Page 24 of Wish Upon A Star

I’m seriously going to marry this girl?

What the hell am I thinking?

I can’t seem to stop myself, though.

That kiss was…

My lips burn, the fierce hunger of her mouth on mine lingering like the after-impression on the backs of your eyelids from looking at the sun. I didn’t want to stop kissing her, which was why I did.

She’s beautiful.

I know she thinks she’s not because her body is thin from being sick and her hair is short and regrowing. But sheisbeautiful.

Her green eyes radiate strength and resilience, blaze with her determination to squeeze every last drop of joy out of life. Her skin is beautiful, pale with freckles, like sweet cream dappled by the sun. Her spiky, messy red hair is as fiery as her spirit. Her body is beautiful.

Her soul, though.

It’s brighter than the sun.

She’s genuine. Funny. Talented.

I want to be near her.

Am I bringing her into my life and opening my heart and in so doing inviting heartbreak? Maybe.

But…I accept it.

Am I crazy for that? Sure.

This is right.

I can feel it. The truth that I’m meant to do this rings in me like a bell. Clarion clear.

She’s just staring at me as if waiting for the dream to end. For the carriage to turn into a pumpkin, horses to mice, and shoes to vapor.

I take her hand and lead her back to her house. Now, her parents are waiting in the kitchen, sitting together with coffee mugs in hand. They watch us enter, and their eyes go first to our hands, joined, and then to the dandelion on Jo’s ring finger.

“I feel like maybe we missed something kind of important,” her dad says.

I let go of Jo’s hand and cross to the room, extending my hand to him. “Hi, Mr. Park, I’m Wes Britton.”

He stands and shakes my hand. “Charlie Park.”

I turn to her mom. “I don’t know that we met, um, formally.”

She blushes. “Sherri.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys. And I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

Charlie hasn’t sat down. He’s wearing jean shorts, like with properly hemmed ends, knee-high white socks with New Balance sneakers, and an Eiffel Tower tourist T-shirt tucked into the shorts. His hair is thinning, and the reddish-blond color of it tells me Jo got the ginger gene from his side. Her mom is medium height and slender, with blond hair and green eyes—the same shade of green as Jo; their daughter is a mix of both of her parents, physically.

Charlie seems like a generally jovial type, but he’s not smiling now. “You kissed my daughter.”

“Dad!” Jo pushes past me to stand nose-to-nose with him. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“This is my house.”

“And this is my life, Dad.” She takes his hand and I can tell she’s probably squeezing as hard as she can. “I know you’re not going to like or understand any of this, Dad, but please, please,please, just…trust me, okay?”