She stares at me with battle-ready eyes. “Do you see my point now? There’s a very good chance he might bring someone else to the wedding. If your ex is at the wedding with a plus-one, you’ll have to be there with someone too, otherwise it’ll look like you aren’t moving on.”
“It’s been two weeks. Am I supposed to have moved on? I was thinking I’d take maybe a couple of years to regroup. Figure out what went wrong. Learn from it.”
“You don’t need to sit on the sidelines and lick your wounds.” Caroline paces around the island; she only needs a headset mic, and she could be presenting a TED Talk. “You need to get back out there and move the hell on like the fabulous babe you are.” She pauses, levels me with a sharp stare. “And, let’s be real, you don’t want to be known as the romance planner who got dumped on the Jumbotron.”
Or worse—the romance planner who screwed up her own Jumbotron proposal. “Valid point,” I admit. Since it’s not like the clients are lining up right now to hire someone who sucks at relationships.
I’m also not entirely in the mood to create jigsaw puzzle proposals or romantic movie scene reenactments for proposals, engagement parties, or big anniversary dates.
Imagine that.
But I’ll need to get my mojo back soon. I’ll need to move forward in my business, not to linger on what happened on the big screen. “You want me to change the narrative.”
“Exactly. And what better way to show Jameson and everyone else that you’re not hurt than by having a hot guy on your arm? You need a top-notch plus-one. And I already have an idea for your wedding date.”
I give her myI’m waitingface.
My sister gives me herI’m eight years older and know betterface. So, basically, her face.
“Okay. Who?” I ask, breaking the silence.
She sweeps a hand toward the new succulent. “The guy who gave you the plant to check in on how you were doing.”
I blink. “You can’t be serious?”
There’s no hint of laughter in her eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“There’s nothing in it for Lake. He’s a superstar athlete.”
A devilish grin shifts her lips. “A superstar athlete who helped you out of a jam.”
“That doesn’t mean he wants to be my wedding date.”
“Please,” she says, wearing confidence like it’s her perfume. “You really think he did that whole thing because he’snotinto you?”
“I think he did it because he felt sorry for me. I work with him, and he’s also Clem’s brother.”
She smiles again, without showing any teeth. “Then leverage the sympathy.”
“Is that what you would tell your viewers?”
“No,” she says, calm as a rattlesnake before a strike. “But this is what you need to do to live your best life. I love you madly and want you to move on. Also, I need this wedding to go off without a hitch. I have more than a hundred people working on my show, and I don’t want anything to go wrong. I don’t want Jameson to draw too much attention by showing up with a date. And I don’t want Fresh Face worried about how it all might go down. It’s a win–win. Especially since you get to look terrific, rebuild your business, and have a hot athlete on your arm as you do it.”
Translation:do it.
I picture the broody, intense hockey star with the chiseled jaw and cool eyes that never stray when he talks to you. The team’s been on a long road trip, so I haven’t seen him sincethat Friday night. But I vividly remember him here on the porch, under the midnight stars, with that cocky grin, saying, “I’m just that good.”
What happens if he says no to being my plus-one? It would be embarrassing for a minute, but we don’t spend that much time together at work.
But what happens if he says yes?
My heartbeat does something strange. Something wild it hasn’t done in a couple of weeks. It speeds up.
“I’ll ask him,” I say.
“Do it tomorrow,” Caroline says. “We have a picnic coming up for the wedding party. Fresh Face wants to show off outdoor makeup. I want to show off how well everything’s going, including how well you’re doing.”
She leaves, taking the mug—and presumably, the rest of the sympathy—with her.
