“I Googled her after we met.” Margie’s eyes light up. “Archie. She’s Curvy Cupid. Do you understand? I’ve been following her Substack for months. The stuff she writes about being ‘too much,’ about finding someone who wants all of you—” She presses a hand to her heart. “If anyone can get through that thick shell of yours, it’s her.”
I don’t say anything, and I know if I tell my sister that Tessa has already done just that? Sweet mercy, I don’t want to know.
“What was your first date like?” Margie continues. “Where did you take her? Please tell me you didn’t take her somewhere boring. She deserves somewhere special. She wrote this whole post once about how women can tell when a man puts thought into a date versus just picking the first restaurant that comes up on Google—”
“I’ve read it,” I say without thinking.
Margie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve read her stuff?”
Shit.
“Some of it.” I reach for my drink again, avoiding her eyes. “When I was getting to know her.”
“Oh, my god.” Margie’s grin is enormous. “You really like her. Like, really like her. You never research anyone. You barelyGoogle people before you work with them. I didn’t know you even knew what Substack was.”
“Drop it.”
“Never.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. “I’m happy for you, Archie. You deserve this. Just don’t screw it up, okay? She’s special.”
I think about Tessa’s video. About the vulnerability she shares with thousands of strangers that she doesn’t know I’ve seen.
Margie’s going to ambush her the first chance she gets. She’s going to ask about our first date, our anniversary, our future plans. And Tessa’s going to have to improvise answers while I stand there knowing her deepest fears. Knowing exactly how much it hurts her when men make her feel like she’s not enough.
My hand finds the back of my neck again. I need to protect her. From the awkwardness, the lies, from any situation where she might feel exposed. I need to make sure she never has that look in her eyes—the one from the video, the one that saysI’m waiting for you to leave too.
“I won’t,” I tell my sister. “Screw it up.”
I hope to God that’s a promise I can keep.
CHAPTER 4
TESSA
Absolutely not.”
Joanie’s voice cuts through the steam from my curling iron as she spots the garment bag hanging on my closet door. She sets down the eyeshadow palette and crosses the room like a woman on a mission.
“Is this what I think it is?” She unzips the bag before I can stop her, revealing the pink silk dress I’ve been saving. “Tessa Marie Hart. This is the dress.”
“It’s just a dress.”
“It’s the dress you’ve been saving for three years. The dress you wouldn’t wear to your cousin’s wedding because ‘the occasion wasn’t special enough.’ The dress you literally called your ‘someday dress.’” She turns to face me, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. “And you’re wearing it for a fake date?”
I focus on curling the next section of hair, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. “It’s an enjoyable event. Black tie. I didn’t have anything else appropriate.”
“You have four black-tie-appropriate dresses in that closet. I’ve seen your backup options.”
“They didn’t feel right.”
Joanie makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a snort. She drapes herself across my bed, propping her chin in her hands like she’s settling in for a show. “So when’s the wedding?”
“There’s no wedding. It’s one night. A favor for a stranger.”
“A hot stranger.”
“That’s not relevant.”
“That’s extremely relevant.” She grabs one of my throw pillows and hugs it to her chest. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about him all week.”
