“I’d prefer Dairy Disaster Duchess, if we’re assigning titles.”
She grins and drags me into a quick, slightly sweaty hug, then half-leans on me like I’m structural support. “You okay?”
“Yep. Completely fine. Emotionally stable. Definitely not hiding behind period costume and booze.”
Lily snorts. “So, the usual?”
I smile. But she sees it, that edge under the laugh. Because of course she does. Lily’s been reading my face since year nine.
“I’m so sorry about earlier, Lily. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Err, I do. Tyler has that effect on most women.”
She says it lightly, but it lands like a sucker punch. My stomach dips, sudden and stupid, like I just lost a race I didn’t know I’d entered.
“Hayley,” she continues, tilting her head, her weight pressing into my shoulder. “What’s going on with you and Tyler?”
I hesitate. Then, because lying to Lily is like trying to bluff your way past a sniffer dog, I tell her. Quietly. About the garden. The kiss. The everything.
She raises an eyebrow. “You like him.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You don’t usually kiss strangers like that.”
I shrug, trying for casual. “It’s just a bit of wedding fever,” I lie, “and maybe some mead-fuelled poor judgement.”
Even I don’t believe that one. It sounds like something you’d print on a novelty tankard and sell in the gift shop.
Lily’s grin fades into something more measured, almost wary. “Yeah, well… impulse control isn’t exactly Tyler’s speciality either.”
She hesitates, then adds, “You know Helen’s still hovering, right? Tyler might ignore it, but if she snaps her fingers…”
The disappointment hits low and hard, a lead weight in my stomach. Because of course it’s Helen. Helen, with her shiny hair and perfect teeth and never-miss-a-beat confidence.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I manage, my voice flatter than I mean it to be.
Because what else am I supposed to say? That I already know I’m not the kind of girl men pick over someone like Helen? That I’m already overthinking a kiss that probably didn’t mean half as much to him as it did to me?
Lily’s expression eases as she squeezes my arm. “I just don’t want you getting caught in something messy. You’re… you, Hales. Don’t forget that.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “I won’t.”
But the flicker’s already there, curling cold and familiar in my chest: maybe I’m the side character again. Maybe I always was.
I’m turningto head back towards the dance floor when a voice slithers in behind me, too close to be accidental.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable in his arms, darling. Tyler and I are just… regrouping.”
I freeze. Exhale through my nose. Turn just enough to see the bitch ex, Helen, with her perfect hair, predatory smile, and the energy of a woman who monologues before pushing you off a cliff.
“Regrouping?” I echo, flat.
She steps closer, wine glass in hand like this is a toast rather than a confrontation. “We’re taking some space. That’s all. Youknow how these things go, long-term relationships hit pauses, not endings.”
Ah. So that’s the narrative she’s chosen to keep herself warm at night.
“Wow,” I say, arching a brow. “So, this whole weekend is your version of a romantic timeout? You and Tyler are… what, Ross and Rachel now?”
