Page 268 of The Havenport Collection

Prologue

Gio

“ C an you believe it’s been twenty years?” I asked.

“God, we are so old.” She giggled.

I straightened my shoulders. “Speak for yourself, I’m still quite young.” I gave her a saucy wink.

We swayed to the music as I admired the surroundings.

The nineties theme was spot-on. Someone had DIY-ed a disco ball made of old CDs, and there was a Zach Morris cardboard cutout to take selfies with.

As much as I generally avoided these types of events, I had to admit I was having fun.

But that may have been more to do with my present dance partner.

“I hate to break it to you, but you have more than a few grays.” Sam reached up and ran her hands through my hair. It felt good—better than good. I secretly loved her hands on me. Not that I would ever admit to it. In fact, I was really, really good at hiding my attraction to Sam Sullivan.

It was Olympic level. I had been denying my feelings and desires for decades, and if I bothered to check, it would probably be a world record.

On the surface, no one knew. My twin knew, but he knew everything about me.

But to the rest of the world, I was Gio Rossi, sarcastic ladies’ man.

Not Gio Rossi, sad-sack romantic who had been in love with his best friend since childhood.

And it was not as if I had been crying myself to sleep. I’d had plenty of relationships—some serious, some casual, and some for one night—and while they were great and all, no one ever held a candle to my Sam.

I had been telling myself for years that I just hadn’t met the right woman yet. That someday I would find the one and Sam would just be a pleasant, nostalgic memory.

But I was thirty-nine and it hadn’t happened yet.

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t been trying. I had dated and wooed women in several countries. I had been on dating apps. I had done the bar scene in my younger days, and I was not one to shy away from a good time. And I was a good time. But a temporary good time was all I was usually interested in.

I wanted something more. Something real. But it just hadn’t happened. And I was beginning to think it never would.

Sam looked beautiful tonight, wearing a silver wrap dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her deep-auburn hair hung past her shoulders, and despite her makeup, I could still see the smattering of freckles across her nose.

She was always more of a tomboy growing up, but as an adult, Sam embraced dresses and makeup.

Generally I couldn’t care less, but tonight it was distracting.

And I wasn’t the only guy at our high school reunion who noticed.

I had caught Steven Jones checking her out several times and sent many angry glares his way.

He was already on his third divorce, and I still hadn’t forgiven him for how he treated her in high school.

Spending the evening at my twentieth high school reunion was not exactly my idea of a good time, but Sam had traveled all the way from Switzerland to make it.

So throwing on a collared shirt and showing up was the least I could do.

Sam lived in a world so far removed from Havenport, and we saw each other so infrequently that I would never pass up an opportunity to spend time with her.

Plus, I knew all the creeps from high school would be all over her, so accompanying her just made sense.

I lived here; I knew who had grown into an upstanding citizen and who was still an emotionally stunted narcissist.

“This DJ is crushing it,” I said, trying to make conversation while this beautiful woman swayed in my arms.

“Oh yes. Bittersweet Symphony? The Freshman? This guy knows the audience.”

I laughed. She was right. The crowd was going wild for the late-nineties tunes.

“I only wish I had kept that flannel I wore junior year,” she mused.

“The yellow one? Oh my God, I could never forget that shirt. You wore it every day.”

“I was heavily into my grunge phase.” She looked up at me, as if daring me to mock her favorite shirt.

But I couldn’t resist. “Bright yellow is not exactly grunge, sweetheart. I’m not sure it achieved the hard rock Seattle style you were going for.”

She threw her head back and laughed. It was one of my favorite sounds. Sam approached everything she did with 100% commitment. So this was no light tinkling laugh. It was full and bright and music to my ears.

“Yeah, yeah, my grandma found it on clearance in the boys’ section of Kmart, and I loved it.” She shrugged and I twirled her around, just happy to be on the same continent as her. It had been almost three years, and I had missed the shit out of my best friend.

We danced and I filled her in on all the Havenport gossip, noting who was married, who was clearly wasted, and who was flirting.

“I forgot what a good dancer you are. Too bad this DJ isn’t giving you much to work with. Remember my graduation party? When all the old ladies lined up to dance with you and you didn’t get to sit down all night?”

I nodded. “Not the first time.” It was a common occurrence, especially at weddings.

Women, usually over fifty, realized that I was a good dancer, and I would end up dancing all night.

I blamed my Nonna, who always made me dance with her as a kid.

She taught me all the basics and then farmed me out to her friends.

I became the go-to partner at town events, not that I was complaining.

I got to dance with a lot of girls in high school because I was one of the only guys who could function on a dance floor.

“I’m having a great time,” I replied.

“I can’t believe Matteo didn’t come.”

“I tried to drag him here, but he claimed he had no babysitter. Which is such bullshit. He’s just a hermit who never leaves the house unless he’s working.

” My twin was notoriously grumpy and antisocial.

Not that I could blame him; without Sam I would never have shown up to this reunion.

Plus he was trying to juggle the demands of owning a restaurant with raising his daughter.

“How’s Valentina?”

I smiled. My niece was the apple of my eye. I spoiled her rotten and had no shame when it came to her. “She is doing so well. Reading already in kindergarten, so smart and so much sass.”

“She is a Rossi woman.”

“I know. It’s a curse. We knew when she started talking at eleven months old that she would never stop.

And what do you know, it’s like living with Nora all over again.

” My baby sister might have five older brothers, but she was the loudest and the fiercest among us, and right now my niece was following along in her footsteps.

“I love it. I hope I can see her before I head back.”

“She would be thrilled to get to know you.” My entire family would love to see Sam.

Growing up, she and I were inseparable, fixtures at one another’s dinner tables.

She grew up catching frogs with my siblings and running amok in our family’s restaurant, and we had long ago claimed her as an honorary Rossi.

We danced silently for a few more minutes, Sam resting her head on my shoulder.

Sam and I weren’t especially physical with one another, but once in a while, usually emboldened by some good wine or one of our favorite songs, I could pull her close, smell her hair, and tuck her under my chin.

We fit together perfectly. And though they were few and far between, I lived for these moments.

Matteo had once asked me when I fell in love with Sam.

But the truth was, I had loved her every single day I had known her.

I loved her while we caught frogs and played in the cemetery behind her grandparents’ house as kids.

I loved her when she would make me quiz her before tests, using color-coded flashcards she took great pride in.

I loved her when she stood by my side as my mom left, divorcing my dad and leaving us all behind in high school.

She looked at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Let’s head to the bar.” She pulled my arm as I followed her off the dance floor. “I need another beer and should probably say hello to at least a few people.”

I drifted through the reunion, chatting with classmates, some of whom I saw frequently around town, like Rose and Yael Thompson, and others who had moved away.

Everyone was interested in my career—since being a wine buyer meant I had connections to suppliers—and asked me for recommendations and discounts.

It was a strange career—certainly not what I had planned—but it suited me.

I had never been the desk-jockey type, and it afforded me a comfortable lifestyle with travel and lots of opportunities to learn.

I met fascinating people, developed fluency in two foreign languages, and had plenty of downtime to pursue my other passions.

In my younger days, I had been restless, frustrated, and dissatisfied. But age had helped me realize I was exactly who I was meant to be and exactly where I needed to be.

And Sam was exactly who she was meant to be. We had spent so much time as kids, as teens, and as young adults talking about our hopes and dreams and making plans for the future. And Sam did it. She achieved her dreams. She went out into the world and made her mark.

So we would never work. Despite our shared history and friendship, we were two different people on two very different paths.

“I’m ready to blow this popsicle stand,” she whispered in my ear.

“Already?” I feigned surprise. Sam was social but only to a point. Once she made up her mind to leave, she would be in the parking lot in minutes.

She nodded, taking my arm. “I say we get out of here and meet in the tree house in an hour. I’ll grab the pizza.”

I smiled. “And I’ll bring the beer.”

“Ooooh. Ice cream too. Oreo, please.” She batted her eyelashes at me, as if I would ever turn down ice cream.

An hour later, we reconvened in the backyard of the house Sam had grown up in.

She had lived here with her mother and her grandparents.

Her late grandfather had built her an ornate tree house when we were kids, and we spent a huge portion of our lives in it.

Endless sleepovers, games of Uno, and rounds of SAT prep had occurred within its walls.

We had eaten hundreds of pizzas up here and, in high school, had snuck up here to drink the occasional forbidden beer.

This place had been our clubhouse, our oasis from school and family.

A place to just be kids. We played up here with my brothers and classmates, but my favorite times were when it was just the two of us.

When Sam got a pink cassette player for Christmas, we brought it up here and listened to music, recording our favorite songs off the radio and making endless mix tapes.

I still had some of them in my house somewhere, a relic of my nineties childhood and the many hours spent with Sam debating Pearl Jam versus Nirvana.

The tree house was still going strong, mainly due to the fact that I had been maintaining it and checking on it regularly.

I had replaced the ladder last summer, and I was glad I had.

We were hardly kids anymore. But the old girl was standing strong, and I was secretly thrilled to be back up here again.

By the time I arrived in the tree house, Sam had already lit the string lights and was wearing sweats and had her hair piled on top of her head.

She was laying out our childhood sleeping bags on the floor—hers adorned with My Little Pony, and mine with Ninja Turtles.

Her grandma had bought these for us in elementary school when we started insisting on having sleepovers out here.

“Where did you find these?” It was shocking how these things had lasted thirty years.

“In the basement. Grandma Alice had them in a Rubbermaid container labeled and everything. She carefully and lovingly archived most of my childhood down there.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and my heart clenched. Sam had been devastated by the loss of her grandparents.

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Grandma Alice,” I said, raising my face to the sky.

“Let’s eat this pizza; I’m starving.”

We ate pizza, drank beer, and wrapped ourselves up in our sleeping bags to protect us from the slight chill in the night air. We talked about anything and everything, laughing and reminiscing.

“Thank you, Gio.”

“For what?”

“For making this night so much fun. I forced myself to come back for this. To go to the reunion. But I was dreading it. Being there with you, it was perfect.”

“We were best friends in high school.”

She nudged me with her shoulder. “We’re still best friends, thank you very much. Or has Matteo replaced me? I don’t care how grouchy he is, I will fight him for you.” She put her fists up and I laughed.

I nudged her back. “No one will ever replace you. Matteo is my twin, my brother, and we are close—closer than we’ve ever been actually. But he could never replace you.”

She gave me a satisfied smile and grabbed a piece of pizza.

We sat, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in our sleeping bags, gazing out at the stars in silence. And it was perfect. Just as it should be.

And I promised myself I would soak up every single minute with her. Because she was The Girl . The one that I saw when I closed my eyes after a long day.

The one I needed to talk to when things got tough.

The person I once believed I would spend my life with.

But my life was almost half over now. And she still wasn’t mine.

And the truth was, she never would be.