He opens his mouth to respond just as a blinding headlight floods my vision. Ollie’s Jeep.
I pull back, half-blinded by the light, pulse thrumming under my skin. I’d entirely forgotten we were still playing a game. The existence of anyone else momentarily forgotten. “They finally found us,” I say, standing abruptly.
“Yeah. Perfect timing,” he mutters behind me. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. And I’m too scared to ask.
We only play one more round before Ollie admits he’s tired and needs to be horizontal.
“Looks like Operation Back to Seventeen was a bust,” Renner says on the way home.
“Don’t remind me.”
He bites the inside of his cheek. “Guess we should actually tell people the wedding is off, huh? My mom is not gonna be happy.”
“Yeah, mine either,” I say. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We’ll get out of here.” My ribs tighten at the thought of canceling. That’s strange. Why does the thought of canceling make me want to cry? The grief must be making me extra emotional.
His eyes roam my face and hands, then my lap, before reverting to the road. “On the bright side, we did find out some crucial information. You got some closure with Kassie and I got to talk to my mom. Is there anything else you still want to find out? Maybe we can revisit our brainstorming list,” he adds.
“There is still something . . . ,” I start, nervously biting the inside of my cheek.
“What’s that?”
“I think I want to visit my dad’s wife.” Talking about Renner’s sister piqued my interest. His sister was taken away from him far too soon. And it seems like I don’t even make an effort to see mine, both of whom are alive and well. That doesn’t sit right.
He’s quiet for a moment. “Want me to come with?”
My heart warms at his offer. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
His words have a soothing effect. And when he reaches over the console to give my hand a squeeze, the knot in my stomach uncoils, just a little bit.
We may be stuck in this strange, strange reality, but for the first time in my life, it feels good to rely on someone. Even if it’s Joshua Taylor Renner.
TWENTY-FOUR
When Dad told me about the lake house in Fairfax, I pictured an ultramodern boxy structure similar to his high-rise in the city, all cement and floor-to-ceiling windows. I certainly didn’t picture this lived-in, farmhouse-style home.
One look at the disheveled Barbie in the rosebush and the overturned child’s pink bicycle in the middle of the pebbled path, and it’s clear a family lives here. There’s a tug in my stomach when I spot the pastel chalk hearts and hopscotch. These were drawn by my little sisters.
Renner senses my hesitation when we reach the door and nudges my hand gently. I don’t know what to make of this strange shift between us. Last night at prom and again at Walnut Creek, I could have sworn he wanted to kiss me. And I secretly wanted him to. But the moment we returned home, both of us tensed up and retreated to our respective bedrooms （him in the spare room, me in the main bedroom） for the night without a word.
I can’t help but wonder if his kindness toward me is just an extension of his people-pleasing. Trying to make me feel better, because he’s an absurdly good person.
“Are you gonna ring the doorbell?” he asks.
“Don’t rush me,” I whisper, just as the door swings open before I even have the chance to knock.
A dark-haired girl with a ponytail and a cute purple outfit greets us. When our eyes meet, she shrieks and flings herself into my arms. “Charlotte! Charlotte’s here!”
Based on her enthusiasm, I’d wager she knows me. The fact that we have some sort of relationship makes me feel marginally better, and I return her hug.
“Lily, who’s there?” a distinctly older voice calls. A woman hustles down the wooden staircase in a pair of track pants and a stained white T-shirt. It’s Alexandra. The nonglamorous version with thick, chocolate-brown hair cascading down her back. Even without makeup and fancy clothes, she’s naturally stunning, with dark brows that somehow convey everything she’s thinking. Right now, she looks shocked. “Charlotte?”
“Hi,” I squeak.
I find myself squished in between my sisters on a beige couch with too many throw pillows. Lily, the younger of the two, doesn’t want to leave my side. Before I can properly greet Alexandra or Marianne, she’s pulled me to her bedroom to show off the dress she’s going to wear to my wedding.