"I was actually curious to hear how that last one ended," her father jokes, but there's a dark, reprimanding undertone, promising that the ramifications of my honest-bomb-let's be real, honesty weapon of mass destruction-will continue for quite a while.

Claire blinks a few times, mouth dropping open. "That's a lot of information to process all at once."

"I think you lost me at sex columnist," my mom murmurs, voice stunned, slightly dazed.

"What my oh-so-charming friend was trying to tell you," Bridge says, loud enough to draw everyone's attention, trying to distract them from everything I said. "Is that my idiot brother broke up with her because he didn't think she would ever tell you guys the truth about what was going on between them. Clearly, she just did-and then some. So now, we get to the point of this little trip down memory lane. We need your help to convince Ollie that Skye is sorry, that she is ready to be with him, and that she's not going to tell another lie for as long a she lives. Got it?"

All three parents are still reeling from my revelations.

"I said, got it?"

My mom frowns. "Can we go back to the sex columnist thing?"

"I'd actually like to hear more about the jungle gym fiasco," Claire mutters, pulling her brows in tight as an unfamiliar angry tone seeps into her voice. "Do you even understand how dangerous that was?"

"Mom, we were like eight years old," Bridge complains.

"I don't care how old you were, young lady," her mom responds. "You could have killed your brother!"

"I wish I did," Bridge mutters.

Cue a McDonough family death glare.

Bridge's dad just elbows his daughter in the side and reaches for another cookie, not getting involved. Instead, he leans back on the stool and takes a dramatic bite, settling in to enjoy the show. "Good luck, girls."

And, my god, we're going to need it.

I owe Bridge laundry and dish duty for a month. Frankly, I think I got off easy. Because it took about an hour to talk our mothers down, going through every other "random" accident of our childhood and convincing them we aren't the two worst daughters in the world. And only after all of that did we finally get to the planning portion of the evening. But it was worth it. Because the plan? Oh, it's good. And Ollie won't ever see it coming.

I'm freezing my butt off.

No, seriously.

I'm freaking frigid. But I did this to myself. I knew that it was February, I knew the Hudson had already frozen over at least once in this miserable winter, yet I still decided that for romance's sake I could suck it up. And I mean, the view is gorgeous, don't get me wrong. I'm at Chelsea Piers, waiting at the end of a long dock stretching over the Hudson, surrounded by a snow-covered park and bare trees that glitter from ice sparkling in the sun. The river is still flowing, crashing up against the pylons, splashing in a melodic, calming rhythm that helps keep me at peace. There's not another soul here, probably because of the arctic gusts blowing in over the river, remnants of the storm that hit last night. But under the blazing sun and bright-blue sky, the scene is undoubtedly gorgeous. I just hope I survive long enough for Ollie to find me, you know, looking like something other than an ice sculpture.

Because, like I said, it's freaking frigid. My teeth are chattering, my fingers are frozen, and my exposed cheeks are already starting to burn. But nothing says romance like a runny nose and the sniffles, right?

Bridge: I just heard him wake up!

I immediately forget the weather.

Because, oh my god, the plan! The plan is about to go into motion, the wheels are starting to spin, and there's nothing I can do but wait and watch as it slowly unfolds. Because everything is set. Everyone is in his or her designated spot. And I'm all the way at the finish line, meaning it's too late to go back now.

But I don't want to.

I'm excited.

Butterflies soar around my stomach, fluttering nervously, but for the first time in a long time, it's an eager sort of pain, a side effect of impatience and anticipation-not panic or anxiety or fear. I'm ready-so, so ready. And I'm just hoping Ollie is too.

Bridge: Webcam is on! I think he's getting dressed, should be out of his room at any minute.

Me: Thanks!! Opening the video feed now...eek! Fingers crossed!

Bridge: Don't worry! Everything is going to work out, I promise! My idiot brother loves you :) Bridge: And deep down, we both know he's a softie! He won't be able to resist!

Me: Thanks :) I hope so!

I close the messaging screen and pull up the video feed, slipping my headphones on to block out the noise of New York, wanting only to hear what's going on in our tiny little apartment. Sure, it's insignificant in the grand scheme of this city, but to me, it's home-and right now, it's everything.

Bridge stares into the lens, offering me a thumbs up and a wink before turning around to wait for Ollie to surface from his bedroom. The camera is hidden behind the TV and pointed directly toward his door, giving a pretty good view of the living room. Bridge and I spent about half an hour last night setting it up while Ollie was at work.

A little creepy? Yes.

Totally necessary? Maybe not.

But, come on, can you blame me? The curiosity is already killing me, and the plan hasn't even started yet!

Through the headphones, I hear the click of a turning knob. My eyes zone in on my tiny phone screen, watching as the door opens. My breath halts when he emerges, eyes sleepy as they glance around the living room, stopping on Bridge, alarmed to see her staring at him.

"You're so creepy. What are you doing?" he mumbles, eyeing her suspiciously. And then he holds up his hand, shaking his head. "On second thought, I don't even want to know. Have you seen Skye?"

"Why?" Bridge chirps innocently.

"Um," he pauses, raking his fingers through his dark hair, letting out a deep sigh. "We sort of had a fight after you guys had your fight, and I haven't seen her since Saturday."

"Oh," Bridge announces dramatically. "You mean the fight where you broke up with her like a total asswad?"

I roll my eyes because obviously this is not part of the plan, but Bridge just can't help herself.

"I didn't-" But Ollie stops still, then slowly draws his gaze toward Bridge, narrowing his eyes. "How do you know about that?"

Bridge shrugs, subtly glancing over her shoulder and directly into the camera, throwing me some side-eye as her expression grows mischievous. I mean, I know she can't resist the opportunity to rag on her brother a bit, but come on. My totally fragile, cracked into pieces, hardly glued together heart can't handle this!

Ollie steps closer. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," Bridge replies in a tone that means anything but. "Unlike you, I raced to Skye's side the moment I woke up on Sunday because I just couldn't bear to argue with her, and we made up. All is forgiven."

"Just like that?" he says. "Even with all the lies and the yelling and the door slamming, you woke up and snapped your fingers and decided not to be mad anymore?"

"That's what you do when you love someone," she retorts.

"Oh, Bridge, don't give me that," he says, annoyed. "Your situation is completely different than mine."

"Why?"

"Because," he huffs, searching for a reason, "because it just is. Okay?"

"Really convincing argument," she murmurs. And though I can't quite see her face, I know there was probably an epic eye roll involved in that under-her-breath comment.

"Look," Ollie rails in on his sister. "Skye kept a secret from you, but she never kept you a secret. There's a big difference, okay? Maybe you don't understand, but how would you like it if Patrick never wanted to introduce you to his friends or take you out or tell anyone about you? How would you feel if you thought the person you were madly in love with was embarrassed or ashamed to be seen with you? If they were still punishing you for a split-second decision you'd do anything to go back and change, but you couldn't? You can't?"

I wince.

Frightened, yes. Terrified, definitely.

But, embarrassed? Ashamed?

Never!

And was I punishing him? I guess, in a way yes. I never meant to hurt him, I never intended to cause him pain, but I did. Because I thought of him as untouchable, unbreakable, unattainable, I was too afraid to think of him as anything else. But the whole time, he was baring his soul, just waiting and hoping I would notice.

And I didn't, until it was too late.

"Ollie," Bridge says, voice calm and sympathetic, drawing me back into my phone screen, back into the scene unfolding blocks away in our apartment.

At the sound of his name, Ollie's rigid stance softens. His shoulders fall in, defeated. His lids close, sealing off those brilliant eyes. And then he shakes his head, ruffling his hair, trying to clear his mind. "I really just need to see Skye."

"I know where she is," Bridge tells him. I grin because finally, we're getting to the plan. And the closer Ollie gets to me, the faster I can try to wipe the frown from those perfectly kissable lips and bring hope back into his lackluster gaze. "Why don't you finish getting ready and then I'll tell you."

He nods, turning back to his room to rummage for his phone and keys and money, all things girls tend to keep nice and neat in a purse, but boys tend to throw on the nearest surface, never to be seen again.

"Do you know where my wallet is?" Ollie yells.

My grin deepens.

Bridge turns around, smiling super wide into the camera and raising her eyebrows suggestively. But she doesn't respond. In the background, I see Ollie walk past his door two more times, searching his dresser drawers until he stops abruptly, standing straight and pausing. Then he pivots on his heels and marches out to the living room.

I think he remembers.

I think he's finally getting it.

"Bridge, where's my wallet?" he growls, totally frustrated and grumpy.

She shrugs. "Somewhere secret."

"Please don't tell me you two decided to bring this game back from the dead. I hated it ten years ago, and I hate it today."

But, of course we did.

Eagerly, Bridge stretches her arm back, retrieving an envelope from the television stand. "Inside, there's forty bucks, your metro card, and your first clue."

"Are you serious?" He snatches the envelope from her hand, ripping it open gruffly as he pulls out the cash and the card. But then he slows, pausing for a second, clenching his fist tight. Gently, he slips the letter free.

I hold my breath, fighting the knot in my throat, as he unfolds the paper and reads the first clue.

Clue #1: Dear Ollie, I figured it was only fair to start my last ditch effort to win your heart in the place where you won mine-our home. Five months ago, I walked through that front door in the middle of a panic attack, only to find you here, claiming to be my new roommate, furthering the alarm. You see, I was scared. I was terrified. Because I was in love with you. I told myself I wasn't. I told myself you'd broken my heart. I told myself you didn't want me. But I was lying, to both of us.

As the months passed, I had to remind myself of those facts over and over again. Because being around you? It's intoxicating. Every moment I'm with you feels brighter, happier, more important and more exciting than any moment when I'm not. You're a magnet, constantly pulling me closer, no matter how hard I try to resist. When you look at me, I don't see anything else. When you touch me, I can't feel anything else.

The moments we've shared these past few weeks, alone in the moonlight, hidden away from the rest of the world, have been the best of my life. And I can't imagine that I won't have them again. I can't even stand the idea. So in the place where you won my heart, kiss by kiss, whisper by whisper, stolen moment by stolen moment, I'm begging you to bear with me one last time. I can't promise this will be the last crazy thing I do, but I can promise it will be the best.

Do you remember that game Bridge and I used to play? Back when you were a sophomore in high school, and we were just two middle school brats? I do. We'd steal your wallet right before you were going on a date and force you on a scavenger hunt to find it. So, yeah, that's what our entire relationship has come down to. I'm somewhere in New York, holding your wallet hostage, because this is the only idea I could come up with to make you understand how much I love you, how much I'll always love you, and how much I need you to forgive me.

If you don't want to play, you don't have to. Your wallet will be returned in time for you to go to work this evening. But if you do want to play, if you want to give us, give me, one more chance, then your next clue is waiting for you at the bowling alley where we went on a double date, pretending the entire time that we were just friends, knowing in our hearts that would never, ever be true.

With so much love (and not even a little, teeny-tiny bit of fear), Skye P.S. Don't kill the messenger(s)!

I know the second he reaches the end of the note because he looks up and tosses Bridge a wry grin. But then his gaze returns to the paper, scanning back and forth, and I have no idea what he's thinking. Is he mad? Pissed? Eager? Excited? I know it could go either way. I know he doesn't owe me another chance, not when he gave me six weeks of them. But I have faith. For the first time, the sensation churning in my gut isn't fear or anxiety, it's hope. And you know what? That's a lot more powerful. So much stronger, so much brighter, so much warmer.

I hold on to that feeling.

Watching and waiting.

Ignoring as the cold nips at my skin.

And then Ollie looks up. His mouth twitches. The left corner of his lip pulls up, slowly, as though fighting some inner resistance. A dimple presses into his cheek, growing deeper by the second. And everything about him comes to life.

"Where is she?" he asks.

Bridge shrugs. "Go find your next clue."

"You really won't just tell me?"

"Are you kidding? We spent a week putting this thing together. Just you wait, bro, you have no idea what's coming. And I'm not going to be the one to ruin it." Then she hands him his coat and pushes him forcefully out the door. "Good luck!"

"Don't need it!" he yells back, cocky and self-assured.

Bridge closes the door and turns to the camera, staring directly in the lens. "Are you sure you want to put up with him for the rest of your life? 'Cause, I have to. But you still have a choice."

"I'm sure," I whisper, knowing Bridge can't hear me.

But a moment later she grins, as though somehow she did, and the feed cuts off, leaving my screen blank.

Bridge: The idiot has left the building.

Only this time, it's not just to me, but to the group text we set up for all the messengers involved in my little game.

Claire McDonough: Be nice to your brother.

Bridge: I always am :) Sean McDonough: I'm not sure I'm working this thing correctly. New phone. Listen to your mother.

Mom: Who's going next? I can't remember! Love mom.

Me: Mom, you don't have to sign the text, we can see who it is!

Mom: Oh.

Patrick: I'm ready at the bowling alley. I'll send an update as soon as I have one.