“I’d friend-zone him then,” Katie said, unscrewing the cap of her water bottle. She took a sip. “What’s the point of going on another date if you know he’s your frog and not your prince?”
Because Connor hasn’t cut ties with Lauren yet, my Machiavellian mind thought. I wasn’t actively trying to break them up, but if Lauren got frustrated with Connor when he included me in their plans—her pout–silent treatment combo was right on point—or if Connor kept making a face whenever he asked who I was texting, then fine.
Fine, fine—totally fine!
“Friend-zone him,” Katie repeated, “and match with someone else until Connor figures out you swimming around in the dating pool bothers him.”
My eyes widened, and not because anything was happening on the road. “What?” I blurted. “How do you know about Connor and me?”
The answer was the most obvious answer in the world, but it didn’t fully connect until Katie said my brother’s name. “He thinks you guys could be amazing together,” she said as my face reddened. I couldn’t be upset with Austin; Katie was his fiancée,the peanut butter to his jelly, the star to his burst. Why wouldn’t he tell her his hopes and dreams and fears and family updates?
Plus, he hadn’t violated my trust in any way. Wanting Connor and me to be together wasn’t the same as saying that I had a crush on Connor.
But it was a little embarrassing.
“Austin’s a huge fan of friends-to-lovers,” Katie continued. “He told Paige it’s his favorite trope.”
Her voice had quieted a little, and I wondered if she was thinking of Samira—of Austin and Samira, and their friends-to-lovers-to-friends relationship. I knew Katie didn’t like Samira, but did she feelthreatenedby her? Was she, too, secretly wondering if Austin would wake up one day and realize he wanted to be with his best friend again?
No, I blinked the thought away. No, there was no way. She was the one with the ring on her finger.
“Hey, you want to hear something weird?” I asked, to change the subject.
Katie agreed, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her admiring her French manicure. I was losing her. A podcast was imminent if this didn’t pique her interest.
“Okay, get this,” I said. “Besides none of my dates advancing to a second date, they’ve all had something else in common…”
“Mmm? What’s that?”
I licked my lips, the two ready-and-waiting words almost ticklish, then said: “Marco Álvarez.”
Katie’s eyes snapped up from assessing her nails. Finally, I’d hooked her! “Wait, what?” she asked. “You talk about Marco on every date?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Marco hasbeenon every date.”
***
Finally, after two bathroom breaks, spurts of inexplicable traffic, a missed exit,anda wrong turn, Waze told me to turn onto a private paved road leading into the woods. It went uphill, so I shifted into first gear while Katie basically pressed her face against the window like a little kid. “Wow,” she breathed when the thick trees opened up to reveal a rambling mansion, three stories of beige stucco, soaring white columns, and every window style imaginable. “What would you list this as?” I’d asked Dad after showing my parents the house online. “It looks vaguely French country meets Craftsman? Right?”
Da had spoken first. “I don’t know, but I’d market it asThe Great Gatsbymeets lake life.”
Katie burst from the Defender the second I put it in park and didn’t bother waiting for me. “No worries!” I said once she’d slammed the passenger door shut and taken off for the house. “I’ll get the luggage…”
Big balloons had been arranged on the front porch, metallic gold letters spelling out WELCOME KATIE! along with the ubiquitous diamond ring mylar balloon. Determined to carry ahundred things all at once, I gritted my teeth and pushed through the strings of pearlescent beads that had been hung in the front doorway. “Oh, Mads, perfect!” Amanda said after I literally tripped into the enormous foyer. “These are Katie’s things, right?”
I nodded slowly, too busy taking in the cathedral ceiling, arched windows, and crystal chandelier.
“I’ll take them,” Amanda continued, gesturing to the gleaming wood staircase. “I sent her up to find her room and so she can change.”
Katie had multiple outfits for this weekend, all of them predictably white. Tonight’s was a simple athleisure two-piece set that the bridesmaids had chipped in on as a surprise gift.
“You should hurry and change too,” Amanda told me. “The chips-and-salsa spread is almost ready. Courtney is making her famous guac and Reese is gonna mix margs.”
“Sounds good,” I said. Just like Katie, the bridesmaids had assigned outfits for the weekend—or coordinating outfits. Tonight, I was supposed to wear black and pink.
Upstairs, a silver star with my name in metallic purple puffy paint had been posted on a door that opened into a small cozy bedroom. My custom T-shirt was waiting for me.
And the T-shirt wasn’t the only welcome gift left on the room’s twin bed. “This is no joke,” I murmured, spotting a shiny gold-sequined fanny pack. SQUAD was stitched across the front in black lettering. I unzipped it to find what I assumed was this weekend’s survival kit, which included everything from Altoidsto throwback soda–flavored lip balm to packets of Liquid IV powder to a pair of heart-shaped red sunglasses.
