The Fiance Dilemma (The Long Game #2)

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Matthew slept like the dead.

Which didn’t justify me watching him sleep for what had to be close to fifteen minutes now. But what was I supposed to do? My living room stood between the stairs and the kitchen. And he was currently occupying my couch. And I liked to do something while I had my morning coffee—gallons of it, after the night I’d had. So although I would have loved to give Matthew some privacy, it had been practically impossible to do so.

He looked… like a truck had run him over, frankly. His dirty-blond strands were a tangled mess. One of his arms was thrown over his head, while the other hung over the edge of the couch. And I could see a socked foot peeking out of the blanket. It was cute. If not for the fact that Matthew was bare chested under the blanket, and Grandpa’s borrowed pajama top laid on the floor in a heap of checkered flannel.

I sipped at the tiny mug containing my fourth espresso. “I’m a creep,” I murmured, tilting my head from my post at the armchair. And this needed to stop. He was a guest. And I was ogling him. Like a weirdo with nothing better to do.

I cleared my throat. “Matthew?” I called, and when he didn’t react, I said a little louder, “Matthew Flanagan?”

I watched him for a few moments, but he didn’t even stir.

He left me no choice, really.

“MATTHEW!” I exclaimed.

The man sprung upward, producing his glasses from somewhere and slipping them right on. Wide brown eyes met mine.

I smiled at him. “Good morning, sunshine.”

He blinked, sleep still tugging at his features and hair pointing in all directions. Also? The blanket had come down to his waist and I could see… his very glorious chest. Golden skin. Pecs. What had to be a seriously hard stomach. Holy shrimp. Matthew was…

“Ripped.”

“Thanks,” he said, his hand landing over his collarbone and scratching a spot. He yawned lazily. “What time is it?”

My eyes widened a little as I tried to keep them on his face. I had really said that out loud. “It’s a little after nine,” I answered. “And you’re welcome. And also, can you please cover yourself? That’s… a lot of man boob you’re flashing.”

It was slow, but a smirk took shape around his mouth. “That’s why you were watching me sleep?”

A scoff left me. “I was not.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But I wouldn’t mind if you were.”

I tipped my chin up like the liar I was. “Okay, Bella Swan, but I wasn’t.” I leaned down, snagged the checkered pajama shirt on the floor, and threw it at him. “I need to talk to you and your nippies are staring into my eyes, like two beacons of manhood asking to be acknowledged. So if you don’t mind?”

Matthew caught the shirt with a laugh. The sound warmed my chest. Just a little. “Never thought I’d have my nipples being called nippies,” he said, slipping his arms into the sleeves. “Or beacons of manhood.” He buttoned up. “I can’t wait to hear what you say when you realize I’m wearing no pants.”

My brows shot up, so high and so fast, they probably left a mark on my scalp.

“I…”

I’d just lost my focus. My nerve too.

Because I’d had a plan, I knew I had one. That was why I’d been waiting for Matthew to wake up before I left to open Josie’s Joint, the coffee shop whose doors should have already been welcoming customers. I’d wanted to talk to him. Yes. But it was a little hard to do that now. Why wasn’t he wearing the pajama bottoms he’d borrowed? Did I leave the heating too high? Did he simply sleep in the nude? Was Matthew not wearing any underwear? God. How was I supposed to think, much less sound convincing now?

I really couldn’t catch a break, could I?

All I’d wanted was to pick things up where we’d left them last night. To give him the full picture I had now, after researching instead of sleeping, which is exactly why I was on my way to a fifth espresso.

The moment my head hit the pillow, Bobbi’s words had returned to haunt me.

Maybe you should have a listen to a podcast called Filthy Reali-Tea. Season three, episode twelve, minute eighteen. They dissect the whole thing in detail. It’s shockingly insightful.

It would have been really stupid—or na?ve—not to check. So I did. Together with every single entry Google had offered about Andrew Underwood. Even the ones I hadn’t fully understood. The ones about stock value and personal scandals affecting business. As if hearing—and watching—two strangers who really had millions of listeners dissect my existence in a five-minute section where they discussed unrelated A-list gossip wasn’t enough of a blow.

The memory brought goose bumps to my skin. As if I were somehow thrust back in time and I was lying in bed all over again. Headphones plugged in and wide eyes blankly staring at the wall in front of me while the voices of two strangers curled around insecurities I didn’t know I had.

INTERIOR— FILTHY REALI-TEA STUDIO—DAY

SAM: Wait up, wait up. You’re telling me this is the same man whose daughter got into a brawl with that Miami team’s mascot last year? The one who’s with that retired soccer player from Europe?

NICK: (clicks tongue) That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Sam. He’s Andrew Underwood. From Underwood Enterprises or Holdings or something like that. He owns stuff like real estate and corporations? You know that if it’s not tech no one really cares.

SAM: More like you don’t, but fair I guess. Real estate is not as exciting—unless it’s being sold by hot people in full glam, and unless I can peruse the properties from the comfort of my couch.

NICK: We like what we like. Thankfully, the Underwood family is just as deliciously layered. Like… a real-life Succession episode you’re seeing unfold before your eyes. With the drama, the money, the orphan who happens to be an heiress, the secret past, and all the trauma.

SAM: Which reminds me that I should really reschedule my therapy session.

NICK: Do that, Sam. Therapy is crucial. But you should also stop sidetracking me. Because this family has issues, as I was telling you. It really is like they’re growing them on demand. Rich Daddy, for example: kept his origins a secret for decades. There’s this piece in Time magazine where he admits being ashamed of coming from some tiny place in North Carolina, and letting everyone believe he was in fact from Miami.

SAM: Ew. That’s a big waving red flag.

NICK: And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. This newly discovered daughter, Josephine something-something, who he also kept under wraps for decades, is from—brace yourself—that same tiny place.

SAM: The plot thickens. A nostalgic rendezvous?

NICK: It seems. And it more than thickens because she… whoa. (laughs) I can’t even say it with a straight face. I swear, I’m not making it up.

SAM: Spill it. I spend way too much time on the internet to be shocked.

NICK: She’s a serial runner.

SAM: (disappointed sigh)

NICK: No, no. Wait. This girl runs on men. On grooms. Her fiancés. She gets engaged and abandons the dudes AT THE ALTAR. (pause) On their wedding day.

SAM: Wait, what? But how many are we talking about?

NICK: FOUR. For now.

SAM: (gasps, then laughs) Like that rom-com from ages ago?

NICK: The nineties was not that long ago, Sammy. Stop talking about millennials like we’re ancient. But yes, just like Julia Roberts in that movie. And I swear I’m not answering who Julia Roberts is. I’m also not making this up. We’ve hunted for pictures of her and found one, in some local newspaper, and as expected, she’s a stunner. She also happens to be this wholesome, small-town girl with big blue eyes and cowboy boots. I didn’t even know they wore those in North Carolina. But anyway. Four times!

SAM: (chokes out a laugh) Whoa. (slow clap) Listen, I applaud. We love a bad bish who can and will say no. Even if it’s giving trauma and I’m low-key a little worried about her.

NICK: (chuckles) I mean, I can’t blame her, really. I would have big, fat daddy issues if my father had ditched me in some town in the middle of nowhere to live it up in a mansion in Miami. Do you have any idea how nice my tan would be if I lived in Miami? (loud exhale) Now seriously, you know I occasionally have a heart. So drama aside, it’s no wonder the girl is messed-up. She apparently lost her mother young—we didn’t find out when exactly—and Rich Daddy did nothing. Small-Town Heiress didn’t even know she was an Underwood until very recently.

SAM: (groans) Now that’s truly disgusting behavior. I feel sick, really. That’s why I never get past a situationship. It’s so hard to… trust. The lengths some men will go to hide who they are. And this guy is the proof. (ponders with a hum) I wonder if we could do something in solidarity. You know I’m a girls’ girl.

NICK: I don’t know about that. We are just two people on a podcast. BUT we could ask our audience whether they want to hear more. So, Reali-tiers? Let us know in the comments if you’d like that. It’s been a while since we did a Reali-tea series and I feel this one’s layered.

The answer to Nick’s question had been a resounding yes. I’d seen the comments myself. I also wished I hadn’t just based it on the amount of unfiltered thoughts, opinions, and judgments some people felt the need to put into the universe. But regardless, I didn’t need to be Bobbi Shark to know this wasn’t good. I could already tell that it probably didn’t register in the spectrum of acceptable or manageable.

“Josie?” Matthew tried. “You good, sweetheart?”

I swallowed, refocusing on him. “Ah… sure,” I said. “I was just thinking. Thoughts. Of various types. Did Grandpa’s bottoms not fit? Is that why you’re not wearing them?”

Matthew tilted his head. “I’d rather talk about what’s bothering you.” His gaze dipped in the direction of my hands. “What is it?”

I knew what he’d just done. Checked for the ring. It was back in the box after it came off in the shower. But that didn’t change or fix much now. “I was just wondering whether you had any time to think about last night. Our conversation. Because I have, and I’d like to pick up where we left it, if you don’t mind.”

A strange sigh left him as he rearranged his body, moving slightly forward and bracing his elbows on the blanket covering his knees. “Yes,” he admitted. “And I owe you an apology.” My whole body perked up. “I was a little harsh in my delivery. I was dead on my feet, and cranky, and I… wasn’t myself. So I’m sorry. You were right. If anyone would be jumping headfirst, no questions asked, into something like what happened back at the porch, it’d be me.”

My chest tightened with… relief? Hope? “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a nod. “That’s why I want to be there next time you talk to this Bobbi person. I involved myself in this when I went along with the lie anyway, so I’ll be there.” I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, climbing up my face with a smile. “We’ll tell her it was all a misunderstanding. Together.”

And down it came.

“Oh,” escaped me with a weak puff of air. “A misunderstanding. That’s what you meant.”

His chuckle was strained, as if he’d forced it out. “What else did you think I was going to say?”

Every new piece of information I’d learned last night, every single thing that had been said about me and Andrew, swirled in my head, making me feel a little dizzy.

It’s no wonder the girl is messed-up.

How could I even explain everything to this man? Should I just hit play on the podcast and make him listen? Watch his face fill up with… pity, in the best of cases? I’d always considered myself a strong, independent woman. But based on everything being said, I had never been. Not really. Not even remotely.

I shook off that thought and stood up. I’d really lost my nerve. And that was fine. I’d be fine. “Or you know what? I think I’ll just tell her myself. I’ll say it was all a mistake. It’ll be like ripping off a really feisty and uptight Band-Aid.”

“You sure?” Matthew hesitated. “I could—”

“Oh no,” I said, standing up from the armchair. “I should really go open Josie’s now. Grandpa Moe will drive you to Lazy Elk while we sort out your car situation.” Matthew’s lips thinned and I averted my gaze, already moving. “You’re right about everything, so I’ll fix the mess I started. Plus, it’s just Bobbi. It really isn’t like I have to make some public statement, or worse, tell the whole town we’re not… you know. A thing. It’s just a woman I barely even know.”

“So when’s the wedding?” I was asked for the fourth time today.

I’d been counting. Together with fifth time’s the charm —delivered a total of three times—and who’s the lucky man —a chilling total of eight. Eight.

Because as it turned out, it wasn’t just Bobbi who thought I was engaged again. It was all of Green Oak. Or at the very least, every customer who had strolled into Josie’s Joint buzzing with the news of a new engagement.

They always, always buzzed. With any news, but engagement news was the worst—or buzziest. And when you were allegedly engaged to a mystery man you’d kept a secret, the buzz escalated to an angry buzzing beehive.

All thanks to snoopy and meddlesome Otto Higgings.

News traveled fast in Green Oak, but this fast? Not even when one of the kids discovered the video of Adalyn ripping the head off the Miami Flames’ mascot with her bare hands did the news spread overnight. It took at least a day for everyone to start theorizing.

Not this time. It was barely lunchtime and I’d already heard that I was engaged to some guy named Marcus. Or Maddox. Or Maverick, a cowboy from Tennessee. No, a wanderer named Martin, someone claimed. They’d spotted him roaming around the edge of town with a duffel bag and a cloak.

A cloak.

Sometimes I wondered how we, as a community, had survived this long without going absolutely insane.

“We totally support you, you know?” Gabriel said, bringing me back to the conversation. “I know you must have your reasons for keeping this from everyone. We’re all a bunch of gossips, although we mean well. But now that it’s out… I want to hear everything.” He smiled. “And see the ring. Let’s see where this one ranks.”

I loved Gabriel. We’d known each other since we were kids, and were still good friends, even if we didn’t hang out like we used to. He was a family man now. A dad to Juniper, a husband to Isaac. I knew all of this came from a place of warmth, but boy, if he squeezed me for any more details, I was pretty sure I was going to scream. “Ring’s not here,” I said with a tight bend of my lips.

“What do you mean the ring’s not here?” Gabriel’s brows arched. “Where is it?”

“At the… cleaners. It needed a polish.” All of them did, so I wasn’t technically lying.

“If you say so,” he said with an incredulous shrug. “So what about my other questions? Who is he? How did you meet? What wedding theme are we going with this time?”

Wedding theme. “Does any of that matter? Why can’t we talk about Isaac? Or Juni. How is fifth grade treating her? Is Isaac coming to the Warriors game on Sunday or is he stuck somewhere traveling?”

Gabriel frowned. “Of course it matters. You’re engaged, Josie. Again. After, you know, Duncan. Who by the way I’ve heard is, and I quote, facing some important challenges. My cousin Martha, the one who lives in South Carolina, told me she was keeping an eye on him, to keep us in the loop. And some lady in her book club is somehow related to one of Duncan’s campaign managers and is feeding her top-notch information. Anyway.” He pursed his lips. “Can’t say I’m affected by the news. If he was running for state senator here, I sure as hell wouldn’t—”

“That’s kind of Martha,” I interjected. “And you. But you know that whole anti-Duncan stuff never sat well with me. He isn’t a bad man. He has principles, which is rare in politics. Things just didn’t work out for us, and that’s not a good reason for anyone in town to judge his work or want to cancel him.”

Gabriel’s eyes rolled behind his red-rimmed glasses. “You’re too honorable, Josie girl. A true unicorn.”

I wasn’t. I was a messed-up girl who was giving trauma.

“So anyway,” I said, readjusting my apron. “This is still a coffee shop, you know? You guys are going to run me out of business if all you want to do is chat.”

“You know that couldn’t be further from the truth,” he answered with a snort. “Green Oak would cave into itself without this place. Or your baked goods. Or you. But okay. Point made. I’ll wait until you decide to open up about this Maverick guy.”

“His name’s not—” I shot him a glance.

Gabriel’s smile was sly. “Ugh, so close.” Another shrug. “Alas. How about you get me something special today? To make up for not telling me a single detail about this man. Does he have abs? Is he a generous lover? Is he really from Tennessee? Nobody knows. Not even me. Which I’m fine with, by the way.”

I got to work on an extra-large, extra-sweet Josephino, decidedly ignoring Gabriel as he debated the merits of dating a cowboy like Maverick and continued to prod at my barely standing patience.

“Cinnamon or cocoa?” I hit the metallic jug against the rack—hard—just as he said something about pitching bales of hay. Shirtless.

“Cocoa,” he answered with a roll of his eyes. “If you please.”

“Great,” I said with a smile that I was sure wasn’t reaching my eyes. Then I bent my knees and kneeled behind the counter with the excuse of reaching for a new cocoa powder shaker. But all I did was close my eyes, giving myself a moment and a pat on the chest. God, I was sweating. Rivers. I lifted my knit sweater and let some air get in, only springing up to my feet when I felt slightly better.

“Here’s your— Mothercracker.”

Otto Higgings’s—and his pug, Coco’s—faces greeted me. “Don’t know who you’re talking about, but I don’t think I can take more foreigners in town. Green Oak’s small enough.”

“Good morning, neighbor,” I said, hearing the unease in my voice. And the grudge I so wanted to hold against him. But that wasn’t who I was. So I decidedly ignored that and glanced down at where Coco was sitting. “You know the rules. Furry companions are welcome, but no stinky butts on my counter.”

“That’s what I said,” Gabriel muttered. “That’s not the place for a dog’s ass, Otto.”

Otto grumbled something, reluctantly snatching Coco off the counter and holding her in his arms. “My Coco doesn’t stink.”

I inhaled very slowly, then grabbed my disinfectant bottle and started wiping at the surface. “What can I get you, my sweet and cheery Otto?”

“So where’s this Mario?” my neighbor asked in return. “The blond one. You sure made some ruckus in the middle of the night. Woke me and Coco up. You know she needs her rest.”

“Oh?” Gabriel perked up. “Mario, huh? Blond. And a ruckus ?” My so-called friend shot me an inquisitive glance. “Color me interested, Otto Higgings. On a scale from one to ten, how… ardent would you care to rate this ruckus?”

“Well,” Otto started with a thinking face. “I’d say—”

“There wasn’t any ruckus,” I intervened. “It was a normal, ordinary, customary night.”

“There was quite a commotion on your porch, though,” Otto muttered, readjusting Coco’s pink collar. “Can I get one of those puppy drinks you do? Coco loves them. I’ll have a glass of water. They’re both on the house, aren’t they?”

“Of course,” I gritted between a toothy smile. Both things were supposed to be complimentary with an actual order. But I’d give him anything to stop talking. “Here,” I added, grabbing two brownies from the display and placing them in front of the men. “These are on the house too. And they’re warm, so I wouldn’t waste any time if I were you. I’ll be right over with the puppuccino and the glass of water.”

I turned, looking for the plain yogurt I got solely for the puppuccinos. Once located, I grabbed a container of pumpkin puree. Despite how warm it’s been, it was fall, after all. Pumpkin season was in full swing, and that meant pumpkin beverages. Pups included. I returned to my spot at the front, eyes cast down as I balanced everything in my arms. “All right, so—”

A new face had joined the group.

“Bobbi,” I said, hearing the sheer exhaustion in my voice now too. “Hi. You’re here. Great. Welcome to Josie’s Joint.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” she deadpanned. “Why is this so busy? Oh wait, don’t answer that. There’s no Starbucks around.”

I suppressed an eye roll and smiled. “So you’ve said. And isn’t that wonderful? Local businesses have the space to thrive.”

“I didn’t think you were listening all that closely last night,” she answered, looking around with a strange grimace. “And thrive away for all I care, but do it beside a place where I can order from my phone. This is my only vice, Josephine. This and late-night shopping. If you tell me there’s no one-day-delivery either, I might have a tiny stroke.” She paused. “You guys get one-day-delivery here, right?”

Gabriel snorted.

I opted not to answer.

Otto frowned at our newcomer. “You were there too. Last night. In the ruckus.”

The two men seemed to perk up. But I’d had enough questions. I’d had enough everything. So I clapped my hands, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Otto? Here’s your water, and a puppuccino for Coco.” I placed the two cups in front of him. “And Gabriel? Let’s catch up later, yeah? Give Isaac and little Juni a hug. Now, bye. Auf Wiedersehen. Sayonara. Adiós. Toodles. Have a good day, and remember to bring your JJ loyalty cards next time, yes?”

I watched the two men—and dog—shuffle away, even if reluctantly, with a tight smile, before returning my attention to the PR strategist.

“Okay, Small-Town Heiress,” Bobbi said in a seemingly impressed tone. “You have a backbone. Good.”

Small-Town Heiress. That was what the podcast had called me.

“What can I get you, Bobbi?” A flight back to Miami? I thought . A shovel so you can help me dig the hole I want to disappear into right now?

Her bright red lips pursed in thought, giving me enough time to ponder while acknowledging her attire. That beautiful coat from last night was long gone, and she wore something that looked a lot like a corset over a black flimsy blouse, paired with leather leggings. She looked stunning. And terrifying. She cleared her throat. “Venti iced white chocolate mocha, no whip, sweet cream foam, extra caramel drizzle.”

“I…” Wasn’t an establishment prepared to serve that kind of drink. I smiled. “Coming right up.”

“Good news. Finally,” she said, throwing her hands up dramatically. I returned to my station and got to work on… my Sharkie, I’d decided to call it. “So how’s Blondie?” Bobbi asked. “Good night’s rest?”

“Matthew’s okay,” I muttered. “And he slept well. Like the dead, in fact.”

“I think I prefer Blondie,” Bobbi replied. My shoulders stiffened. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I have nothing against him. I just can’t take blonds seriously. I know I’m one before you point that out. But that’s different. I’m a woman, and I’m me. I take myself—and women—very seriously.” She braced her hands on the counter, right at the spot where Coco’s butt had been. I felt the tiniest smirk appear on my face. “We should move quickly with the wedding planning.”

Whatever smugness I’d been feeling disappeared.

Bobbi continued, “Did you have a look online? Listen to the podcast perhaps? You don’t need to answer, I know you did by the way you’re scrunching your face. Not so flattering, huh?”

I occupied myself with my convoluted Sharkie, trying to figure out a way to emulate the stuff I didn’t have. “I’m not scrunching my face.”

“You are,” Bobbi pressed in a casual tone. “Naturally so. Having your dirty laundry and reputation aired like that would do that to you. I’m shocked you’re here at all. I thought I’d have to pick up the pieces and put them together so we could talk. This stuff would break anyone. Maybe even me.”

Dirty laundry. Reputation.

I swallowed. Hard. “I’m not breaking. That’s just gossip.”

“Is it gossip when they’re speaking facts?” Bobbi answered. I felt myself go cold. In an instant. “Good thing you have a way to prove them wrong. You’ve found love. Again. And I hear everyone in town just found out about your happy news. Color me surprised.” She waited, and I was sure the pause was very intentional. “Hey. I’m not here to pass judgment. I would be reticent to share that, too. If I’d been engaged half a dozen times.”

My cheeks heated. “It was only four.”

“Five,” she corrected before tutting. “Poor Blondie. You’re leaving him out this early in the game?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Not judging,” she repeated, inspecting her nails. “I have daddy issues too. Half the world does, and the other half deals with a partner who has them.”

“Well, that’s not an issue I have. I don’t belong to any of those groups.”

“Tell that to pro soccer player Ricky Richardson,” Bobbi countered. “Or senator wannabe Duncan Aguirre. Or Shawn or Greg, whose last names and occupations are irrelevant. Wasn’t Ricky so affected by you leaving him at the altar that his performance turned to shit and he was transferred to some team in Canada? Yikes.”

My spine went as stiff as a stick. “Canada is great. And he loves it there.”

“Wasn’t Duncan close to ending his campaign because he was so heartbroken? Didn’t Greg flee to Thailand after you hit the road?”

My jaw clamped. “I thought Greg didn’t matter. And how do you know any of that?”

“I’d be doing a bad job if I hadn’t researched you before coming out here, Josephine. And if I found out, don’t you think Page Nine will? That podcast belongs to the main source of gossip in the country. Sam and Nick would love to pick apart such a varied collection of grooms-that-never-were.”

“That’s not at all intrusive,” I commented. I shook my head, returning to the counter with the final product. “And I don’t collect them. Also, Greg now goes by Astro. Which you would know if you dug deep enough. I also didn’t exactly leave Ricky at the altar. And Duncan is fine, believe me. I’m also not the only woman on the face of the earth who’s been engaged a handful of times. I don’t know why everyone’s making it such a big deal.”

“Four times. Five now. And under the age of thirty,” Bobbi offered in a final tone. “It’s a big deal when paired with who your father is. And please, don’t tell me you’re good friends with your exes. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“What if I am friends with them? How is that bad?”

Bobbi blinked at me, her expression one of pure and utter outrage. “This is not a sitcom, girlie. Wake up.” She let out a scoff. “This whole thing is giving unresolved childhood drama. It’s giving off nineties rom-com vibes that haven’t aged well. It’s giving Ross Geller.”

“Ross Geller is a divorcé,” I argued, trying really hard not to let her words affect me.

As if at a loss, Bobbi picked up her cup with a sigh and brought it to her lips. A moan left her. “You know what? I’ll marry you if you decide to give Blondie the boot.”

I was flattered, but I took that for what it was. An opening. An exit, hopefully. “So about Matthew—”

“Look around you, Josephine,” Bobbi said, dark gaze sharpening as it held mine. “Everyone’s ecstatic with the news. I haven’t seen this many smiles since my unfortunate visit to Barcelona’s wax museum years ago. And these are not even that creepy.”

I swallowed the strange lump in my throat and did as she asked as much as I didn’t need to. Bobbi wasn’t wrong. The atmosphere in the small café I considered my second home hadn’t been this animated since the Green Warriors made it to last year’s Little League final.

“Your father extends his best wishes, too,” Bobbi continued.

My head whirled in the woman’s direction. I braced myself on the counter. “Andrew knows?”

“He does now,” she confirmed after a beat. “And he’s thrilled you’re open to letting him have a significant role in your life. He thinks the least he can do is pay for the wedding, all things considered. He’s obviously thankful you’ll do this at such a critical moment, too. This might give us the angle we need to fix this whole thing. Unless, you’d rather consider the move to Miami. Blondie could come, too, I suppose.”

My stomach twisted, that sudden urge to scream, or run, or do something really silly, rising again.

He’s thrilled you’re open to letting him have a significant role in your life.

I would have big, fat daddy issues if my father had ditched me in some town in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks the least he can do is pay for the wedding.

I’d told myself I’d never go through that again. A wedding. Not after Duncan. Not after four. I would have been happy to help organize Adalyn and Cameron’s, whenever they decided to tie the knot, but not mine. Definitely not a fifth wedding. And definitely not if I already knew I wouldn’t make it down the aisle. Absolutely not to a man I barely knew, either.

But… that wasn’t very different from any other time I’d told myself I wouldn’t jump into a new engagement and had done it regardless.

It was Bobbi who spoke, as if she was somewhat aware of my internal struggle. “I really am not here to pass judgment, Josephine. I’m here to help. It’s Andrew’s and your image being trashed. And I’m incredible at my job.” A pause. A tilt of her head. “I’m a good judge of character, too. I think you believe in second chances. I know you’re a team player.” Her arm rose, pointing at all the tables brimming with people behind her. “I can see you care about your community, so I know you care about your family, too. Andrew is your family now. Families look out for each other, so I encourage you to put your pride aside and accept his help.”

My gaze shifted behind Bobbi, but I wasn’t really looking at my patrons.

Andrew is your family now.

Families look out for each other.

It was all I’d wanted for a long time. A family. Someone to stuff the gaping hole Mom had left in the middle of my chest when I’d lost her. I knew Adalyn had somehow helped to do that, and I loved that. Having a sister. But a sister wasn’t a parent, and my relationship with Andrew had been… unexpectedly different. Not as easy. Confusing in ways that made my stomach knot with the possibility that it might never work.

It wasn’t about pride, like Bobbi had implied.

When I’d promised Matthew I’d fix this, I only had to face Bobbi. But it wasn’t just Bobbi now. It was everyone. The whole town knew. Andrew knew, too. He thought I had the key to fix an issue I was responsible for in some twisted way I couldn’t refute. I had also lied. It had been me making up a story last night.

Without really knowing how, I now faced a dilemma.

I had two choices: Tell everyone my engagement was a lie and snuff out all that excitement and hope. Or move with what I’d set into motion and break things off later, when the dust settled, and inform everyone of something they might already expect: that another engagement was no more.

Both were equally terrible.

The first one made me look like a liar. It cemented Bobbi’s and Nick’s and Sam’s and everyone else’s accusations. That Andrew had messed me up. That on top of being a misstep on an incredible résumé, I was also deeply troubled. A liar.

The second choice did that too in a way. But it fixed the problem for now. It gave me a chance to salvage something.

Andrew is your family now.

It gave us a chance.

“Coffee’s on the house,” I heard myself say. “My treat to first-time customers.”

Bobbi’s smile was slow, and when it fully formed, I noticed it was the first one to reach her eyes. “Excellent. Thank you.”

I cleared my throat. “Of course.”

The PR strategist tapped the counter before stepping back. “Now go get your man. We have plans to make, and a little birdie told me that Blondie and Andrew have a past. Which explains why your fiancé was… somewhat reluctant to accept Andrew’s help when I mentioned it last night. So, item number one on your list is prepping your doting fiancé. I want everyone on their best behavior. And that means Blondie, not my employer.” She whirled around, and right before walking away, she looked over her shoulder one last time. “Oh, and I think your ring might have slipped off your finger at some point last night?” She tsk ed. “Hope you retrieve it soon, Josephine. Details are important in PR.”

I looked down at my naked finger, wondering if a part of me had known last night, when Ricky’s ring had gotten stuck. It hadn’t been the first time this had happened with one of the four rings I kept in that box atop my dresser, but it had been the one time dread had filled me so overwhelmingly instantly.

I supposed it didn’t matter.

Bobbi was wrong either way.

I had something more important than a ring to retrieve.

A fiancé.