Did people think I was rich? I wasn’t. Well… I guess in ninety days I would be. Holy shit. In ninety days, I was going to have a lot of money. I hadn’t actually thought about that. I’d been so worried about Billie and how freaked out she’d seemed about the entire thing.
Her eyes widened as if that was obvious. “Yeah, your name came up. It was at our spin class, and when I heard it, I mentioned that the guys helped you move and your girls were dolls. Then Charli said she met you and you’re tough, have a good sense of humor, and that you remind her of her brother, but not in a weird way.” She grinned and the energy in her face shifted. “That’s high praise from her.”
“Oh, that’s…nice…” I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Thanks.” I started to step aside to continue walking, but Sadie didn’t move.
Her eyes narrowed. “Can I ask you something?”
I’d rather you didn’t.“Sure.”
“Are you single?”
“I’m—” I thought about Billie, the whole fake-marriage ruse. “—not dating right now. I’m concentrating on getting the girls settled.”
Sadie nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, when they are settled, Alex and I should have you and Charli over for dinner. No pressure, but I think you should get to know her when she’s not torturing you. She’s the best. Really.”
I glanced around, looking in the bushes, the trash can and the building.
“What?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just checking for hidden cameras.”
“Why?” Sadie started looking around, over her shoulder.
“I’m assuming I’m on a prank show because that’s the only scenario that I could imagine Charli James would need a wing-woman.”
“She’s right,” Sadie said as she chuckled. “You are funny." She shook her head. “Yes, guys are lining up to be with her, but she’s still single, so what does that tell you?”
“That she wants to be single.” If she wanted a man, she could have one in a heartbeat.
“That the right one hasn’t stepped up to the plate.”
“Ah, so you are drafting a starting lineup?”
“Something like that.” She smiled as her head tilted. “I like you.”
I smiled as my Uber rolled up to the curb. “That’s me. It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” She headed up the stairs but paused before going inside.
I gave Sadie a wave and smile, shaky but sincere, and slid into the back seat. As we pulled away, I caught a glimpse of her through the window, already chatting up Leanne in the lobby, her gestures animated, her posture open and inviting. She was a connector, you could tell, one of those people who made the world smaller by tying everyone together.
The ride home was slow, my driver twice missing turns and then arguing with Google Maps in heavily accented English. I didn’t mind. I spent the time thinking about the conversation, about Charli, about the weirdness of being set up by someone I knew through six degrees of separation. The whole thing felt like it was happening to another version of me, some other Adamwho’d made better choices and was now being rewarded with the possibility of a date with an objectively perfect woman.
Charli really was perfect, in the way that made you resent perfection a little. She was beautiful, sure, but more than that, she was easy to talk to, with a sharp wit, and she smelled good. She had stories, she had jokes, and she remembered the names of the girls’ stuffed animals after a single mention.
What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just say “yes” when a well-meaning, meddling bakery owner offered me the inside track to an actual supermodel turned doctor who was also cool as fuck?
Because if I thought about going over for dinner with Alex, I didn’t see Charli as my date, all I could picture was Billie. Not the Billie from elementary school, or even high school, or the Billie from all the old stories, but the Billie from last night walking down the steps in that red dress, leaving for her date. The Billie from that morning standing in front of me, pledging to be my wife. The Billie who’d let Andi braid her hair into a “unicorn horn” and then wore it to pick up Thai food without ever acting embarrassed. The Billie who didn’t speak in more than three-word sentences until she’d had her second cup of coffee.
I pulled the ring from my pocket and turned it over in my palm. The Uber driver kept up a steady stream of music, some kind of new pop with a bassline that rattled the windows, but I barely heard it.
This marriage thing was supposed to be fake. Billie living in my house was a temporary fix, a Band-Aid on a much bigger problem. But every day she was there, the lines got blurrier. We’d fallen into our routines as if it were the most natural thing in the world—me making breakfast, her making dinner, all of us hanging out together for a couple hours in the evening—it felt more and more like something you’d call “a life.”
Charli was everything I could ever want in someone. I stared down at the ring in my palm. It had an expiration date. In a few weeks, she was going to move out. In a few months, this marriage would be dissolved, and I would be alone. So why the fuck was I turning down chances with supermodel doctors?
I knew the answer I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. My feelings were real and, I feared, just like the vows Billie had made to me, they were going to be there, always, forever.
30
