Chapter One

Essie

I snap several pictures, but the mirror doesn’t allow me to fully capture the miles of poofy satin, tulle, and lace that make up this wildly ostentatious dress. My best friend, Rix, the bride-to-be, should be here any minute, and I want to give her a reason to smile. She’s been stressing over every wedding detail lately. Tonight, we’re having dinner to tick all the boxes on the upcoming bridal shower and the stag and doe. Rix is determined everything go smoothly, which is why I’m here ahead of her, checking on the dresses. I take my role of maid of honor seriously—most of the time anyway—but when I saw this dress, I couldn’t resist trying it on.

The chime of the door signals her arrival. “Trixie Rixie, I have something amazing to show you!” I singsong as I grab a suit jacket from the rack. Me and my makeshift groom twirl into the viewing area, belting out the lyrics to our favorite slow-dance song from high school.

Except my best friend is not standing in the middle of the store. It’s her soon-to-be brother-in-law, Nate Stiles. Looking wildly uncomfortable. And ungodly gorgeous. And also horrified and unimpressed. How someone can wear so many feelings at the same time is an absolute wonder.

His delightfully dark brows pull together, chocolate eyes narrowing, full lips pulling down. “What in the actual fuck?”

“What are you doing here?” I attempt to backtrack, but this dress has more yards of material than freaking Fabricland. I step on the train and topple backwards, landing on the floor with an oof. My makeshift suit-jacket groom goes flying. The hoop skirt flips up, and I raise my arm just in time to prevent it from smacking me in the face.

I feel like a flipped-over beetle as I struggle to right myself.

Uma, the sales associate who has been our go-to for all wedding-dress-related issues, rushes over. “Oh my goodness! Are you okay?”

Nate’s stupidly pretty, displeased face appears above me, and he extends a hand. “That’s a loaded question.”

I ignore his offer of assistance and try, again, to right myself, but the freaking hoop is a menace. Nate’s face is a telling shade of red. I am ten thousand percent sure my underwear is showing, and probably ninety percent of my ass since it’s a thong. My mortification doubles.

Nate disappears, and two strong hands slide under my arms. A moment later I’m on my feet. I fight the goose bumps that skitter across my skin. The hoop skirt somehow flips up again, but this time I’m not fast enough to keep it from hitting me in the face. I jerk my head back and connect with his chin.

Nate grunts and releases me. I wobble perilously before settling, still on my feet thankfully.

“Are you okay?” Uma asks again.

“I’m fine. Just peachy. Thanks so much. I’m very sorry.” I can’t die of embarrassment today, not when Rix is counting on me.

I spin, and the excessively poofy skirt flares, returning to the appropriate location. I bet it looks so cool. But I can’t confirm this because Nate is glaring at me, his thick, defined forearms crossed over his equally thick, defined chest. The Stileses have excellent genes. All three brothers are ridiculously good looking. But Nate has that tall-dark blond-and-grumpy thing going, and I’m such a fan.

I shouldn’t be, based on our history, but I tend to be attracted to the wrong men—including the one standing in front of me, looking displeased.

My face is on fire as I try to give him a wide berth, but the expansive skirt makes it impossible.

“Is this Rix’s dress?” His gaze moves over me, expression reflecting judgment, skepticism, and several other feelings I’m too busy being mortified and offended by to identify.

“Of course not! I was just…” Good Lord, what was I doing? Anyway, Rix is getting married on a beach. She would sweat to death in this number. Besides, she’s about simplicity. “Why are you even here?”

“Rix had some kind of emergency, so I’ve been sent to collect you.”

They might as well have asked him to clean up roadkill, based on how unhappy he looks.

“Is everything okay? Why didn’t she call me?”

“Probably because you’re here managing shit already, and I was available.” He consults his wristwatch. “You need to change out of that. It’s a twenty-minute drive, and we’re already cutting it close.”

“Yes, sir!” I salute him and click my heels together, then cross to the fitting room and attempt to get the hoop skirt through the door without flashing anyone, again.

Once inside, I realize the zipper is stuck. Which means I need help.

I poke my head out. Nate’s back is to me, phone in hand, forearms flexing as he thumb-types. Probably telling Tristan, his older brother and Rix’s fiancé, that we’ll be late thanks to me. I search for Uma, but she’s helping another customer.

Nate turns as if sensing my presence, his exasperation clear. “Why are you still wearing that? Hoping your fairy godmother shows up so you can be next in the ball-and-chain parade?”

It’s no secret that Nate is anti-marriage. Hell, he’s anti-relationship. According to Rix, he hasn’t so much as gone on a date since his girlfriend Lisa broke up with him a year and a half ago. After cheating. I ignore the dig at my very different views on love. “The zipper is stuck.”

“Well, unstuck it.”

“Like I haven’t tried.” I roll my eyes. “I have many talents, but rotating my head and dislocating my arms are not among them.”

His look of disapproval deepens.

“Why are you always such a grumpy old man?”

“Why are you always trying to be a fairy tale princess?”

“Why are you such a storm cloud?”

I try to pass him so I can ask Uma for help, but he steps in front of me and crosses his arms. “Because I enjoy raining on your parade, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I really wish I couldn’t and didn’t appreciate how nice his forearms are.

He unfolds them and points to the fitting room. “In.”

“I need help!”

“Oh, I know.”

I flip up a middle finger and blow him a kiss with it. His eyes drop to my mouth and darken.

I hope like hell he’s remembering how my lips feel. It’s been six years. I should not have any feelings about that one stupid kiss. But even now, when I’m faced with his surly, black-cloud-of-doom attitude—which is the version of Nate I’m always graced with—my entire body remembers that kiss in technicolor detail. Every perfect, toe-curling moment of it. It was the best kiss of my life. Still is. Which is endlessly frustrating.

The elusive, brilliant, untouchable Nathan Stiles had been interested in me. I’d been so flattered, so enamored—which admittedly was not uncommon for me. But Nate ruined it by being a giant dick after the fact. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a unique experience for me, either, especially during my serial-dater high school days. But it sucked to have him join the ranks of the hot guys who’d just wanted to taste the forbidden fruit.

We’ve never addressed the aftermath. I assumed the best kiss of my life was entirely forgettable for him, that he never messaged because I wasn’t on his radar. Nate has made it clear that he’s about as partial to me as a case of food poisoning.

Not that it matters. I’m not interested in him anyway. He might be hot, and wildly intelligent, and delightfully broody, but he’s a jerk. Besides, he’s off-limits. He’s my best friend’s fiancé’s brother. The best man to my maid of honor. Also, and most importantly, I’ve sworn off men for the foreseeable future. Especially men who are bad for me. I’ve had my heart broken too many times by guys who didn’t deserve it in the first place.

I head for the fitting room because this stare down with Nate is making me sweaty.

I pull the hoop up so I can get through the door. Again. I turn to pull it closed, but Nate is on my heels. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you so we’re not half an hour late for dinner. Unless you’d like to go dressed like this.”

It’s hard to argue with that logic.

He pulls the door closed and makes a turnaround motion. I do as he wordlessly instructs, because facing him means I have to continue to look at his irritated, pretty face. Turning around isn’t much better. In front of me is a three-sided mirror meant to provide a multi-angled view of the dress I’m wearing. It also means I’m looking at three versions of Nate.

He has on black dress pants, a black button-down, a blue tie, and, in a bold move, shoes to match. He’s taller than me by at least a head. And broad. He takes up way more space than he has any right to. Even worse, he smells phenomenal.

I pull my hair over my shoulder to expose the zipper and tip my head forward to make it easier. The sooner he unzips me, the sooner I’ll be alone in this space, and the easier it will be to breathe again.

I grit my teeth and steel myself as his warm fingers skim between my shoulders.

“The lace is caught in the zipper,” he explains.

“Don’t tear it. I can’t afford to pay for this dress.”

“Why were you trying it on in the first place?” He tugs but the zipper doesn’t budge.

“I wanted to make Rix laugh,” I grumble.

“You in this dress is a horror show, not a comedy reel.” His fingers slide into the back of the dress, knuckles pressing against my spine.

“Thanks,” I reply sarcastically.

“It’s too much. It overwhelms you.” He continues to work the lace free from the teeth.

This time the zipper comes down, but I’m not prepared. Too busy processing his last comment, perhaps? I grab for the bodice a moment too late. It slides down my torso, stopping at my hips.

I’m not wearing a bra. Nate freezes. My eyes lift as his drop. His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

His hot gaze flashes back to mine. “I’ll be in the car.”

He spins around and leaves me in the fitting room with perky pierced nipples and a whole lot of embarrassment.

I sigh. “Dinner should be fun.”

 

Chapter Two

Nate

I give my crotch an annoyed look as I shift around in the driver’s seat, waiting for Essie. The next several weeks are going to be long AF.

Spending all this pre-wedding time in proximity to Essie has been bad enough. She’s frustratingly beautiful—irrationally stunning in a way that makes my palms damp and my heart rate spike every fucking time I look at her. She’s also an eternal optimist. Her zeal for romance and falling in love is a barely tolerable irritant. She’s the glorious ray of sunshine peeking through my rain clouds to create a rainbow.

But the real kick in the balls, and the thing that takes up an unreasonable amount of my mental bandwidth, is that I know exactly how her lips feel and taste.

It’s been six years. That kiss should be like a photograph left in the sun too long. Faded. Barely a memory.

But it’s not.

That kiss is as vivid as a sunrise. Every time I look at her soft mouth, I’m reminded of her cotton-candy-flavored lip gloss and the feel of her curves pressed against me.

And now. Now I have a new memory to add to the one I wish I could erase. Essie’s pierced nipples are forever burned into my brain. Etched in stone. Permanent. Irascible. And so fucking fantastic.

Tiny buds framed by heart shields with pink jewels. It’s so laughably, perfectly Essie. And based on the reaction below the waist, I like it.

My phone buzzes with a call. I’m happy for this distraction—until I register the number. Then my heart rate spikes and sweat breaks across the back of my neck for completely different reasons. I send the call to voicemail. And like an idiot, I check the message once it registers.

“Hi, Nathan. It’s your mother. This is the fourth time I’ve tried to call you with no answer. I understand that you’re upset with me, but we can’t work things out if you don’t talk to me. Please call me back.”

I swallow past the tightness in my chest and erase the message so I don’t listen to it again. I don’t want to dissect it, to read into her pleading tone, to give in and call her back. I haven’t seen her since the morning she walked out on our family more than a decade and a half ago. I haven’t heard her voice in more than ten years. I don’t want to miss what I never had, what she robbed me and my brothers and my father of when she abandoned us.

My phone pings again, this time with a text message. Thankfully, it’s my older brother.

Tristan
We’ll be at the restaurant in 15. You get Ess okay?

According to my GPS, it will take us nineteen minutes to get to the restaurant if we leave immediately.

Nate
We’re a few minutes behind you, but we’ll see you soon.

Tristan
Cool. Thanks for picking her up. We appreciate it.

Another call comes through. This time it’s Essie. My stomach pitches with equal parts relief and anxiety.

“Please tell me you’re not still in the store,” I bark.

There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t know where you’re parked.”

Of course she doesn’t. Because I didn’t tell her, and I couldn’t get out of the dressing room fast enough. “Turn right out of the store. I’m half a block down.”

She ends the call without another word. Less than a minute later, Essie passes my car. I honk and she startles, dropping her purse. Shit scatters on the sidewalk. I fight with my body to stay in my seat and let her handle it. But all I’ve done so far is be a dick to her. It’s not her fault I’m guilt riddled, or that I’m not over the kiss we shared all those years ago, or how apathetic she seems in my presence. She acts like it never happened, like it was insignificant, and I’m over here obsessing and hating myself for not being able to be a normal person around her.

I cut the engine and hop out of the driver’s seat. Essie scrambles to reclaim the items all over the ground while I round the hood.

I nab one of her lip balms before it can roll into a sewer grate. She frantically jams things back in her purse as I crouch protectively in front of her to help.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “I know we’re already late.”

I barely resist the urge to pocket one of her lip balms. Instead, I scoop up a handful of pens—she has many—and hand them over. A man on his phone kicks a tube of lip gloss down the sidewalk. It ricochets off a woman’s foot and ping-pongs into traffic, then promptly gets run over by a taxi.

We stand at the same time, and I move toward my car, opening the passenger door for her.

“Thanks.” She slides in, face red, eyes anywhere but on me.

I round the hood and steel myself. Back in high school she wore some kind of perfume or lotion that I attributed only to her. Something sweet and lightly fruity. That hasn’t changed, and it never fails to trigger the memory of that kiss.

So many emotions are tangled up in that memory. Ones I don’t like to deal with. My shame over the way I handled things still makes me uncomfortable and embarrassed. But we were kids, just out of high school. And I was all kinds of fucked up. I still am. Probably more than I was then. Definitely more fucked up. I saved us both a world of heartache by doing what I did, even if it was shitty.

I take my spot behind the wheel and grit my teeth as I close the door, trapping us in the confined space together.

“I’m sorry about my nipples,” she blurts.

I fasten my seat belt aggressively as heat rushes through me and the hard-on that had disappeared returns. “Never mention them again.”

“Never again,” she whispers.

Why can’t I stop being a jerk? I should do better. Be nicer. It’s not her fault that everything about my brother’s wedding is a fucking trigger. I should be over the breakup with Lisa. It’s been more than a year since she left me for someone more emotionally available—before she actually broke things off. We obviously weren’t right for each other, yet I still have a lot of inconvenient feelings tied to the breakup. But just because I can’t make someone happy doesn’t mean all relationships are doomed to the same fate as mine. Apart from any of that, though, Essie’s positive-Petunia attitude about love irks me endlessly. Maybe I’m envious. Maybe I’m just a jaded asshole. Who fucking knows?

“How’s your day going?” Essie asks.

“I’ve had better.” Still scoring zero on the being-nicer front.

“Would you like to talk about it? It’s not good to hold your feelings inside, Nathan,” she says sweetly.

I hate when she says my full name, because I love when she says my full name. “Anything that comes out of my mouth will likely hurt your precious feelings, so it’s better if I keep those thoughts in my head.” At least I’m being honest. I don’t need more things to feel bad about.

“My feelings aren’t precious.”

I side-eye her.

“Seriously, say whatever you need to say, Nate. I’m sure you’d love to get whatever is eating at you off your chest.”

“You. You’re eating at me,” I blurt before I can find the self-restraint necessary to bite my idiot tongue. “You and your sunshine-and-roses perspective on everything. Love sucks. All it does is make you vulnerable, and then people leave.” Without a word. Without an explanation. Or they find someone better.

Essie shifts in her seat. I almost expect her to call me out, to force me to deal with the assholery I’ve carried from the past into the present. But she doesn’t. Likely because she’s not thinking about us, about me being a hypocrite. She’s thinking about her best friend and my brother. “You don’t think Tristan and Rix will last?”

The steering wheel groans under my hands. I need to calm the hell down. My blood pressure is rising along with my fucking guilt. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

She doesn’t let it go. “Tristan has grown so much. He worships the ground Rix walks on. And Rix loves him just as much.”

But she could still leave him. I keep that thought to myself. I adore Rix. She’s always been part of our lives in one facet or another. When we were kids, she and I would often get tossed together because we’re the same age. I thought of her like a sister. And soon that’s the title and role she’ll have in my life. I want that. But I’m nervous to have it and lose it.

My brother is my best friend. But he’s a surly fucker. And while Essie is right, and he’s made huge strides since he and Rix became a thing, I still worry about the future. For him. But also for me. What if it all falls apart? People leave. Women leave. My mother left. Lisa left. I have no faith in love. No faith that it can endure, because in my experience, it doesn’t.

And then there’s Essie, who falls in love over and over. It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s been broken up with countless times; she still somehow believes that love conquers all. I can’t decide if I should envy her or pity her.

The rest of the ride to the restaurant is silent, and Essie practically launches herself out of the car as soon as I put it in park. She’s already at the door when I’m still crossing the lot. By the time I make it inside, she’s at the host stand, flashing her megawatt smile, making him splutter and stumble over his words.

He doesn’t tear his eyes away from Essie as he mumbles, “I’ll be right with you,” vaguely in my direction.

Essie glances over her shoulder. “Oh, he’s with me.”

Disappointment flashes across his face, but he plasters on a smile. “Of course. Follow me.”

He guides us to the table where Tristan, Rix, and Flip, my roommate, who is Rix’s older brother and Tristan’s good friend and teammate, are already seated.

Rix gets up to hug me. “Thanks for picking up Ess.”

“No problem,” I lie.

“I could have picked up Essie,” Flip says.

“You were with me on a beverage run. You wouldn’t have had time.” Tristan stands to give me a brotherly back pat as he pulls me in close and whispers, “Everything okay?”

“All good. Just hit traffic.” I slide into the seat next to Essie, which is the only one available.

The server stops at the table and takes our drink order.

“Did you sort everything out?” Essie asks Rix. “Nate said you had some kind of emergency. Was it wedding related? You know you can always offload stuff to me. I’m here to help.”

“It was work related,” Rix explains. “It’s fine now.”

Tristan stretches his arm across the back of her seat. “If it’s too much, you can always reduce your hours, Bea.”

Her full name is Beatrix, and he’s the only one who shortens it to this.

She smiles up at him. “I know. I have it under control.”

He purses his lips. Tristan would love for Rix to quit her job. He and Flip are pro hockey players with the Toronto Terror, our local team, and both have multimillion-dollar contracts. But Rix and Flip grew up in a house where it was tough to make ends meet. Rix is used to taking care of herself financially, and she wants the autonomy, which I can respect, even if it means she’s spread a little thin right now.

She kisses the edge of his jaw. “Put your serious face away. We’re planning all the fun stuff tonight.”

His expression softens. “I can’t wait until you’re my wife.”

“I can’t wait until you’re my husband.”

“You two are so cute!” Essie takes a picture.

“Almost as cute as me, right, Ess?” Flip winks.

Essie laughs and holds her fingers a hairsbreadth apart. “They’re this much cuter than you.”

I try not to let my feelings show, but for some stupid reason, I seriously want to punch Flip in the face.

The server returns with my vodka and soda and Essie’s Aperol spritz.

“We already put in an order for all of our favorites,” Rix informs us.

It’s a tapas-style restaurant, and everything is made for sharing.

Essie’s eyes light up. “Did you get the tempura cauliflower?”

“Of course.” Rix smiles.

“I’m so excited.” Essie does some weird thing with her hands and bumps my arm. Her fingers brush my wrist. “Sorry.” She snatches her hand away. “Okay, should we get down to business?”

“I would get down to business with you any day,” Flip quips.

“Oh my God, stop flirting with my best friend.” Rix flicks his ear.

“You’re marrying mine,” he reminds her, then turns back to Essie.

“Sorry, Flip, but you’re at the bottom of my list.” She flashes him a coy smile.

“Come on, Ess. I’ve changed. You could be the one for me.”

Essie laughs and rolls her eyes. “We all know you prefer blondes.” She pulls a binder and a tablet out of her purse and sets them on the table beside her. She props up the tablet and opens a spreadsheet.

“What is that?” I’m equally thankful that Flip has stopped flirting with her for five fucking seconds and annoyed that I give a shit.

Flip and I have become good friends since I moved into his place last fall, but he’s no better with relationships than I am. I don’t want him making moves on Essie and finding out how good her lips taste.

“It’s how I keep track of everything,” Essie explains. “You have access. Everyone does. I email whenever I update it with pertinent details.”

“Oh.” I pull my phone out and open my personal email, which admittedly, I don’t check as often as I should. I have thirty new emails, four of which are from Essie with spreadsheet updates. I click on one, and the sheet pops up on my phone. It’s color coded, and there are different tabs, sections, and even dropdown menus.

“Should we discuss the bridal shower first? Since that’s next weekend and it’s co-ed?” Essie asks brightly.

“Sounds good,” Rix agrees.

Tristan kisses her temple.

I have no idea what a co-ed bridal shower is, so I keep my mouth shut.

“The whole team has RSVP’d, and almost everyone is bringing a plus-one,” Essie reports. “Kodiak and Lavender send their regrets, but I’m pleased to report that Lavender can make our girls-only party, and they can make the wedding.”

“That’s good news,” Tristan says.

“Lavender is so fun!” Rix is all smiles.

Kodiak Bowman, my brother, and Flip all went to the Hockey Academy together before they turned pro. Kodiak plays for New York now, and they’ve remained friends all these years.

“Oh, and I have confirmation from both of your families, including aunts and uncles, that they can attend the shower as well.” Essie flips to the guest list tab.

I’m suddenly on alert. Maybe the phone calls that seemed to come from nowhere aren’t so out of left field. But Tristan would have said something before now. “What do you mean both of our families?”

Tristan holds up a hand. “Mom is excluded, don’t worry.” It’s probably the hundredth time he’s had to reassure me. “I don’t want that drama. Especially with Dad finally dating.”

It’s only been a few months since my dad started seeing someone. Her name is Sophia, and she’s a lot younger than he is. I’ve met her once, briefly. She seems nice enough, even if she is closer to Tristan’s age than my dad’s. They met at the Toronto Terror fundraiser gala in the spring.

“Right. Okay.” Heat works its way up my neck and wraps around my ears. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Rix’s tone softens with empathy.

I’d love to be over my mother abandoning our family, but unfortunately I’m not. One day she was there, and the next she was gone. For a couple of years she called on birthdays, but eventually she just…ghosted us. Then last year when our younger brother Brody graduated high school, suddenly she wanted to be involved again. Dad and Tristan shut that down. Thank fucking God. I couldn’t handle her coming back into our lives on top of the breakup with Lisa.

I tune back in to the conversation, which Essie is once again dominating. I wish I didn’t find it attractive that she’s so adept at creating spreadsheets and organizing events. But I do love order and organization.

“As requested, it’s a no-gifts shower, but attendees are welcome to donate to the Food for Kids program or Supplies for Success. I’m happy to report that more than fifty filled backpacks have been donated, and you’ve already raised over four thousand dollars for Food for Kids.” Essie turns her tablet to Rix and Tristan, where the total is highlighted at the bottom.

“That’s incredible. Thank you so much for setting that up!” Rix smiles at Tristan. “Isn’t that great?”

“It’s fantastic.” He kisses her temple. Again.

Essie waves the comment away. “It was just a couple of phone calls and emails with links. It was no big deal.”

I frown at her easy dismissal, and the fact that I’ve had no part in any of this. I scroll down the list and discover there are actual formulas in the spreadsheet.

“Don’t downplay it, Ess. You really went above and beyond,” Flip adds.

I refrain from commenting. I’ve been over here planning the bachelor party and slacking on everything else, it seems. And here’s Little Miss Sunshine and Rainbows making pretty spreadsheets. I can make a fucking spreadsheet. With formulas. I do it all the time. She’s not the only organizational wizard at the table.

The server arrives with appetizers. He must ask Essie three times if he can get her anything else, to which she always replies with a no thank you and a smile.

We hit pause on the planning and pass the plates around.

Essie taps her lip, surveying her plate and the ones scattered around the table.

“What are you missing? I can give you whatever you need, Ess,” Flip offers.

“I’m good.” She bites back a smile. “Nate, can you pass the cauliflower?”

“Oh come on, Ess.” Flip waves a hand in my direction. “This guy doesn’t even believe in love! Why would you look to him to fulfill your needs when I’m right here?”

“Keep me out of your flirting. I’m not looking to be part of your throuple,” I grumble and stab some potato-poof thing.

“Am I not good to you, honey bear?” Flip winks at me.

I scratch my temple with my middle finger.

“Okay. Back to business.” Essie looks expectantly at me.

“What?”

“Please pass the cauliflower.”

“Right.” I hand them to her.

Her fingers graze mine, and the hairs on my arm rise. She takes three pieces and passes them to Flip, who takes one while eyeing it with skepticism. The guy would live on KD—Kraft Dinner—if Rix didn’t drop off meals for him twice a week. On top of being an accountant, she’s also a full-time student and develops meal plans for my brother, her brother, and some of their Terror teammates.

Essie continues to lead this dinner meeting by reviewing all the food, games, and decorations for the bridal shower.

“Do you have a rough estimate for the cost per person?” Rix asks.

“Whatever it is, I’ll cut a check,” Tristan assures her.

“I can figure it out for you right now.” Essie glances at the totals while setting up a new formula. “Roughly eighty-seven dollars a person based on food and drink,” she says before she’s even had a chance to complete the formula. She highlights the row, the total appearing.

I had no idea Essie was math smart. I also had no idea I’d be attending a bridal shower.

Since I haven’t looked at Essie’s emails, I can’t make any valuable contributions, and asking questions will only highlight my complete lack of involvement. So I just sit here and continue to be annoyingly impressed with her attention to detail, exceptional organizational skills, and ability to run numbers in her head. I feel like I’ve underestimated her—not just now, but in the past—and that bothers me for a lot of reasons.

In high school, she was the girl everyone wanted to date. She was voted hottest girl in the school all four years, and she was fun, a literal ray of sunshine. She didn’t hide the fact that she loved all things princess, and she always had a new boyfriend. For some reason I assumed she floated through every part of her life the same way, but now I have to wonder what else I’ve been wrong about.

Eventually we move on to the stag and doe, which is also a co-ed event. Again, the point is to raise money. This time for a local women’s shelter.

“I have a list of prizes and the corresponding games they would be best suited for.” Essie consults another beautiful spreadsheet with projected earning potential for each game already outlined, based on prizes. “I’m still on the hunt for a Plinko board, though.”

“You mean from The Price is Right?” I ask.

“Exactly!”

“I’ll make it. I can make a Plinko board. What else do you need made? Or done? I’m good at organizing things, too.” I can’t allow this to continue. Not when I’m literally the king of organization.

“My shoes have never been lined up so perfectly,” Flip agrees.

I give him a look.

“And my towels have never been folded so uniformly. If you want to make my bed for me too, I’m down, honey bear.” Flip winks again.

I like neat and orderly. I function better when everything is in the right place.

I ignore Flip. “Seriously, though. I’ve got the Plinko board.” I have an engineering degree. It should be straightforward.

“Okay, great!” Essie makes a note. “Oh! I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

I expect her to hand it to Rix, or literally anyone but me. It’s book shaped. “What is this for?”

“I saw it and thought of you.” She blinks up at me, all innocent-like.

“That was so nice of you,” Rix says.

“Thanks?” I peel the tape, careful not to rip the paper. My neck itches like it’s wrapped in a wool scarf because everyone is watching me. I frown as I read the title. A Guide to Happiness: 100 strategies for a happier, healthier you!

Flip barks out a laugh. Tristan snickers. Essie smiles, and Rix hides hers behind her drink. I bite the inside of my cheek as it heats. “Ha-ha, thanks.” I have nowhere to hide it, so I flip the book over and set it on the table between us.

Essie steers the conversation back to the stag and doe, and then it’s on to wedding-wear updates. “I’ve already stopped by the tuxedo shop to confirm that the handkerchiefs and ties match the bridesmaid dresses. And Nate has been for his fitting, so we are good to go there.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“Mm-hmm.” Essie’s voice pitches up. “I emailed you about it, but I didn’t get a response, so I took care of it. You should have all the details if you want to follow up.”

“Right, yeah. You should probably just text instead of email.”

Essie’s smile turns wooden. “Okay. I can do that.”

By the end of dinner, my competitive side has been fully activated. Essie’s here with a fucking binder of information, taking over everything, and I look like a complete slacker—and a shitty brother and best man. It’s fucking on. Whatever games she has for this stag and doe, I’ll have better ones. And prizes. I work for one of the top sports-equipment companies in Canada. I should be able to score some awesome stuff.

Flip holds the door open for Essie as we leave the restaurant. I want to charley horse him when he leans in and whispers something that makes her laugh. The fuck is wrong with me?

“You okay, man? You seem…more tense than usual,” Tristan says quietly. “Work still super busy? You know Flip will help out with whatever you need.”

“Work is fine. Good, actually. And I can handle things. I just didn’t realize Essie was communicating everything through the email I don’t check very often,” I explain. “Once we switch to text, we’ll be good.”

“Okay. Cool. And thanks again for picking up Ess. It took the pressure off Bea.” He pats my back.

Essie waves and hops into the back of Rix’s SUV while Flip joins me in my car.

He reclines in the passenger seat and stares at me as I fasten my seat belt, check all my mirrors, and adjust the air. “What?”

“There’s a vibe between you and Essie.”

Of course he’s noticed. He’s irritatingly perceptive. “There’s no vibe between me and Essie.”

“The way you’re gripping the steering wheel tells me that’s a load of bullshit.” He nods toward my hands. “But if you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

My phone buzzes in the holder, and the screen lights up with a new message.

“Who’s Cotton Candy?” Flip asks.

“No one.” I manage to grab it a split second before Flip. Thank fuck. He tries to steal it out of my hand, but I slide it into my pants pocket.

“No one, eh? Is that why your face is beet red and you look like you’re halfway between a heart attack and jizzing in your pants?”

“Leave it alone, Flip.”

He holds up his hands. “All right. Backing off.”

He talks about how much fun the stag and doe will be since his teammate, Dallas Bright, has offered to host it at his parents’ place on Lake Vernon in Huntsville. I’ve been there once, for Dallas and Hemi’s engagement party. I let him talk while I sweat. I swear my phone is burning in my pocket.

As soon as we get home, I lock myself in my bedroom and pull my phone out.

I quickly change Cotton Candy to Essie in my contacts and open her message.

My stomach flips and sinks.

There’s only one new one.

Essie
Here are the links to all the spreadsheets. I hope you enjoy the book.

I swallow down guilt as I read the ones above it, dating back six years ago.

Nate
I’ll call you tomorrow.

Essie
Can’t wait ❤️

But I didn’t call. Or message. I ghosted her and moved to Kingston for university a few weeks later. It wouldn’t have worked out. She stayed in Toronto with Rix. Kingston was a three-hour drive away. But I was still an asshole. Still am an asshole now.

Nate
Got it. Thx.

Essie
So you can text back. Good to know.

What else can I say when it’s far too late for sorry?