Page 21 of The Four Engagement Rings of Sybil Rain

“Now I definitely do,” he said, his voice low and full. And then he pulled me toward him and kissed me.

F LASHES OF WHAT HAPPENED after that first kiss are making my whole body sweat with pleasurable memories, and I have to do something to refocus on the present or risk hyperventilating in the resort kitchen.

For his part, Jamie is fully focused on the pancakes, checking the doneness once again, thankfully oblivious to what I’m going through.

But as I come back to the moment, all those butterfly feelings of when we first met start to flutter away, and I feel lost again, wondering what went so wrong—or if it had always been doomed from the start. Just another “fantasy.”

But just like that night in Tahoe, I can’t bear to not know anymore.

“Um, Jamie?” I take a breath. “There’s something I have to tell you. About our wedding weekend…”

He stills, the hand holding the spatula freezing in midair. Then he turns away from the stove and folds his arms protectively across his chest.

“Okay.” He says it like he’s bracing himself.

Okay , I repeat internally, trying to figure out where to start.

“That day we all checked into the hotel in Malibu, I overheard a conversation between you and Amelia.” Jamie’s brow furrows, but he waits for me to continue.

“I overheard her say I wasn’t ‘marriage material.’” I swallow, willing myself the strength to be vulnerable.

“That really hurt, Jamie. It fed into all my worst insecurities about how I wasn’t good enough for you. ”

“Sybil,” Jamie says in a whisper, his hand coming to rest on top of mine. “I’m so sorry.”

I suddenly feel hot—confessing to my deepest fears is, well, terrifying. Except I quickly realize that fear isn’t the only thing making my face warm. A few curls of gray smoke are drifting up from the pan on the stove behind him. “Um, Jamie—”

“Please, Sybil. Let me say this. My sister has always been overprotective of me. But that doesn’t excuse what she said. And I told her that. But I think I was worried too—”

“No, Jamie, the—”

“Because you weren’t the only one who let their insecurities get the better of them, Sybil. I think I—”

“ Jamie! The pancakes!”

He finally whips around to face the stove and lets out a swear when he sees the smoke billowing from the pan.

I hop off the counter and hand him a dish cloth to use as an oven mitt.

He wraps it around his hand before grabbing the pan and pulling it off the burner.

I reach around him to turn off the stove.

Jamie uses the spatula to scrape the pancakes free of the pan and slide them onto the cutting board.

From the top, you wouldn’t know something was even wrong.

Two perfectly golden pancakes smile up at us.

I reach for the spatula that Jamie has discarded on the counter and flip them over.

Sure enough: burned to a crisp. Jamie and I stand shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the blackened circles.

“Damn it. I’m sorry, Sybs.” His voice is grave.

“It’s totally fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I like stuff well-done anyway.”

“Okay…” he says, unconvinced. “Well, bon appétit, I guess.”

I glance over at him and see his brow furrowed in the way I remember—a little crease right between his eyes. He looks so disappointed with himself. But also, slightly like a puppy who’s frustrated he can’t catch his own tail.

So endearing, and yet so ridiculous. He looks like my Jamie.

I can’t help it. A laugh bubbles up my throat.

I clap a hand to my mouth to smother it, but it’s too late.

Jamie’s eyes fly to mine. I start to apologize, but before I can, he starts laughing too.

It’s the most beautiful sound. I start to laugh even harder, until both of us are giggling like children, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes.

Tears of happiness, relief, and sadness at what could have been.

After we’ve collected ourselves, Jamie reaches across my body to grab the knife from where he left it on the counter.

He uses the edge of the blade to scrape off the worst of the charred bits, then grabs a bottle of syrup.

“We should really let them cool off a little,” he says almost to himself before glancing over at me.

But my desperation for carbs and sugar must be plastered across my face, because then he adds, “What the hell.” There’s no more hesitation when he forks a bite and this time, he does feed it to me.

“Oh my gawd,” I say around a mouthful of sweet, melted-butter fluffiness. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Jamie quirks an eyebrow at me. “You sure about that?”

For a second, I’m confused, but then I see a devilish glint in his eyes and realize that James Samuel Kauffman has just made a dirty joke.

“Jamie!” I can feel my cheeks redden as my mind is flooded with a few choice memories.

He just shoots me a devastating smile and bites into his own pancake.

Just then, the overhead lights snap on. I wince at the harshness of the industrial glare and turn toward the kitchen’s double doors.

“What are you doing in here?” says the gruff voice of a man who is presumably one of Halia Falls’s chefs arriving for his morning shift.

My eyes fly to Jamie’s.

“What do we do?”

Jamie grabs my hand, and I know what he’s about to say before he says it.

Because I’ve felt this way a thousand times before.

The racing heart, the wild eyes. Adrenaline surging through my veins.

Only this time, I’m not bolting alone. Jamie is right here with me, gripping my hand in his like he never wants to let go.

“Run.”