A pause. Then another message.
Tessa. Thanks.
I stare at the word. Such a small thing. But he didn’t have to say it. He could have just confirmed the logistics and left it there.
You can thank me after you survive whatever your sister has planned.
That bad?
She’s going to interrogate us like she’s the FBI.
You’re probably right.
I’m always right. It’s a gift.
A moment. Then:I’m starting to see that.
I’m smiling again as I set the phone down and head for my closet.
If I’m really walking into a Valentine’s Day gala on the arm of a gorgeous, grumpy stranger, I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to wear.
I flip through the hangers. The red cocktail dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding. Too predictable. The emerald wrap dress that makes my eyes look good but photographs terribly. The blacksheath that’s elegant but boring. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels like the moment this deserves.
Then I push past the everyday options to the back of the closet. To the garment bag I haven’t touched in three years.
I unzip it slowly, revealing pink silk that catches the light like it’s woven with stars. The dress I bought on a whim during a sample sale, convinced I’d have somewhere to wear it. The dress I’ve been saving for a special occasion.
I pull it out and hold it against myself, turning to face the mirror.
The neckline is elegant but daring. The fabric drapes over my curves like it was made for me, which it was after I paid for two rounds of alterations. It makes me feel strong and pretty.
Someone who isn’t too much.
That phrase echoes in my head. Too much. How many times have I heard it? From exes who said I was too ambitious, too loud, too successful. From dates who seemed interested until they realized I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I’ve built an entire career helping women navigate love. Men who look at me and think I’m meek are always sorely disappointed.
But when Archie looked at me last night, I didn’t feel like too much. The way he looked at me felt like he was impressed by everything I said and wanted to know more.
I remember the way his gaze dropped to my body before he caught himself. The strength of his hand when he held mine. The way he said my name, low and deliberate, and how it made my core flare to life.
“I think it’s time for this dress to make its debut.”
CHAPTER 3
ARCHIE
Iwas only going to watch one video.
It’s now two in the morning, and I’m sitting in my dark apartment with my laptop balanced on my chest, the glow of Tessa’s face the only light in the room. She’s talking about first date red flags, her hands moving expressively, those pink nails catching the light from her ring light setup.
I’ve been at this for hours.
It started innocently enough. I figured I should know who I was dealing with. Due diligence. So I used her phone number to run the kind of background check I’d run on someone I needed to know more about. To say I was surprised by what I found would be an understatement.
Except background checks don’t usually involve watching someone’s entire YouTube catalog while your throat tightens every time she laughs.
I click on the next video, which was posted eight months ago. “Why I’m Still Single.” Tessa’s sitting in her home office, in front of a pink wall, and her energy is quieter than in her other videos.
“I get this question a lot,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “People assume that because I do this, I must have it figured out for myself. Like I’ve got some secret formula I’m keeping from everyone.” She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “The truth is, I’m single because I haven’t found someone who wants all of me. Not the Curvy Cupid you see, but the real, messy version of me. All of me.”
