There it is. The subtext I’ve been hearing my whole life, wrapped in sisterly concern. I’m over my head, out of my league. Tell me something I don’t know.
“And he has a reputation,” she says, almost whispering it, like we might be in a hair salon, talking behind a copy of People magazine.
“A reputation for what, exactly?” I know I shouldn’t ask. I already know I won’t like the answer.
“For dating models. Influencers. You know—” Another pause. More delicate. “You’re not exactly his type, Chloe.”
No duh. He’s standing there, looking away from me, his hands in his pockets, and she’s right. He’s gorgeous, with those shoulders, and dark hair and blue eyes. And then there’s me…flyaway hair tangled around my shoulders, chin turtle-tucked into my jacket collar, fully aware that I look ridiculous, bundled up like the Michelin Man. Maybe he had a touch of heatstroke that day in Barcelona.
“I’m just worried about you getting hurt. And”—the real concern surfaces—“I don’t want anything to mess up the wedding.”
There it is.
Don’t mess up my perfect wedding with your poor life choices, Chloe. Don’t embarrass us by being with someone out of your league. Don’t exist too loudly.
My free hand clenches in my pocket. The cold metal of the bus shelter presses against my back.
“Wow. Thanks, Maya. But I think I can handle myself.”
“Can you? Because this seems really sudden, and with the party this weekend?—”
I’ve already lifted the phone away from my ear. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later,” I say into the icy wind and hang up before she can respond.
Then I stand there for a second, phone in hand, trying to remember how to breathe. The exhaust from a passing truck hits me, diesel fumes mixing with the metallic smell of cold air.
The digital sign changes. 2 minutes.
“Your sister?” Brody asks quietly.
I laugh. It’s not a happy sound. “Yeah. Apparently, I can’t be trusted to date without supervision.”
Brody frowns. “She said that?”
My gaze lifts at the tone in his voice—clipped. He almost sounds…defensive, which would be crazy because he doesn’t know me well enough to be angry for me.
“Not…exactly that.”
Brody tilts his head, that protective look deepening. The thought sends a wave of heat rolling through me. “What did she say?”
“That you have a reputation for being charming.” I’m going for light sarcasm. It comes out harsh, almost bitter. “That I’ll get hurt…that I’m not exactly your type. That she’s worried I’m going to—” I stop. Can’t quite say it out loud.
Ruin her wedding. Embarrass the family. Prove I’m exactly who they think I am: the sister who can’t get her life together.
“I wouldn’t believe everything you read about me on the internet,” he says.
“This may come as a shock to you, Brody”—I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets as a shiver runs through me—“but I actually don’t spend my evenings catching up on the latest hockey drama. It’s my sister’s fiancé, Derek. He’s not a huge fan.”
Brody is still, standing at my side, his warm gaze searing through the side of my head. A gust of wind scatters the snow off the top of the bus stop. Icy crystals glitter against the inky darkness. Finally, he turns toward the road, tucking his hands into his own jacket as though he intends to join me on the bus.
“I heard her mention a party,” he says nonchalantly. “This weekend?”
“It’s a meet and greet, actually.”
Brody raises a brow. “What is a meet and greet?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. It’s a party for everyone involved in the wedding, the families and wedding party, to all meet prior to the wedding.”
“Sounds like a fancy way to waste money.”
