Page 40 of How to Ruin a Wedding

“Oh, itisspecial to you!”

“I guess.”

“You have to spill now.” I loop my arm through hers. So she feels less pressure, I keep my gaze on a portrait of a woman facing a lakeside cottage, painted with such detailed strokes it looks like a photograph. “Share it with the class.”

“Is the class a private course or a public one?”

“It’s whatever your heart desires.” I hold up a pinkie.

She takes it in hers, and the ever-present guilt of this job sinks its claws into my stomach. Not only will I break every promise I make to her, but I’ll be sharing everything with Anders as soon as I can.

“My first love took me here on our first date,” she says, and I frown. I’m sure John is last on the list of Valerie’s loves. “It was one of my favorite dates ever. I thought he was the first person to see me as more than some bratty little airhead—and I can be that—but I’m more. And Nick always had a way of bringing that out in me.”

As soon as I feel my eyes widen, I blink until they’re back to normal. I keep my voice smooth. “You want to get married here? Where your first love took you?”

“You think that’s crazy?”

Even if I’m trying to impress her, Valerie seems to value honesty—and a bit of snark—so I don’t mince words. “I don’t think it’s exactly sane.”

She snorts. “Maybe that’s why I think it’s a good idea. I’m drawn to the crazy. And this is where I discovered true love exists.”

“Don’t you think getting married here will only remind you of your ex?”

She purses her lips. “Is that a bad thing?”

For Valerie to have such a strong impression of this place, it must mean a great deal, but it sounds like it’s less about the place and more about the person who brought her here. Is this Nick someone she still harbors feelings for?

Has to be, for her to even consider this venue. I mean, I still can’t enter the coffee shop my ex and I used to frequent—going so far as to walk two extra blocks to avoid it.

Those who are alive can haunt places just as much as those who are gone.

And it doesn’t seem like Valerie minds this particular ghost.

“I’m not judging you, to be clear. But I don’t understand. I’d like to.”

She sighs. “This is getting too heavy. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

The change in her is quick. I know I won’t get anything more out of her now, and if I push, it’ll only make it harder later. I’ll gather this and tuck it into a mental file.

I wrap my arm around her. “You’re so right. And I bet the café upstairs has enough champagne that anything from this moment on is guaranteed to be fun.”

“My treat.” She squeezes my arm, and we race to the liquor.

11.

All the blood rushes to my head, and bile swiftly climbs my throat. The backs of my knees burn from the pain of the metal monkey bars I hang from, but I still dangle upside down for what feels like the tenth minute.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Valerie says beside me. She grips the bar with her hands and flips herself right side up. “I’m gonna be sick.”

I follow suit, flipping myself over. My feet lack sober strength and can’t absorb the impact of the jump—I hit the ground.

Valerie is not too sick to keep from pointing a finger my way and laughing as I groan, then laugh, then groan again. Wood shavings cling to my jeans and my back, and when Valerie reaches over to brush some off my skin, she falls on top of me.

Two drunk women fumbling around a playscape. Very mature. Very normal.

We giggle, trying to help each other up.

“I knew we should have stopped at six,” Valerie says. “Your tolerance is crazy.”