Chapter 1

ONE

MAEVE

I screwed up.

I stood in a clearing adorned by rows of chairs angled toward the wooden altar. The obviousness of my blunder struck me as an itch. The itch was a physical need to scratch my skin, and a psychological need to run the heck out of here.

String lights stretched between towering pines and cast a silvery glow over the crowd. Twilight dropped the temperature as quickly and dramatically as I dropped a cookie tray from the oven when I forgot my mitt. Guests filled the outdoor space with gleeful chatter and fogged the air with their expended breath.

Glee was not something I was feeling as I waited for my step-brother’s wedding to commence. In fact, I’d accidentally crafted the perfect trifecta of anti-glee self-sabotage.

My first mistake—showing up alone.

My second mistake—choosing a wool pantsuit.

My third mistake—allowing my sister Cara to convince me to wear a thong. Why should it matter if my butt looked hotter and more defined through my itchy wool pants?

I should have known better.

I should definitely continue resisting the urge to scratch my itchy butt.

Where was Cara?

I’d say maybe she was with our step-brother Amir, but Cara hardly ever acknowledged his existence.

Amir and I weren’t close either. Our mom married his dad four years ago, when I was twenty-five and Amir was nineteen. Cara was twenty-two, right in the middle. We were already grown adults, past the years when kids could bond as siblings.

Amir and I had absolutely nothing in common. He liked hiking and working out. I liked video games. He had grand plans to travel the world. I had grand plans to never leave the arcade.

But this was Amir’s wedding. I would never consider missing it.

Even though my long-term boyfriend Bradford had canceled on me at the last minute.

Even though every relative I’d crossed paths with gave me the look the moment they realized Bradford wasn’t here.

Someone squeezed my arm. I recognized the seventy-percent-nail-pinch immediately. Aunt Janet.

“Maevey? Is that you?” She circled around me, not releasing her death grip until she’d firmly placed herself in front of me and trapped me in her gaze.

Even with my cardigan as a layer of protection, my arm stung where she’d surely left red and inflamed indents.

“Hi, Aunt Janet,” I said. “It’s nice to see….”

My words died on my tongue as she looked me up and down, taking in my pantsuit and the man-shaped hole in the air beside me.

Then the look materialized.

A line formed between her sinking golden brows. Her plum lips pinched with an air of confusion, pity, and mild disapproval. This was the Katz family signature expression, at least when it came to interacting with me.

“No Bradford?” she asked.

“He couldn’t make it.”

“Did you two….” She slid a finger over her throat and stuck out her tongue.

“No, I didn’t murder him.”

She laughed and pinched my shoulder. I tried not to cringe as her nails dug into tender flesh.

“You’ve always been such a silly girl. But you’re no spring chicken anymore, dear. If that Bradford’s still around, you should lock him down while you can.”

“Mmm,” I said.

I’d been dating Bradford for a solid five years. He knew I preferred my toast charred to an ashy crisp. I knew he didn’t like toast at all. We’d become each other’s status quo. But I wasn’t jazzed about the idea of locking down the way he slurped his coffee in the morning or the way he found himself enthralled with his own visage in every passing reflective surface.

He shamed me for not prioritizing manicures over food. He laughed at me instead of with me. He could never love me a fraction of the way he loved his trophies.

Worst of all, he couldn’t locate a clit if it punched him in the nose.

Bradford was like the ratty blanket I kept on my bean bag chair—full of holes and long past due being tossed in the garbage, but comfortable.

The space we’d been giving each other lately felt even more comfortable, including our lack of physical intimacy over the last…I didn’t even know how long. Well, it was comfortable until he decided to flake on my step-brother’s wedding. That didn’t feel comfortable at all.

He should have been here as a buffer to flash his expensive teeth and his expensive suit. Give him a little push right into Aunt Janet, and she’d be fawning and fully placated. She’d be leaving me alone.

“You wait too long to have babies and you can’t have them at all,” she said.

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“Exactly.”

I suppressed a sigh and resisted checking my phone to find out how much longer I had to endure repeating this same conversation with different relatives before the actual ceremony started and saved me from this torment.

Speaking of torment, my right butt cheek basically screamed at me to itch it. Maybe I could use a tree to scratch without being noticed, like a bear.

Stupid thong. Maybe Cara had a better idea to deal with my problem than rubbing all over a pine trunk.

I noticed then that Aunt Janet was still talking, and I had not been listening at all.

Eh, my need to itch was too strong for pretending to care. “Have you seen Cara?”

“She didn’t tell you?

Uh oh. “Tell me what?”

“She had to take an emergency work trip. Your sister is so dedicated.”

Dedicated, ha. She didn’t want to come, so she skipped, after telling me she’d be here and convincing me to wear a thong. No doubt she was sitting at home in comfy non-wool pajamas wearing comfy granny panties and not talking to Aunt Janet. That selfish wench should have taken me with her on her fake trip.

“You look so much prettier in a dress.” Aunt Janet delivered the line with the kind of smile that suggested she knew she was doing me a favor, like if I’d only considered being girlier I’d have landed a husband and pushed out a baseball team’s worth of kids by now.

I should have taken my friend Viv up on her offer to be my plus one. She’d have worn a gown, pretended we were madly in love, and put a stop to conversations like this.

Of course, she would also give Aunt Janet a heart attack. But at least I’d be having fun.

I tried to do the right thing and hide alone in the back of the crowd, hoping no one would notice me. It wasn’t going great so far.

Then, suddenly, my evening got infinitely better.

I spotted Bradford.

He’d actually done right by me and come. I was saved and everything would be all right.

And then, in an instant, my evening got infinitely worse.

I spotted the woman he held tucked against his side.

She was tall, curvy, and gorgeous with perfect black hair, with glowing light brown skin that probably never looked red and splotchy. Basically, she was everything I wasn’t.

And my long-time boyfriend had his hand gripped possessively to her waist.

My thoughts scattered like shattered glass. I scrambled to make sense of the shards before one of them sliced my skin.

Maybe the work meeting he’d been unable to get out of—even though he’d had plenty of time to put in notice—had ended early, and in total un-Bradford-fashion, he’d shown up to support me. What a sweet surprise?

The sharp stabs in my gut said otherwise.

Or maybe the reason for this had to do with the woman. Because there had to be an explanation for who she was and why he was touching her. She…was drunk and he was lending her support until she found her seat?

She didn’t look like she needed support. And she looked ten times more put together than I did. She wasn’t drunk. If anything, I was the one who needed support. I felt like the ground beneath my feet had shifted.

Her powder-blue dress matched the flower garlands strung over the backs of the chairs. It was the exact same dress two other women wore as they came over to excitedly talk to her. She was a bridesmaid.

Surely I was misunderstanding something.

But then my mother stepped up to him, a smile on her face.

Then her smile dropped.

Bradford went pale.

The bridesmaid looked confused….

My mother spoke to them, with an increasingly erratic level of hand movement.

The bridesmaid’s expression twisted with fury.

“Maevey, isn’t that your Bradford? I thought you said he dumped you.” Aunt Janet’s voice ripped me from the spell that had trapped me in place.

I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for a response.

My mother turned and scanned the crowd, looking for me.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be here.

I ran.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to run away. My legs carried me all on their own, and honestly I was grateful, because I wasn’t sure my brain could handle decisions at the moment.

My lungs burned.

I couldn’t breathe.

My head throbbed.

I couldn’t think.

A high-pitched ringing sound shot straight from one ear into the other. The world spun so viciously I was certain I’d collapse. There wasn’t enough time to make it out of here when my lungs refused to inflate. The pressure was crushing.

When nearly all hope was finally lost, I spotted a glimmer of hope.

I found my salvation—a tiny booth with a curtain to hide behind while I figured out what to do next.

I ran inside and snapped the curtain shut behind me.

In the silent space, I’d found my safe reprieve.

I sucked in a long, slow breath. The exhale that followed burned.

Breathing was good. Everything would be all right so long as I?—

“Hello.”

The voice was deep.

And close.

And nearly made me pee myself. It made my chest clench all over again.

I shrieked and twisted around, hand over my heart, and found a man sitting on a small bench.

He had a very square head, not in a weird way, but in the he’s-chiseled-from-marble way. His eyes were bright and kind, and a touch too close together in a way that showed character rather than imbalance. He reminded me a bit of Ryan Gosling. Though maybe that was because Cara had recently made me rewatch Barbie for the fifty billionth time.

His broad shoulders bowed forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The gray suit he wore was well-tailored. He’d pulled his tie loose and mussed up his light-brown hair like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Me, too, buddy. Me, too.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer lying in wait,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

His cheeks promised nothing but good intentions. There was nothing intimidating about him at all, aside from the fact that he was a man hiding in what appeared to be a photo booth.

I said, “That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

“You think? I imagine he would say nothing and get straight to the stabbing.”

I stifled a laugh. “You know, this is not really the kind of thing you should say to a woman who is alone and doesn’t know you.”

“That’s probably true.” He raised his hands in defense and leaned back, taking up twice the amount of space he had before.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

“Hiding. You?”

“Hiding.”

He gestured to the bench beside him. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us if you’d like to hide together. Nice shoes.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit yet, but complimenting my shoes was a solid start to lowering my defenses. “They’re an AriZona Adidas collab.”

“With pink flowers, like on the AriZona tea can. Neat.”

“Cherry blossoms. They are pretty spectacular, aren’t they?”

He nodded. “They make a statement. Plus, they look comfortable. I’m jealous.”

I examined his expression and found no sign that he was teasing me. This was a nice surprise since I was a woman not wearing high heels at a wedding. “So, what are you hiding from?”

“Not a what, but a who,” he said.

“Same.”

“I spotted the bane of my existence, and I figured it would be better to avoid an altercation that could ruin my friend Rachel’s wedding day.”

“I spotted my boyfriend with another woman.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Ouch. You win.”

I couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Doesn’t feel like winning.”

“I’m sure. But this photo booth is home to the Misery Olympics and you’ve earned the gold. By comparison, I’m lucky to claim bronze.”

I wasn’t sure why, but his humor was exactly what I needed right now. So, I slipped down on the bench beside him. “What about silver?”

“Silver goes to the mosquito who got trapped in the light.” He pointed toward the booth’s ceiling.

I looked up and spotted the blood sucker bashing around between the bulb and the glass.

“Ah,” I said. “But he kind of deserves it, right? Mosquitos are the worst.”

“I’m sure he’s not as bad as my nemesis or your boyfriend. Plus, he didn’t ask to be born a mosquito.”

“I guess you’re right. So, are you going to try to save him?”

“No. He’s still a mosquito. They’re the worst.”

I felt my soul lighten and a smile pull at my cheeks. This really was exactly what I’d needed.

“Are you waiting for the reception to confront your boyfriend?” he asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” It felt right, but also scary, like leaping into a pond at midnight. “There’s nothing to say. He’d just come up with some excuse, make me seem like I’m crazy.”

The hot stranger nodded. “Gaslighter.”

I’d never thought about it like that, but that’s exactly what Bradford was.

“Maeve?” my mother called. “Where are you?”

Every muscle in my body tensed.

“I can’t go back.” To the ceremony, to Bradford, to a time before I’d seen his arm wrapped around another woman.

“Hiding only works for so long,” the hot stranger said. “We need to make a run for it.”

“We?”

“No one’s looking for me. I’ll be your distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, then rose from his seat. “I’ll wing it.”

Then he ran out of the booth.

And I listened as his footsteps grew quieter, and my mother’s voice grew louder. Whatever distraction he was working on wouldn’t come soon enough.

Fingers reached past the edge of the curtain.

I held my breath, curled in on myself, and squeezed my eyes shut.

Bass boomed.

Tires squealed.

Then came the familiar beat of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.”

I slapped my hands over my mouth to stifle the laughter I felt bubbling up my throat. Who played “Another One Bites the Dust” outside of a wedding to help a stranger? Hot Stranger, apparently. I guessed he didn’t care that much about causing a scene.

The fingers pulled away from the curtain. My mother’s voice, so close it had definitely been her, said, “Does no one care about the sanctity of a wedding?”

The song grew louder.

I waited, doing my best to stay silent.

I smiled like a hungry vampire, with a gleeful sheen clouding my eyes.

Finally, I peeked out from behind the curtain.

My mother was gone.

I made a break for it.

Whoever Hot Stranger was, I owed him one. Too bad I’d probably never see him again to pay him back.