“Been running around town.” He holds up an envelope. “This is for you.”
“You’re giving me a card?” I laugh, taking it and then setting my coffee down on a side table in the lobby.
“It’s not personally from me—unless you want me to write you a love letter, then maybe that’s something I can arrange.”
“You do have handsome features, but the wrong body parts.”
Ford throws his head back and laughs, the jovial body language seriously throwing me for a loop.
“Are you sure everything is okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s great. But we do hope to see you tonight.”
“We?” I ask.
“Yup. We’re throwing my parents an anniversary party—a redo, actually—and it would mean the world to us if you came . . . and, uh, if you could convince your sister to come too. She got an invite as well.”
“I see.”
“It would mean the most to Palmer if you were there.”
I clutch the envelope, my pulse picking up. “How is she? Cast still dry?” I try to joke, but it feels flat coming off my tongue.
“She’s doing better, and yes, the cast is dry. But I have a few more things I have to do, and I have to make the run back to the house.”
“Sure, yeah. Okay.”
Ford points at the envelope. “Read it. You won’t regret it.” And then he takes off.
When the door shuts, I carry my coffee and the envelope to my office, where I take a seat and open the envelope. I open the handmade card and read the handwritten invitation. Party tonight, at the Chance residence. An arrow points to the back, so I turn it over to find Palmer’s handwriting.
Dearest Beau,
I know we left things in an awkward state and I don’t blame you. I’ve been nothing like myself these last few weeks, let alone months, but one thing that I did realize while being here is how much I like you, how much I want to spend my time with you, how much our history means to me. So, I know you probably have better things to do, but it would be such an honor if you’d please come to my parents’ anniversary party tonight. I really need to talk to you.
Hope to see you there.
Yours,
Palmer
I grip my jaw as I stare at her neat handwriting. She really needs to talk to me. What does that mean? If Ford delivered this, does that mean they worked things out? Is everything okay with her?
I know I broke things off, but I miss her, the real Palmer, the one who wrote this note.
I pull out my phone and send a text.
Beau: Did you get the invite?
Larkin responds right away.
Larkin: I did.
Beau: Are you going?
Larkin: I can’t stay away, even if I tried. You?
Beau: I think I’m in the same boat, sis.
Larkin: Then will you pick me up and we can ride together?
Beau: Deal.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
NORA
“I’m going to murder you,” I say, swinging the door open to find Palmer on the other side, looking . . . nervous. I can’t say I blame her—I can be a terror at this early hour.
She holds up one good hand, one cast hand. “Please don’t murder me. I borrowed cash from my parents’ secret coffeepot, rode a bike to catch the ferry, navigated the streets of Seattle without a phone—using printed-out Google Map directions instead—and a homeless person threw a bottle of Sprite at me on my way here. It’s been a morning.”
“It looks like it.” I lean against my doorframe. “Did you come here for another cake?”
She winces. “Well, sort of, but also for another reason,” she says quickly. “Can I please come in? I could really use a glass of water.”
“Since you’ve traveled across land and sea, it seems like the least I can do.” I let her in and move to the kitchen, where I pour her a glass of water. When I hand it to her, she nearly sucks the entire thing down.
She catches her breath. “Like I said, long morning. Actually, didn’t go to sleep last night. Long story short: we are throwing a redo tonight of the anniversary, and we’re doing it a thousand times better. But we need a cake, and I know it’s your day off, but we’ll pay triple whatever you charge. It doesn’t have to be big; just needs to resemble this.” She pulls a photo out of her purse and hands it to me. It’s a picture of her parents on their wedding day, cutting a classic tiered cake with pillars, basket-weave frosting, and tiny daisies decorating the sides. “It’s a vanilla bean sponge with fudge middle and buttercream on the outside.”