Chapter 1 #2
The dare tradition started back when Ivy and I were in high school—stupid, silly challenges to make us brave when we felt small.
Singing too loudly in a crowded room. Ordering the weirdest thing on the menu.
Slipping notes to boys we liked and running before they could read them.
When we met Olivia in college, she joined in, and the three of us turned it into something bigger. A pact. A promise.
The dares have gotten us through breakups, job changes, and moments when we needed each other most. They pushed Ivy to grab a stranger’s hand on a crowded street in New Orleans—and that stranger turned out to be Gray Bennett, her now husband.
They pushed us all to dare something bigger at New Year’s: never lose faith, love without pretending, be brave even when it’s scary.
And then at Ivy’s wedding, while I was too busy arguing with Micah Sanders near the drink station, Ivy turned to me with that look, the one I now recognize as dangerous, and dared me to dance with him.
I danced to one song with Micah. One song.
And for those three and a half minutes, he didn’t annoy me even once.
He just wove me through the crowd, kept me close, and somehow gave me the one quiet moment I’d had all night in the middle of a hundred maid-of-honor disasters.
Like he knew I was running on fumes and just..
. let me breathe. Didn’t say a word about it.
And then the song ended, and he went right back to being insufferable.
“And if I do?” I challenge anyway. “If I just say no?”
They exchange another look, identical grins forming.
“Then you break a tradition,” Ivy says softly. “But you won’t.”
The weight of those words settles over me. She knows me too well.
I want to argue. Want to storm out of this boutique and pretend this conversation never happened. Want to tell them that asking Micah, of all people, is a terrible, ridiculous, completely insane idea.
But I can’t.
Because deep down, beneath all the protests and panic, I know they’re right.
Ivy goes quiet for a moment, browsing a rack of dresses with a small, knowing smile.
“You know it was almost exactly two years ago, on our girls’ trip to New Orleans, when you told me: ‘Ivy Taylor, you are one yes away from something good.’”
I freeze. “That is not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. You and Olivia dared me to grab a stranger’s hand in that crowd.” A soft laugh. “Deep down, I think you both knew it would lead to something good.”
I knew. We all did, even if we were pretending it was just a silly dare. And then Gray Bennett walked into her life because she said yes.
I glance away from Ivy’s expression, which is doing something unbearably gentle.
“You can’t use my own words against me,” I say.
“I just did.” She holds up a new dress—deep emerald, structured, the kind that doesn’t apologize for itself. “Now try this one.”
I retreat into the dressing room before either of them can say another word.
My hands shake slightly as I peel myself out of the champagne gown.
The zipper sticks at first, and I yank it harder than I need to.
The fabric finally gives, sliding off my shoulders and pooling at my feet, lifeless and dull.
I kick it aside.
The relief is immediate. Like I’d been holding my breath in that dress without realizing it.
That dress wasn’t mine. It was safe and beige and careful, and I’ve spent the last two months being all of those things already. I don’t need to wear them to a gala.
If I’m going to do this—if I’m really going to walk back into Collin’s orbit with Micah on my arm and pretend I’ve moved on—I need a dress that backs up the story. A dress that says thriving, not trying too hard. A dress that makes Collin remember exactly what he gave up over a five-star dessert.
I reach for the one Ivy handed me.
Sparkly, emerald green. I step in slowly, almost nervous, and reach back for the zipper.
It molds to my curves as if it were made for me. The fabric feels like armor and confidence wrapped into one.
I turn toward the mirror.
Oh.
The color makes my red hair look like fire, and the sequins shimmer under the dressing room lights like tiny captured stars. I look…I look like myself. Not the version of me that spent two months second-guessing every text, replaying every dinner, wondering what I did wrong.
This version stands up straight without being told to.
I reach up and pull the clip out of my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders. My eyes sting, just for a second—not from sadness, but from the strange, unexpected relief of recognizing yourself in a mirror again.
I look like a woman who is going to be fine.
More than fine.
I smooth my hands down the fabric once, slowly, and lift my chin. Then I take a breath and step out of the dressing room.
Ivy’s jaw actually drops. “Oh my...”
Olivia sets down her coffee so fast it nearly spills. “That’s the one.”
I turn toward the full-length mirror, and for the first time all afternoon, something shifts inside me.
I don’t see the girl who got dumped. Not the girl scrambling to meet impossible standards. Not the girl trying to fix something that was never whole to begin with.
I see Harper.
Bright. Fiery. Unapologetic.
The girl who walks into rooms and makes people look twice.
“If this dress doesn’t convince Collin to take me back,” I say slowly, my voice steadier now as I meet Ivy’s eyes in the mirror, “then Micah better.”
Ivy’s grin could light up the whole boutique. “Deal.”
I take a deep breath, the weight of the dare settling over me—dangerous, thrilling, and exactly what these dares are supposed to do: push us beyond our limits into something we never saw coming. After all, we dared Ivy to hold a stranger’s hand, and now she’s married to him.
Olivia raises her coffee cup as if she’s making a toast. “To fake dating.”
“To ending up exactly where you’re supposed to be,” Ivy adds, and there’s something in her smile I can not analyze right now.
“To Collin seeing what he lost,” I say, because someone has to.
They exchange a look. The kind that has an entire conversation inside it.
I turn back to the mirror, heart pounding against my ribs, smoothing my hands down the emerald fabric one more time.
To making Collin regret every single thing. I think.
And to getting through one evening with Micah Sanders without wanting to strangle him.