We’re surrounded by flowering shrubs and palm trees beyond the walkway. The light wind off the ocean rustles the bright red-and-green leaves on a shorter tree, and upbeat island music trills somewhere in the distance.
Sure, a few of the tiki torches have gone out. And there are some dead palm fronds littering the grass under a tree or two.
But this place is a tropical paradise.
My best friend shouldn’t be stressed here. Especially not a few days before she finally marries the love of her life at the resort she’s told everyone she’ll be getting married at since the day she pulled a photo of it out of a travel catalog when we were little.
I draw to a stop, grab her arms, and look up at her. “Em. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Emma’s been one of my two best friends for over twenty years. I know when she’s lying. I know when she’s trying hard to convince me she’s not lying. And I know when she’s on the edge of a breakdown and is lying as a last resort to convince herself that nothing’s wrong.
Which is exactly where we are now.
“Okay. Let’s start with some deep breaths. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”
“Laney,” she whispers, a plaintive plea full of hope, “I don’t know if you can.”
“Gotta talk to me first. Tell me what’s going on. Everything okay with you and Chandler?”
She winces.
I tilt my head and wait.
“Chandler and I are fine,” she says. “The wedding is fine. Everything’s fine.”
She doesn’tsoundfine.
She sounds like she’s a hair’s breadth from hopping a passing freighter and running away from her life.
I add a brow lift and wait for more.
“It’s not like that time we almost broke up three years ago,” she finally says in a rush. “We’refine. Both thrilled to be here and finally getting married. It’s…neither one of us.”
No lies detected, but there’s still so much stress making her expression tight and her breath too shallow.
I nod and squeeze her arms. “Okay. So what is it?”
She pulls away and starts down the path again. A hint of the sunset comes into view between two bushes, andoh my god.
That’s gorgeous.
Oranges and pinks swirled together behind a row of coconut trees.
Whatever—orwhoever—is ruining this for Emma is goingdown. She should be out on the beach with Chandler, watching this show.
But the sunset disappears behind a tall, flowered bush while I follow her along the winding, cracked sidewalk.
“Emma?”
She uses her teeth to rip open the protein bar package, then gnaws off a huge corner, chews three times, and swallows. “Oh. Cookies and cream. That’s my favorite.”
“I know. What’s wrong? How do I make the bride of the hour as happy as she can be?”
She slides a look at me before attacking the protein bar with a bite that demolishes half of what’s left.
Uh-oh.
