The sound of a car in the driveway breaks the moment.
“I’ll get the door,” I say.
I walk to the front door. Take a breath.
Open it.
And there he is.
Standing on Maya’s sprawling front porch in dark jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look like oceans of blue. Looking unfairly gorgeous in that casual, effortless way that should be illegal. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered, and he’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand.
And when he sees me, he smiles.
That Candy Kane smile. Charming. Perfect. Completely performative. And I can’t help but feel just a little disappointed.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great smile. It’s the smile that’s launched a thousand endorsement deals and made him Minnesota’s most eligible bachelor.
But that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It feels different now. Like there’s a wall between us that wasn’t there before.
My chest tightens.
“Hi,” he says.
Or maybe it was always there, and I’m just noticing it now.
“Ready?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond. Nod instead.
“Good,” he says, stepping forward. Brushing past me into the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
And he walks inside.
Eleven
Chloe
Hiring someone to plan a couples shower they will also be attending as a guest is a lot like making a murder victim dig their own grave.
In hindsight, I probably didn’t do myself any favors.
Maya and Derek are in matching white wicker chairs—decorated with Mr. and Mrs. sashes that I burned my thumb hot-gluing this afternoon—finishing up their round of the newlywed game.
The room’s packed. Twenty-five people. Maybe thirty. Most of them guys Derek plays hockey with. I don’t recognize any of them, but they all fill the room with a sort of bravado and competition. And they’re all watching as Derek reveals his answer to the last question.
“Biceps,” he says, grinning as he holds up his whiteboard.
Maya flips hers. “His smile.”
The room erupts in laughter, and Maya doubles over. It’s a quick recovery, and she leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek, laughing.
“Close enough!” she declares. “How’d we do?”
There’s a chorus of wildly inaccurate scorekeeping. “Ten out of ten!” “Nailed it!”
I try my best to join in, but my heart is racing.
Because I know what’s coming. And maybe a week ago, after spending a day with Brody, I might have felt a little more confident that we could survive this. But today…there’s something off.
