Make Me Hate You(5)

I pushed down the selfish part of myself that wanted to throw a tantrum at being back, at the fact that I’d likely be in close contact with the one person I’d spent the last seven years avoiding, reminding myself that this was about Morgan.

And it had been seven years, for Christ’s sake. We were kids, and maybe when I was younger, it had hurt to even think about coming back here. But, I was twenty-five now, a young woman with a promising career and a full life out in California just waiting for me to come back. I could handle being in my hometown for a couple of weeks. I could handle being around the boy who broke my heart when I was a teenager.

Besides, I had a boyfriend now.

A handsome, accomplished, perfect boyfriend.

Tyler Wagner couldn’t affect me anymore.

That was the final thought in my mind when the Uber turned into the long drive of the Wagner house, cruising slowly through the elaborate black-and-gold gate and coming to a stop in front of the large, white columns of their estate.

“Thank you,” I said, pulling up the app on my phone to tip him as I opened the door. “If you just pop the trunk, I can grab the bags.”

“Are you sure?”

The words were barely out of the driver’s mouth before I heard the distinct squeal of my best friend, and I turned, watching a flailing Morgan fly down the stairs and sprint toward the car.

I smiled — genuinely — for the first time.

“I’m sure,” I said, shaking my head at her. “Trust me, I’m about to have a dozen hands waiting to help.”

The driver smiled at me as I let myself out of the backseat, and as soon as I did, Morgan crashed into me, flinging her arms around my neck.

“YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE HERE!”

I chuckled. “I am.”

She pulled back, the freckles on her cheeks more pronounced than they had been when we were kids. She had the biggest smile in the world, one that took up her entire face and boasted two, deep dimples — one on each cheek. Her chestnut hair that used to fall all the way to the middle of her back was in a short pixie cut now, one that accented the beautiful heart-shape of her face, and she wore glasses at least three times too big for said-face.

Somehow, they made her look even more adorable.

“I can’t believe you’re here — back in Bridgechester! I thought I’d never see the day!”

Mr. and Mrs. Wagner were on the porch behind her, smiling down at me and waiting for their turn at hugs as Harry grabbed my bags out of the trunk of the Uber, tapping it once it was closed to set the driver on his way. I thanked Harry as he passed by us with my luggage in tow, and Morgan looped her arm through mine, dragging me up the stairs to the porch.

“Jasmine, sweetie,” Amanda — her mom — said first, wrapping me in a gentle hug. She was roughly the size of a seventh grader, with the same chestnut hair as her daughter and the same wide smile. “Welcome home.”

My chest pinched at the sentiment — home.

I’d never felt like I’d really had one, but the Wagner’s was about as close as it got.

“Ayuh, welcome back,” Morgan’s dad said next, wrapping me in a crushing hug that was a stark contrast from the one his wife had given me. “It’s about damn time, kid.”

Robert Wagner was the tallest of the family, a shocking six-foot five, with thick golden hair that was always styled to perfection and the same superhero chin I used to tease his son about when we were younger. Morgan got her kind, hazel eyes from Mr. Wagner, and her athletic ability, too.

I chuckled in his arms, squeezing him once more before we released. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

That last part was a lie, but I was good at faking it.

“Harry will take your things up to the Hibiscus Suite,” Mrs. Wagner said. I knew exactly which guest room she was talking about, the one on the third floor that had a sweeping view of the lake.

And yes, they did actually name their guest rooms — that’s how many there were.

“I’m making my famous lobster rolls tonight,” Mr. Wagner added as we made our way inside, and I chuckled at the way he pronounced it — lobstah. Robert was born and raised in Boston, and his accent never let us forget it.

Seven years on the west coast had all but stolen my own accent, which was slight, anyway, seeing as how I spent most of the time in New Hampshire as opposed to the city. But Morgan had developed a bit of her own from her time in college at BU, and hearing the Wagners made me miss what little accent I’d had for the first time.

“Just got the water boiling. Should be about an hour or so, give you some time to wash up and settle in.”

“And tell me all about Jacob,” Morgan added, waggling her eyebrows.

I snickered, head spinning already, as it often did at the Wagners. They were a house full of extroverted entertainers, and this was what they lived and breathed for — having guests.

“Is it just the four of us tonight?” I asked, trying to sound coy, like I was asking after the other members of the bridal party more than anything else.

“Yep! Everyone else gets in tomorrow, and even when they get here, most of them are staying in Boston. They want to explore the city while they’re here. So, it’ll just be us tonight,” Morgan said, bopping alongside me. “Well, and Ty, of course. If he ever leaves his office,” she added with a roll of her eyes and a smirk.