer, collecting dust. Every time a new one arrives, I tell myself I’ll toss it. But I never do.”
A commiserating spark glowed in her eyes.
If anyone understood the futility of wishing for a redemption arc that would never come, it was Jules.
“You said it yourself. The monsters in our imagination are often worse than those in reality.” She curled her hand over mine. “We’ll never know for sure until we face them.”
My chest squeezed. Her mother’s funeral was tomorrow, and she was comforting me.
I didn’t know how I ever thought Jules was insufferable, because as it turned out, she was pretty damn extraordinary.
