“Mason.” I give him a stern look, turning to face him.
“What? Someone’s gotta say it.” He shrugs, unapologetic.
“No. They don’t.” I cross the room and check my reflection in the full-length mirror. The tux fits perfectly. I look like someone who has his life together.
The mirror’s a liar.
“She’s good for you.” His voice softens.
“She’s—” Complicated. Terrifying. Everything. I straighten my tie even though it’s perfect. “She’s leaving.”
“So ask her to stay.” He says it like it’s simple. Like words can fix this.
I almost laugh, the sound bitter. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why?” Genuine confusion colors his voice.
Because I don’t know how. Because the last time I asked someone to stay, she left anyway. Because Poppy deserves better than an emotionally stunted lawyer who just learned how to feel again.
“It just isn’t.” I turn away from the mirror, from my own reflection.
Mason shakes his head, disappointed. “You’re an idiot.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” I grab my jacket, shrugging it on.
“At least you’re a well-dressed idiot.” He claps my shoulder, the gesture grounding. “Come on. Time to go play guitar for the woman you’re pretending not to love.”
“I’m not—”
“Save it for Reddit, bro.” He’s already walking away, laughing.
He leaves. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to see what Poppy sees. What makes her look at me like I’m worth saving.
My phone—still off—sits on the dresser. Eighteen missed calls, probably. Emails piling up. My entire career potentially circling the drain.
I leave it off.
Grab my guitar and head downstairs.
Time to play wedding music and pretend my entire life isn’t reorganizing itself around a woman who’s leaving in twenty-four hours.
The estate looks like Poppy’s Pinterest board exploded. In the best way. Flowers everywhere—peonies and roses and things I can’t name. Fairy lights even though it’s still daylight, strung between trees like captured stars. White chairs lined up in tidy, perfect rows. The freaking porta-potties that are somehow classy, disguised with lattice and climbing vines.
And Poppy. Standing by the arch, adjusting something that doesn’t need adjusting. Nervous energy radiating off her in waves I can feel from here.
She’s in a burgundy dress that should be illegal. Hair twisted up with what looks like—is that a pencil?
Of course it is.
She sees me. Freezes. Her clipboard drops a few inches, forgotten.
I cross to her, guitar in hand, my shoes crunching on the grass.
“Hey.” Brilliant opening. Truly.
“Hey.” She won’t meet my eyes, focusing instead on something over my shoulder. “You look…”
“Like a penguin?” I offer, trying for humor.
