I fix my gaze on Ryan, and I take in his strong jaw, dark eyes, long lashes, and the small scar on the apple of his cheek from the pop fly that almost broke his cheekbone sophomore year. I trace a line from his straight nose to his lips and scruffy jawline (yet another sign that he’s no longer the boy from high school). I’m taking in every inch of his face because I feel like I’m finally seeing him for who he really is—seeing him—the whole picture of Ryan for the first time.
“What?” he finally asks, a cautious look on his face.
I smile and shake my head. “You never were the bad guy, were you?”
The air shifts when a mischievous glint sparks in Ryan’s eyes. I stay still as he crosses the room, stops in front of me, and leans toward my ear. I’m bracing for him to tell me I have toilet paper sticking out of somewhere it shouldn’t be when I feel his hot lips land on the area just behind my jaw, below my ear. Chill bumps roll down my arms.
And then he whispers, “I was definitely the bad guy. I just wasn’t against you like you thought.”
I feel Ryan’s lips on my skin for the rest of the day and on into the night. Like he left a tattoo on my skin. It’s there, tingling and reminding me that everything has changed.
During the rehearsal, I keep my distance from Ryan. But he looks amazing in his black suit, so my eyes continuously seek him out from across the room. Every time we make eye contact, I instinctively touch the spot on my neck that I have vowed to never wash again. I’m going to wrap it in caution tape just so no one ever taints that patch of skin again. I’ve christened it as Ryan’s.
My stomach does barrel rolls when it’s time for me to take Ryan’s arm and practice walking down the aisle together. He covers my hand where it’s resting on his arm, and I curse myself a million times for imagining myself wearing a white dress and mouthing na na na, boo boo to every woman who’s ever given Ryan the I’m-all-yours look. You better believe I would invite them to our wedding. I’m a gloater.
Point is, this all feels like a dream where real life is hovering just beyond the edges, ready to overtake me at any moment.
Logan and Stacy practice the vow portion of the ceremony, and Ryan’s gaze is searing into mine. I want him to look away, but he won’t. I widen my eyes in the classic STOP LOOKING AT ME sign, but he just makes a goofy kissy face back at me. I’m so mad at him for making me laugh. For taking a sledgehammer to the cement walls I’d constructed around myself. For making me flush and giggle like a ding-dong in front of this whole wedding party.
Afte
r the rehearsal, Ryan tries to make his way to me at every turn, but I avoid, side-step, and duck behind every potted plant I can find, because the more he makes me smile and blush and tingle, the more terrified I become. I KNOW that whatever Ryan feels for me is fake. Or maybe not fake, but temporary. His life is far away from here, and it’s going to call him back in two days. I just have to resist him for that long.
A heaviness grows over me during dinner, but I refuse to let it show, because this is Stacy’s big day, and I’m determined to make it as wonderful as possible for her. I will keep a smile on my face tonight even if I have to tape the corners of my mouth to my earlobes.
But the only time I genuinely laugh the entire night is when Stacy makes Ryan stand up during dinner. “Attention, everyone! Can we all give a round of applause for having our very own Michelin chef, Ryan Henderson, make all of this delicious food for us tonight?”
Ryan’s face turns blood red, and I know that he’s dying inside at having his name associated with green beans and mashed potatoes. I snap a quick picture, because this is probably the only time I’ll ever see him embarrassed. Maybe I’ll have the photo enlarged and printed. It will hang over my mantel, and it won’t be creepy at all.
FINALLY, the night is over, and everyone begins to leave. I stand from the table and kiss Stacy’s glowing cheek, forcing myself to not focus on how much losing her is going to hurt.
“Tomorrow’s the day,” I say, giving her one last hug.
“Tomorrow,” she repeats with a dreamy expression.
I look over Stacy’s shoulder and lock eyes with Ryan, sitting at a table across the room. Tomorrow takes on a whole new meaning in my mind. Tomorrow is the wedding—the end of the reason Ryan came to visit. Tomorrow, the carriage will turn back into a pumpkin.
Ryan’s eyes beg me to let him take me home, but I shake my head.
Enemies or not, I am still June, and he is still Ryan. Our lives have taken different paths, and they don’t intersect. I refuse to let a man break me again. No matter how many figurines I could set on his ab shelves.
Chapter Sixteen
June
The moment my eyes pop open, I think wedding day.
I should be happy for Stacy—and I am—but I’m also bummed because I can’t help but wonder if Ryan will go home right after the wedding or wait until tomorrow. My stomach sinks at the thought of repeating one of my least favorite days: graduation day.
I know for a fact that Ryan flew out on a red-eye that very night. How? Because I went to Logan's house in search of him later that night. I think my professed plan was to stab him with a butter knife for humiliating me. But really, I was secretly hoping that he would change his mind and finish the kiss he’d started. When I got to the house, though, Logan's mom gave me a sad look and said that Ryan had already left for school.
My first thought was WHO LEAVES FOR SCHOOL AFTER JUST GRADUATING FROM SCHOOL?
My second thought was that Ryan had told her to say that so he didn’t have to see me again. His version of sorry, can’t, I’m washing my hair. It made me hate him more.
For years, I seethed, thinking that Ryan had flicked me off his shoulder like a piece of lint he never wanted to see again.
Now, I know he was going off to start his culinary training in France. I wonder if I had known that back then, would it have changed anything? If I hadn’t forbidden Stacy and Logan from talking about Ryan the day after the almost-kiss of doom, would I have been in love with him all of this time instead of wishing on every shooting star for his shampoo to magically get replaced with Nair?