In my periphery I see her gesture toward me, her voice softer now. “This is my best friend, Skye Kennedy.”
I’m too busy digging in my bag, setting my phone to Do Not Disturb so I don’t get ambushed by memes or notifications, to notice him right away. My fingers fumble, I drop the damn thing into the abyss of receipts and gum wrappers, and when I finally look up, there’s a hand waiting for me.
“Sorry,” I reach out automatically, polite reflex. “Hi, I’m?—”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
“—Skye.”
It’shim.It’s fuckingAsshole Suit Guy.
And yes, before you say anything further, THAT Asshole Suit Guy. The same Asshole Suit Guy who’s ordered black coffee sometime between 7:23 and 7:25 every morning since the day I started working at my beloved little coffee shop without once cracking a smile. The same Asshole Suit Guy who has ignored every joke, every question, every compliment I lobbed his way. The same Asshole Suit Guy who, theone timehe dared to break his ownroutine, showed up at 7:35, and then burned himself with his own damn coffee, then decided to unleash the fires of hell all over me like I—yes, me, the very demure, very mindful, very cutesy Skye Kennedy—was the root of his problems.
Like what the actual fuck have I ever done to him?! NOTHING. That’s what!
My stomach drops, my pulse spikes, and I nearly yank my hand back—but too late, the handshake is already locked.
Fucking. Asshole. Suit Guy.
And now? He’s standing here, smooth as ever, introducing himself as Jacob Sterling, attorney at law. Tori’s attorney, if this meeting goes well and he’s the right fit for what she needs.
I swear, if God, the universe, whatever has a sense of humor, it’s a twisted one.
His eyes catch mine, and I know he recognizes me, too. There’s a flicker—jaw tight, eyes sharp—but then he smooths it all away, his expression the picture of professionalism.
“Ms. Kennedy,” he says evenly. Like we’re strangers. Like he didn’t once accuse me of having Kool-Aid colored hair and no life plan.
I paste on a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s a pleasure.”
Inside, I am screaming.
But outside? I straighten my spine, plant my feet, and remember why I’m here.
Not for him. Not for this overpriced, leather-soaked office.
For Tori. For my best friend who just walked through that door braver than I’ve ever seen her.
I’ll sit here in front of Asshole Suit Guy and swallow down every sarcastic comment clawing its way up my throat if it means she walks out of this office stronger than she came in.
Because if Tori can face down the end of her marriage, I can face a stuck up asshole with a vendetta against morning pleasantries.
But, just for good measure, I did my fingernail into his palm before letting go of his handshake.
That’s for making fun of my hair, prick.
EPILOGUE TWO
TORI
This entire dayhas been magical. A perfect Colorado day in late April.
The wedding ended hours ago, but the glow of it lingers. The sky above the Rockies is a deep stretch of indigo, scattered with stars so sharp they look close enough to touch. Strings of twinkle lights crisscross over the open lawn behind the lodge, each one flickering like a piece of captured starlight. Laughter ripples from the tables, the clink of glasses blending with the swell of music from the speakers set up near the dance floor.
Dexter and Alis’s reception looks exactly like the kind of dream you don’t want to wake from.
And here I am, in the middle of it, swaying in Leo’s arms.
His palm rests firm against the small of my back, guiding me easily among the couples. My hand presses against his shoulder, my head tucked into the familiar steadiness of his chest. The music is slow, low, wrapping around us like a ribbon.
