Page 11 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)

EMILY

M y heart won’t stop pounding.

Not in a cute, butterflies-in-my-stomach way—more like I’m trapped in a loop, stuck reliving the moment Cole said those things on the balcony. That voice. Those eyes.

I barely know him. We’ve shared maybe twenty minutes of actual conversation. But the way my body reacts when he looks at me like that—like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and exactly what I want—it’s messing with my head.

I open a new notebook and scribble the title: Feelings I Can’t Reveal.

Before I can get past the first line, there’s a knock at my door.

I smooth down my hair, pulse racing, and crack it open.

My mom stands there, smiling with two mugs in hand. “Feel like talking?”

“Sure…”

She steps inside like she’s been waiting for the invitation all day. “I figured it’s been, what, a week since we had some girl time?”

I take the mug. One sip in, I wrinkle my nose. “Mom. There’s alcohol in this.”

“Of course there is.” She flops onto my bed. “No sane person drinks hot cocoa in the middle of summer unless it’s spiked.”

She’s in a good mood. That’s either a sign of something going very right, or about to go very wrong.

“This place is unreal, isn’t it?” she says, glancing around the room. “Can you believe we’re living like this?”

Not really. “Yeah… It’s beautiful.”

“If only my mother could see me now. She’d lose her mind.”

“Let’s not talk about Grandma,” I say quickly, steering us away from that familiar detour to disaster. “Tell me what you did this week.”

“Oh, the usual. Walks with Aidan along the shore, brunch with his team. We even popped into the city for something special.” She pulls a slim, silk box from her purse and places it in my lap. “This is for you.”

I blink. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Inside, resting on a velvet cushion, is a single silver key.

I look up.

“It’s for your cabin at the Steinbeck Writers’ Retreat,” she says softly. “I saved up and grabbed the last slot.”

My throat tightens. “You… remembered I wanted that?”

“Of course I did.” She pulls me into a hug. “I started putting aside tips over a year ago. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to afford it, but I made it happen.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. I just hold on to her and let myself feel it—that quiet, unfamiliar warmth. Gratitude. Hope.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetie. Just promise me you’ll go. Even if everything else falls apart—go.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I will.”

She pulls back and cups my face like she’s memorizing it. “Now tell me everything I’ve missed. All the juicy details.”

“About what?”

“About this week. About you.” She leans in. “And don’t pretend nothing’s going on. You’ve been floating around like your feet barely touch the floor.”

I hesitate. Just long enough to weigh the truth.

Then I smile and reach for her thermos. “Only if there’s more where this came from.”

Her eyes light up. “Always. Now spill.”