Page 25 of How to Ruin a Wedding

When I nod, he crosses his arms against his chest. “You’ve had it rough.”

I purse my lips. “Yes, which is why you should upgrade the flight to a full-blown bottle of wine for me.”

Just in time, the waitress comes over to check on us. Anders cancels my second flight and orders a bottle, and I help myself to a handful of fries. Anders lets me get in a few bites of my burger—as good as promised—before speaking again.

“You tell me how much you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

His voice is so confident and final and warm, and I have to swallow the sudden moisture in my throat. “Then I’ll accept. I’ll do it. I’ll need alotmore information and a cover. We’ll talk more details as it gets closer. Do you think anyone will recognize me from the wedding?”

He shakes his head. “The only thing anyone remembers is the pastor falling over and the almost fire.”

With perfect timing, the waitress drops off the bottle of wine and fills my glass. “You recognized me,” I point out, something I meant to do earlier.

“I did,” he answers, “and as for cover, be my girlfriend. You can stay at my place—I have an extra room—so it’ll be easier to bring you around, and you can be my plus-one for any events.” He lets out a long breath. “And my aunt will stop worrying I’m spiraling after the wedding.”

It’s an easy cover and will give me plenty of access to insider information. But my focus catches on the tail end of his words. I would think worrying about a grown man being lonely would be the mother’s responsibility.

I bring the wineglass to my lips. “Haveyoubeen having it rough since I last saw you?”

“Not anymore,” he says, his hot gaze pinning me in place.

Not frozen, as I am, the wine slides down the glass to my mouth. I nearly spill it over myself as I drop the glass back on the table and lick the remnants from my lips.

Anders, no napkin in hand, reaches over the table and swipes his thumb beneath my bottom lip, catching stray beads of wine I missed. My stomach fizzes, like a bottle of champagne popped open within it.

“Some ground rules.” I jerk back, forcing my hands flat on the table as my cheeks burn. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Anything remotely kind: holding the door open for me, a hand on my back leading me somewhere, looking at me for more than five seconds at a time, pulling my hair behind my ears, wiping crumbs from my mouth, physical touch.” It’s a warning I’ve never had to give a client before, but sirens go off in my head now, telling me lines have to be drawn. Anders feels dangerously charming.

He leans over the table, breaching the little space I gave myself, as if he is showing metaphorically and physically that the sloppy lines I’ve drawn don’t matter too much to him. “Why not?”

“I’ll fall in love with you,” I say, surprised when humor, not horror, fills Anders’s eyes. “I’m in a delicate phase in my life where the smallest acts of kindness feel like declarations of love. And my bar is so low you’d have to scrape it off the floor. I’m pretty sure I’m already halfway in love with you, and I barely know you.”

It’s better to lay it all out like this, be honest, to avoid any mishaps and broken hearts—mine, of course. With all that’s happening in my life, I’m not sure I can trust that my emotions are sane and not overreactions as I deal with turmoil.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiles, and the shadows of his dimples, combined with the heat and sparkle of humor in his gaze, make my heart stutter.

Uh-oh.I press my hand against my chest.Might be too late.

7.

Taina frowns at me from the edge of the mattress as I hold up a yellow sundress that I’m not sure will fit after the ten pounds I unintentionally lost courtesy of all my stress. It’s only been a day since I met with Anders, and I’m not leaving for his hometown until the end of the week, but I couldn’t wait to pack. And I wanted Mathew to see my suitcases and ease up on the stick he willingly has perpetually shoved up his ass.

I can add a belt, so I fold it and drop it into the oversized suitcase open on the pale wooden floors. Taina organized all my clothing while I was away, so I rifle through the drawers of the white dresser to find some shorts for the humid South Carolina spring.

With each item I pick and pack, Taina’s gaze burns hotter and hotter on my skin.

At first, I ignore her because the more I sort through my stuff, the more I realize Taina managed to salvage nearly everything I would have wanted.

The clothes, the charger cords, the books with my dad’s notes scribbled in the margins, the ratty throw blanket I used to fall asleep under that my mom hand sewed for me—she got it. Most of it. More than anyone else would have.

And yeah, some things didn’t make it. The little items. The ones I never pointed out, never shared the weight of. Like the sticky notes my dad used to leave all over my room, each one marked with a tinysmiley face—slips I eventually gathered up and tucked together beneath my jewelry box. Or that mug with the chipped rim that only mattered because I spent all day worrying my mom would ground me for it, only for her to laugh at the way it made the clay look like it was bitten. Taina couldn’t have known, and I didn’t give her a reason to ask.

She saved what she could.

When my cheeks start to burn, I sigh and face her. “What do you want to say?”