Page 87 of Wish Upon A Star

She groans, somewhere between excited and jealous. “With Westley Freaking Britton!”

“I know!” I let myself feel that excitement. “I don’t really think about him like that anymore, though. Or not often. Mostly, he’s just Wes.” I shrug. “If I think about him as Westley Britton, celebrity, and object of my childish celebrity crush, it makes it weird. I dunno. When it’s just…us, like just Jo and Wes, it’s…natural. A man and a woman, together. Instead of, like, celebrity and nobody.”

“I mean, youareTikTok famous. So, not really nobody anymore.”

I laugh. “Okay, but TikTok famous andactuallyA-listfamous-famous? Not the same thing at all.”

“No, you’re right.” She eyes me sidelong. “You guys feel like…I dunno. A real couple. Like, a real, adult couple. Me and Derek felt more like two kids fumbling through sex for the first time together.”

I laugh. “It feels like that for me, sometimes, but it’s one-sided because he’s not a virgin. He’s not had as many…um, girlfriends, or anything, as you might think. But he’s not a virgin.”

We’re approaching the rental, now. We stop at the walkway to the front door. Bethany turns to face me, holding both my hands, now.

“Jo, I love you. I’m really, really glad you get to have this with Wes. With anyone, but especially with him. I know you’re playing it cool, but I also know how much it means to you that it’s him.”

I smile. “It’s a literal fairy tale, Beth. I’m living a fairy tale, and I’m just trying to make the most of every moment and appreciate it for what it is.”

“Call me, at some point, okay?”

“Honestly, Beth…I know no one wants to hear this, and I don’t want to have to say it, but I don’t think I’m going home. I think Wes is going to have you guys stay there, so you’re close.”

She shakes her head—she knows what I mean, what I’m not saying out loud. “Jo, don’t —”

I cut her off. “I won’t say anything else. But I feel it, Beth. I sense it.”

“Maybe your grandma is right. Maybe God has a miracle in store for you.”

“I want to believe that.” I crush her to me in a fierce hug. “I really do. I’m gonna hold on as long as I can. I promise.”

She nods, her cheek moving against mine. “I love you. Thanks for talking with me.”

“You’re my best friend. Always and forever.” She glances back the way we came, and sighs dreamily. “He’s literally on the porch waiting for you.”

I glance back, and sure enough, he’s sitting on the top step, phone-glow lighting his face blue-white.

“He worries about me.”

She wiggles her eyebrow at me. “Or, he’s antsy to have you alone.”

I snicker. “You’re not wrong. We haven’t had much time alone since I stopped feeling like poop.”

What I don’t say—to her, and what I haven’t said to him, either—is that I did stop feeling like death warmed over, but I haven’t entirely gone back to anything like normal. Not like I have in the past. There’s a deeper ache that remains, this time. A sharper, lingering, whole-body pain that I’ve never felt.

A sourness in my…spirit, I guess. I don’t know how to capture it, even in my own mind.

It’s an ache that feels…permanent.

And frightening.

As I say one last goodbye to Bethany and walk back, slowly, preserving my energy, I do my best to push the fear and the ache to the back of my mind, the edges of my awareness. Don’t think about it.

What’s that line fromFrozen? “Conceal, don’t feel.”

I approach him, and he stands up, shoves his phone into his back pocket.

I step up to the same level as him, and wrap my arms low around his waist, tilt my face up for a kiss. “Hi.”

He gives me the requested kiss, a slow, deep, thorough one. “Hi.”