I zone in on a lime right in the middle so as not to affectthe symmetry of the arrangement. It’s a bit of a reach to the center of the table, but I think I can make it. Teetering on the toes of my shoes, I realize too late that one pair of my laces has unknotted. Right as my hand closes on a lime, I lose my balance. I pitch myself backward so I don’t topple over onto the arrangement, but before my ass makes contact with the Spanish tile, two warm hands steady my hips, pulling away as soon as I’m stable.
As I turn to thank my rescuer, the smile on my face ices over, but I can still feel the heat of his hands around my waist. Hands I know well. Hands that have skimmed up the bare skin of my calves toward my knee, and—
No. Stop. It’s not like that anymore.
I shut my eyes, as if my lids have the power to change the reality before me.
But when I open them a second later, I’m staring straight into deep brown eyes—dark but flecked with amber so they look like light through a glass of whiskey.
The eyes of none other than Finn frickin’ Hughes.
2
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
(Three days before the wedding)
SHAKING MYSELF OUT OFthe unwanted memory, I slip my foot back into my shoe, darting a look from the lime to the ribbons of my left espadrille puddled on the floor.
“Allow me.” Finn drops down to one knee, matter-of-factly reties the bow at my ankle, and stands. Despite my six-inch platform heels, he’s towering over me. I decide any flutter I feel is annoyance at being loomed over by someone so unreasonably tall.
Finn Hughes, my former debate team partner turned unforgivable asshole.
Okay, that might beslightlyharsher than he deserves. He wasn’t that bad for most of high school. But then he shot up sixmore inches, filled out to his current man-shape, and started making his way through the female half of our entire senior class. Once his soft smiles and serious eyes were paired with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw, girls suddenly found him irresistible. Even smart, slightly cynical, redheaded girls were not immune.
I can chart my history with Finn in a series ofalmosts. Wealmostdated in high school. Wealmosthooked up, that summer after freshman year of college. Wealmostleft our significant others for each other after things went too far one magical night on a rooftop in New York. And wewould havenever spoken again after that big blowup fight at Katie Dalton’s wedding a few years ago, if it were up to me. Our story is a sequence of mistakes almost made—times when I thought Finn and I might be something more than just friends—but thankfully I’ve managed to avoid making the one mistake I know would be fatal: falling for him. He’s a heartbreaker and a mess, and I’ve learned that the hard way more than once.
“What are you doing here?” I straighten up as much as possible and place my hands on my hips, tucking the lime and saltshaker to my side.
“Hi, Emma, I’m good, how are you? Why yes, ithasbeen a long time.” His voice is tinged with sarcasm, but he seems the slightest bit uneasy. He slides his hands into his pockets, rocking back as if he’s trying to take in all of me. Feeling his eyes linger, I can’t help the flush that blooms across my skin. I wonder for a moment if his brain is flipping through the same highlight reel of PG-13- to R-rated memories. His hand slipping into mine on the back of the debate team bus, his lips closing around my—
He clears his throat, and I’m jerked back to the present. “Seriously, though, it’s good to see you,” he adds in a casual, friendly tone.
I stare at him, steely eyed, willing my blush away. If he can stand there and be completely unaffected, then I can too.
It’s been exactly four and a half years since I last encountered Finn Hughes—and I’d happily have gone four and a halflifetimeswithout seeing him again, if it weren’t for our mutual friendship with Sybil. I knew Finn would be coming to the wedding, but I’d hoped to avoid him by busying myself with maid-of-honor duties and keeping my distance with the help of the nearly two hundred guests Sybil and Jamie invited. But I hadn’t planned for an ambush before the wedding weekend officially got underway at the welcome party tomorrow night.
“Why are you here, Finn?” I repeat.
“I drove down early for a meeting in LA this afternoon. Sybil told me to swing by.” Finn invented a healthcare app and is now a Silicon Valley tech bro who apparently zips down to LA to attend meetings and crash bachelorette parties. He rubs a hand along the nape of his neck. “The real question”—he steps forward to block me and my pilfered lime from the host—“is why are you stealing produce from a five-star resort?”
I suppress a shiver and force myself to take a step away from him. “The bartender refused to give me a lime, so I had to take matters into my own hands. You can’t have a tequila shot without lime.”
“Oh, of course. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Constitution,” he says with mock solemnity.
I nearly rise to the bait, but then remind myself that Finn and I don’t debate for fun anymore. Unlike our teenage verbalsparring, which was clearly just a pretense for the flirting we were too shy to attempt, our adult arguments have the potential to wound for real.Your Honor, I submit for evidence the complete and utter shit show that went down the last time Mr. Hughes and I saw each other.But we need to keep our drama to a minimum this weekend for Sybil’s sake. So I take a deep breath and lead him back to the group. “Come on. We’re sitting on the deck out back.”
We make it back to the girls, and I motion at Finn. “The stripper I hired is here.”
“That’snot on the itinerary.” Nikki raises her eyebrows.
“Itinerary?” Finn’s lips quirk up into a half smile. “Is this a bachelorette party or a corporate retreat?”
My grip on the lime tightens, and I set the saltshaker down more forcefully than I mean to.
“Finn!” Sybil leaps up from her seat and barrels into him. “I’m so happy to see you! You know Willow, of course. And do you remember my college roommate, Nikki?”
Finn lifts his hand in a wave. “Of course I remember Nikki,” he says with a smile.
