"I could talk to my mom?" Vinnie offers. "She knows everyone in the industry. Her friend Marissa's the editor at—"
"No." Amelia's voice sharpens. "Really, it's fine. I was never serious about it anyway. The store needs me, and Mom's finally letting me have input on buying trips, and . . ." She trails off, then brightens artificially. "Hey, Daphne's coming home next month."
I share a look with Vinnie, who seems to understand this isn't the moment to push Amelia further. Sometimes friendship means knowing when to let someone change the subject.
"Don't say anything yet though," Amelia adds quickly to Vinnie. "No one in town knows, and James especially can't find out. She needs time to process everything before dealing with that whole mess."
"Of course." Vinnie nods, and I catch the flash of understanding in her eyes. After our wine night last week, where we'd filled her in on the whole saga—Daphne's burnout at the children's hospital, the mess with James before she left, everything that went down in Cresden—she gets why this homecoming needs to be handled delicately. "My lips are sealed."
"And that means," Amelia fixes me with a pointed stare, "no telling your bestie Caleb. The last thing we need is him accidentally spilling to James during one of their guy's nights."
I roll my eyes. "You've literally told me that every day since Daphne called. I can keep a secret, you know."
"So, what exactly are you expecting from this wedding weekend?" Vinnie asks, bringing the focus back on me.
"Honestly?" I smooth the silk over my hips. "I have no idea. All I know is it's at The Thistlewood Estate in West Virginia. Wedding is on Saturday, but there's a whole week of activities, and we'll head back Sunday evening."
"And you'll be sharing a room with Caleb?" Amelia's perfectly arched eyebrow says everything her mouth isn't. "Because that's totally going to be fine."
"Separate beds!" I fling a discarded dress sash at her. "He's crashed at my place a million times. It's not weird."
"Ivy, that's what makes it weird." Amelia shakes her head. "You share clothes, he sleeps over constantly, you're his emergency contact—which, by the way, is hilarious given he still lives with his mother. You're in a relationship. Just . . . without the orgasms."
I look to Vinnie for backup, but she shrugs. "She kind of has a point."
"Not you too!"
"I'm not saying men and women can't be friends," Vinnie says carefully. "But you two have this spark. Like there's always something simmering just under the surface that neither of you wants to acknowledge."
"Oh god, not the chemistry talk again." Amelia throws her hands up. "Trust me, Vin, I've known them forever. Caleb would absolutely fuck her and break her heart, and then I'd be stuck working out how to dispose of his body, which would be incredibly inconvenient given my schedule."
"Amelia!" But Vinnie's already laughing.
"Don't worry," I huff. "We're strictly friends, and I'm not stupid. I'm aware Caleb doesn't want a relationship." The words hang in the air for a moment too long before I realize what I've admitted. "I mean—what I meant was—you don't have to stress about any of that."
"Right." Amelia's voice softens slightly. "Because sharing a room with the guy you've been half in love with since forever while surrounded by wedding romance is definitely going to be fine."
"I haven't been . . . it's not like that."
"Keep telling yourself that, babe." Amelia starts gathering the rejected dresses. "Just remember, I have a guy with a pig farm on standby. You know, just in case."
"Caleb's not what you think." The words tumble out unchecked, and both of them stare at me. "You act like he's some hopeless case."
"I act like he'sCaleb," Amelia mutters. "You act like he's someone he's not."
"You don't know him like I do."
"No," she breathes. "But I know you."
The silence stretches until Vinnie clears her throat. "I'm sure Caleb has his good qualities—"
"He does." I smooth down my maxi dress, grateful to be back in something that lets me breathe. "He's loyal, and funny, and he always shows up when it matters."
"For you," Amelia points out. "He shows up foryou.Like, yeah, he's there for the guys—helps James at the garage, shows up for beer and game nights at Brodie's, typical bro stuff. But with you?" She shakes her head. "He's got a sixth sense, or something. Like last month when your car broke down at two a.m. and he left that blond at O'Malley's to come get you. Or how he drops everything to help you set up for store events." She gives me a pointed look. "Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy to his friends. But with you? It's different. He'd probably help you hide a body, no questions asked, whereas the rest of us would be lucky to get a 'thoughts and prayers' text."
"That's not . . ." But even as I start to argue, I know she has a point. Caleb's always been reliable in his own chaotic way with everyone, but with me . . . there's an intensity to his protectiveness that I try not to examine too closely. "He's just being nice," I protest weakly.
"Nice is picking up a phone call. Caleb Miller builds you emergency kits with your favorite snacks and keeps them in his car 'just in case.' That's not just nice, babe. That's . . . something else entirely."
