Always and Forever, Lara Jean

Never say no when you really want to say yes.

I guess that's part of growing up, too--saying goodbye to the things you used to love.

Is this how it goes? You fall in love, and nothing seems truly scary anymore, and life is one big possibility?

Kitty's always saying how origin stories are important. At college, when people ask us how we met, how will we answer them? The short story is, we grew up together. But that's more Josh's and my story. High school sweet-hearts? That's Peter and Gen's story. So what's ours, then? I suppose I'll say it all started with a love letter.

Peter will love Lara Jean with all his heart, always

Being vulnerable, letting people in, getting hurt... it's all part of being in love.

It snuck up on me—growing up, I mean.

One day all of this will be proof, proof that we were here, proof that we loved each other. It’s the guarantee that no matter what happens to us in the future, this time was ours. When

She always picked love; she always picked adventure. To her they were one and the same.

I like the way he looks at me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep.

I have a feeling that when I'm Stormy's age, these everyday moments will be what I remember: Peter's head bent, biting into a chocolate chip cookie; the sun coming through the cafeteria window, bouncing off his brown hair; him looking at me.

Music makes everything more romantic, doesn't it? One second you're walking your dog in the suburbs, and then you put on Adele, and it's like you're in a movie and you've just had your heart brutally broken.

Families shrink and expand. All you can really do is be glad for it, glad for each other, for as long as you have each other.

I don’t want to forget any of this. The way he’s looking at me at this very moment. How, when he kisses me, I still get shivers down my back, every time. I want to hold on to everything so tight.

I’m a person who saves things. I’ll hold on forever. *

There's an openness to his face, an innocence—a certain kind of niceness. It's the niceness that touches my heart the most.

He texts back: I love you. I'm starting to text back, I love you, too, when my phone rings. It's Peter's house number, and I answer it eagerly. "I love you, too," I say. There is surprised silence on the other end, then a little laugh to cover it up. "Hi, Lara Jean. This is Peter's mom.

Nothing good happens after two a.m. Unless you happen to be a fan of watching people play flip cup for hours on end. Not me. No, I’d much prefer to be in my flannel pajamas with a cup of Night-Night tea and a book, thank you very much.

Actually, judging by Pinterest alone, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would look forward to hanging out in such a beautiful library.

Wait, I thought I was your dream guy,' Peter says. Not to me, to Kitty. He knows he's not my dream guy. My dream guy is Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables. Handsome, loyal, smart in school.

Sometimes I wish we’d met when we were twenty-seven. Twenty-seven sounds like a good age to meet the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. At twenty-seven, you are still young, but hopefully you are well on your way to being the you you want to be. But

But then I think, no, I wouldn’t give up twelve, thirteen, sixteen, seventeen with Peter for the world.

But still I hope, because I can’t help but hope. *

We’re still here. It’s not the future yet. *

and all of the books are behind metal grates, protected like the precious objects they are.

How crazy, how thrilling that your whole life trajectory can change in just one night.

What’s a meet-cute?” Peter’s lying on his side now, his head propped up on his elbow. He looks so adorable I could pinch his cheeks, but I refrain from saying so. His head is big enough as it is. “A meet-cute is when the hero and heroine meet for the very first time, and it’s always in a charming way. It’s how you know they’re going to end up together. The cuter the better.

But then I see the way he is looking at me, with such tenderness, and I stop.

What if I came here and I ended up loving it? What if, after a year, I didn’t want to leave? What then? But wouldn’t it be great if I loved it? Isn’t that the whole point? Why bet on not loving a place? Why not take a chance and bet on happiness? I

I lean over to him and put my palms on his smooth cheeks. “That’s how I know you’re still a boy. Because you’re so sure.” He