Page 47 of How to Ruin a Wedding

When I wink at him, his smile mirrors mine.

“So.” I clap my hands together. “Ready for our double date?”

“Whenever you are,” he says. “Anything you need from me?”

“Just stand around and look pretty, as you do,” I say. “This is going to be super simple. I want to get to know them, see if I can spot any cracks I can widen more. I think our best bet is to get Valerie to see she doesn’t want this wedding. Even if it seems John may be easier toconvert, I won’t have much access to him to plant any seeds. Well, unless you want to take that on.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you two are close, aren’t you? Roommates. Or has it been a bit rocky since the whole engagement? Actually, can we unpack this before we meet them?”

He places the mug down. “We were closer in college, and then he moved to California to be with his family for a couple of years. We stayed in touch—monthly catch-ups—and if I was ever out west, we’d meet up, and vice versa.” He clears his throat. “When Anna and I broke up, he came for two weeks and helped me move out. Awkwardly stuck around and never knew exactly what to say.”

“That was kind. Until, you know, he hooked up with your sister at some party.”

He winces. “Apparently, they got together that day, broke up that first week, then they were back together the next, engaged at the end of the month.”

“A shaky start. I wonder what it was that broke them up,” I say, more to myself. Maybe it’s something that can be broken again—especially if there’s a part still fragile from the first time.

“Not sure. John and I really haven’t spoken much since they announced they were getting married last month.”

My phone vibrates, and I catch the screen lighting up from my peripheral vision.

“Will it be weird for you?”

Anders’s gaze is on my phone after another vibration. Then he clears his throat, not looking at me when he says, “Maybe. This will be our first time meeting since.”

“I’ll do most of the talking,” I reassure him. “So it won’t be too bad.”

He nods, his gaze still on my phone. He looks a little uncomfortable. I frown, fearing Taina has sent some text of encouragement with way too many details about what I should do to Anders. I snatch my phone from in front of him and peek at the screen.

Nothing from Taina—just several notifications of likes on my dating profile.

Anders busies himself by turning his back on me, cleaning the mugs. I approach his side, peeking up at him with a grin. He slightly turns his cheek, and something in me bursts like stray embers from a campfire.

What an interesting reaction.

“I’m guessing you saw those notifications,” I say, leaning closer toward him until I pick up on his light, woody, fruity scent.

He clears his throat again.

I bring my hand toward his neck and press my thumb against the base of it. “You coming down with a cold?”

He stills, his hand freezes under the running water, but then he turns to meet my gaze. His eyes are warm—warming up the more we hold each other’s stare, like a pot of honey on a stove, simmering, then boiling.

“I’m okay,” he says gruffly.

Interesting.

“So,” I say, giddiness flooding through my veins, “tomorrow night, I’m going to be out late. You don’t have to wait up for me.”

He drops the mug he’s working on in the sink and faces me fully. “And where are you going?”

His left hand—still clutching the dishcloth—lands on his hip.

His face screams sexy, irritated man, but his body screams irritated, passive-aggressive housewife. The juxtaposition of it all makes me bury my face in my hands, smothering a cackle.

When I settle, remove my hands from my face, and catch his deepening scowl, the laughter takes over again. I pull open my profile on the app and hold out my phone to Anders.