Page 81 of I Love a Good Challenge

When she leans back again to look into my face, I will her to really and truly hear me. Once hostile, her eyes have given way to a wave of love.

“You’re it for me. Got it?” I say, the gritty quality of my voice revealing my affection. “I love you, Lily. And I’ll choose you first every time.”

Her eyes glisten with tears, and I feel a few of my own trailing down my face and catching in my beard. Slowly, she lifts her hand to wipe some of them away with the back of her hand. The gentleness of it all is a contradiction to the fire still in her eyes.

“Sounds like a challenge,” she declares with a grin.

I know without a doubt that my heart is finally in her hands for good.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lily

Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” I yell the words, the feeling of freedom within my hands.

It’s the feeling of three of my dearest friends in Birch Borough—Sparrow, Ivy, and Grey—deciding that we’re going to make Sparrow’s wedding day the best day ever. My heart is light. My man (my man!) has been texting me our favorite quotes from The Man is a Rake all morning, and I’m ready to sing like those little birds that have been screeching outside my window each day. For once, they didn’t annoy me this morning.

We just left Train Car Diner after a special breakfast complete with pancakes dressed in wedding gowns due to the whipped cream piled on top. After stopping at Angie’s Pies to grab a box of desserts and coffees, we head to the church, where Sparrow will make the final preparations for her wedding day. The spring air is cool at the edges this morning, promising warmth when the sun has more time to shine.

Leisel is going to meet us to finish Sparrow’s hair and makeup. Gladys promised she’d come by to give Sparrow something “old” (whatever that means). Cricket is meeting us to take behind-the-scenes photos of us all getting ready. While Ivy and Grey aren’t officially in the wedding party due to the limited number of groomsmen, they’re here with us for the morning.

While we planned to have a wild extravaganza for Sparrow’s last night before getting married, the truth is, none of us know how to stay out much past eight at night. Everything in town closes early. Sparrow and I know all too well what it means to occasionally have to temper chocolate or make yet another batch of croissants before others have hit the brew button on their coffee pots. Grey has incredibly late nights, but it’s because she reads until she’s convinced herself that one more chapter truly will be the end of her. And Ivy has been on a set sleep schedule since high school for optimum dance training and performance. She has never relinquished the habit.

So, last night, we ended up at Ivy’s dance studio, huddled on the floor with blankets spread out, surrounded by wall barres and memories. Ivy keeps the studio strung with twinkle lights, and they added to the cozy ambiance as we reminisced about the days when we all took lessons together as kids. Even considering the updates Ivy has made, the studio is still the place where my underwear ended up sticking out from my leotard and halfway down my thigh (I have pictures to prove it). I was traumatized to know that when your hands don’t look graceful, they can be called spider hands.

I only lasted in dance lessons until the spring recital, when I went rogue and started doing my own rendition of break dance moves. I didn’t even know what I was doing, and I blame High School Musical (the original, thank you very much) for the delusional idea of what can happen on a stage. Needless to say, I was kicked out of class. Grey lasted one more year until she sat in the middle of the stage, pulled a book from behind her, and began to read during practice.

Ivy and Sparrow were the only ones to stay with it. Sparrow danced until she was injured in her senior year of high school. Ivy went away for a bit, did a stint with a company in New York City, and then moved back to Birch Borough to open her dance studio. She’s owned it for five years or so now, and it’s clear to everyone around her that this is what she was meant to do with her life. This is her life calling, even when I see the familiar hint of sadness around her eyes and hear the way she jokes about dating apps but without giving her full smile. Sparrow is the only one of us who has found her person so far—correction, was the only person. I know there’s more to Ivy’s story than she lets on.

“Lily, tell me,” Ivy begins this morning as we unload our makeup and supplies in a room at the back of the church. “How do you feel not being single anymore? I mean, now I’m going to have to find someone else to suffer through the dating apps with.” She gives a frustrated growl, but she is smiling. We all cringe.

“I don’t envy you the struggle, my dear. That’s for sure.”

“You’ve fought well. I’m glad you made it through to the other side.”

I nod as she and I clink our champagne glasses. We’ve earned the celebration after enduring so many men and their mostly questionable choices for putting the best version of themselves on their dating profiles. Ivy is not yet in the clear, but I have hope for her.

“Grey, you’re not going to join Ivy on the apps?” I stuff my face with a cracker and French Brie from our makeshift charcuterie board.

Her cheeks tinge a light shade of pink at the question. “No, I don’t think those are for me.”

Ivy and Grey exchange a look that I note.

“Wait—what was that?” I ask, attempting to cover my mouth while still chewing.

“Honestly, Lils. Leave Grey be,” Sparrow whispers, always trying to be the peacemaker.

I swallow and point frantically, like I’ve just discovered a new way of applying nail polish that doesn’t involve fumes and a fan. “They shared a look!”

“I have a better question.” Sparrow redirects the conversation, aware that I’m oh-so-close to embarrassing myself and my friends. “Tell us more about who you’re bringing to my wedding.”

The smile on her face tells me that she’s asking because there is someone, and Grey has RSVP’d accordingly. She’d never call her out if it weren’t true.

“Boston.”

“You’re bringing a city to Rory’s wedding?” I ask skeptically, my eyebrows trying to meet my hairline, hoping she sees amusement on my face rather than an actual question. “Is he just your friend, or do you love him endlessly?” I’m clearly unable to keep the conversation light.

Grey’s skin shifts shades of red like a color-changing lava lamp. “I—” she begins, “I mean, I’ve known him since summer camp in sixth grade—literary camp.”

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