Page 32 of How to Ruin a Wedding

My curiosity buzzes too loudly to stay quiet any longer. I tilt my head and ask, “An inappropriate question, maybe—but do you believe in it?”

He lifts a brow. “In what?”

“Love,” I answer. “You’ve had some pretty crappy experiences with it, and it seems too many examples of it haven’t surrounded you—romantically, of course.”

He exhales, looking past me for a second like he’s thinking about how honest he wants to be. “I used to, so it exists, maybe.” He huffs a short laugh—no bitterness, just distance, like he’s not even talking about himself. “More like, love exists, but it’s not built to last.”

“That’s cynical,” I point out.

Another smile. “Maybe so. I think love is more fragile than people want to admit. And way more common. People fall into it all the time. It’s staying in it that seems impossible. I loved Anna, but now that love is gone, it’s something affectionate, but not as intense anymore.”

I nod slowly. “I’ll downgrade you from cynic to skeptical.”

“Still feels like the same meaning.”

“Skeptical sounds less harsh.”

He nods. “Thanks, then.” Another beat of silence. “And you?”

I’m saved from answering as the car rolls to a stop in front of a two-story home surrounded by a deck filled with furniture, rocking chairs, benches, and couches, like it’s the main living room. And curved windows with no curtains to let in every bit of sunshine the sky offers.

Nerves circle the pit of my stomach as a lanky girl comes barreling down the porch toward the car. Before I can say anything, she yanks Anders’s door open.

“Uncle Anders!”

“Little Olive!” Anders jumps down and sweeps this preteen into his arms. I let myself out and wait until they make it around the Jeep, Olive riding piggyback with a wide grin matching Anders’s. They’re technically cousins, but Anders mentioned she refers to him as “uncle” and Valerie as “aunt” because of the age difference and how they’ve helped raise her since she was a baby. Olive’s dad is not around, a one-night stand that didn’t want a kid.

She hops off and places her hands on her hips, looks me up and down with a full-blown assessment before speaking. “Pretty, and smells like peaches even though you just got off a plane, two pluses. Do you like dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

She crosses her arms, covered in colorful friendship bracelets running their length. “If you had one superpower, what would it be?”

“Teleportation.”

“Who wins in a fight: Iron Man or Thor?”

I smirk at the interrogation. “Verbally: Iron Man. Physically: Thor.”

“What’s the best sauce to dip fries in?”

“Ice cream.”

“Do you think nine is too young for a phone?”

“All right.” Anders ruffles Olive’s light-brown hair, blond in spots because of the beaming sun. “Introduce yourself like a normal human being, please.”

“Mom says ‘normal’ is a man-made construct that I shouldn’t have to abide by.”

Anders half laughs, half sighs. “Olive.”

Olive rolls her big, hazel eyes framed with blue mascara—the only thing about her I can attach to Anders. She holds out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Olive; it’s nice to meet you. You seem cool enough. For now.”

I shake her hand, firmly, each of her fingernails painted a different color. “I’m Lucy, and you seem cool too. For now.”

She smirks, then wraps an arm around me, leading me to the front door. “How’d you know about the ice-cream thing?”

“My little sister has asked for that combination almost every week of her life.”