Page 65 of Only Be Mine

Cate

Present

Islid the ring off my finger.

It came free too easily - loose now, the way things get when time passes whether you’re ready for it or not. I turned it once between my thumb and forefinger, then curled my hand around it, like I could make it smaller if I tried hard enough.

For a split second, I almost laughed.

The last time I’d panicked about getting married, Amy and I had been sitting in a booth at Moe’s, elbows pressed into Formica, marveling over the ring John had given me. I’d gone through with it then. I’d committed fully. I’d believed in it with everything I had.

And look where that got me.

“Okay,” I said, exhaling as I shoved the ring into my purse. “Let’s go.”

Amy glanced at me as we followed the paved path away from the lake, back toward Moe’s parking lot. “You sure?”

“No,” I said honestly. “But standing here isn’t helping.”

The afternoon had slipped past us without permission. Sunlight filtered through the trees, warm but no longer gentle, the kind of brightness that made everything feel too exposed.

Families were loading kids into cars. Joggers passed us, earbuds in, lives intact.

I unlocked the Lexus and climbed into the driver’s seat.

It still startled me sometimes - how new it looked, how clean, how expensive. Trevor had chosen it himself. Safe. Reliable. Something that wouldn’t break down when I needed it most.

John would’ve hated it.

I shut the thought down before it could settle.

Amy buckled in beside me. “Our nail appointment was an hour ago,” she said carefully. “Want me to reschedule?”

I started the engine. “What else is left?”

She checked her phone. “Massages at two. Hair at four. Rehearsal dinner at six.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want a massage.”

Amy raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want strangers touching me,” I added. “I don’t want my nails done. I don’t want to tan. And I definitely don’t want to lie there pretending I’m relaxed when I feel like my skin doesn’t fit.”

I pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward town. “Honestly? I kind of just want to go home.”

“You can’t go home,” Amy said, not unkindly. “You still need to do something with that hair.”

She said hair like it was a problem that needed professional intervention.

I reached up, touching the loose ponytail at the nape of my neck. “If I get my hair done,” I said, “will you let me skip everything else?”

She smiled. “Everything except the rehearsal dinner.”

“Deal.”

We drove in silence for a few blocks.

“I thought you were going to push me harder,” I admitted. “Tell me to suck it up. Smile more. Be grateful.”