Chapter 24
TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE
REMY
I don’t hesitate the second we’re in the car. I turn to Lake. “Do you want to go to Puzzle Me This?”
He tilts his head, his blue eyes sparking with surprise. Like he kind of can’t believe I asked that. “Yeah, I do.”
His answer is emphatic and clear, and a feeling of calm spreads through me, chased by anticipation as he drives through the city at night, expertly navigating the stop and start traffic till we reach the Haight.
A minute later, he’s holding open the yellow door of the shop while I clutch my bag that holds an unexpected treasure—the unknown bride’s wish list.
We pass the families assembling puzzles with cows and ducks, the friends sliding pieces of the Eiffel Tower into another, until we reach the drink counter. “Is it matcha month now? Latte week? Are you still in your chai days?”
I’m touched that he remembers. I study the chalkboard menu for several seconds, considering too many options.
What is the right drink to talk about a list of five things to do before you say I do, even though you didn’t get to say it?
A sugary drink feels a little wrong. Something warm and comforting seems right.
And this bout of overthinking is brought to you by my too busy, too controlling brain.
“Surprise me,” I say.
He turns to the barista and orders two vanilla lattes, each with extra caramel.
“That’s a good surprise,” I say.
“Had a feeling you’d like it.”
When they’re ready, Lake carries the mugs to a table—the same one as last time, only there’s a different puzzle on it now. Instead of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Formica’s home to a puzzle of signs with sayings—hit the road, get your ducks in a row, two heads are better than one.
He slides a piece of a head of lettuce into the two heads are better than one section. I spot a duck’s bill and slot that in as Lake takes a drink, then gives an approving, “Damn this is good.”
I try mine. “It really is.”
But the hot beverage love fest ends there because this list is serious. It’s poignant. It’s full of hope—but hope that never came to be.
I overthink everything: the kiss in the car, asking Lake to be my plus-one, even my potential proposal in the twenty-four hours before it didn’t happen.
All this overthinking has left me feeling a little jumpy, a little tightly wound.
What would it be if I let go a little? If I stepped outside of my normal life and let someone else’s plans guide me?
“I should do this list.”
He squints, tilts his head. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
Spreading open the piece of paper next to the half-done puzzle I speak a little louder. “I think I should do this. Is that ridiculous?”
His answer is instant—stern too. “Yeah, it’s ridiculous.”
My brow knits. Why would he say that? Lake’s an athlete. He’s trained to take chances. This feels like a risk I should take. “Why is that ridiculous?”
It comes out like a challenge since, well, it is.
He sets down the cup with a decisive clink, his eyes locked on mine. “Because it is.”
I scoff. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He holds my gaze, his eyes darkening with frustration.
Well, I feel the same. I cross my arms. “It’s not ridiculous.”
He arches a brow. “It’s ridiculous that you said I.” He points to the paper but doesn’t touch it. He treats it like it’s a piece of art, something precious, something he doesn’t want to sully. “We should.”
We.
The word echoes. It vibrates inside me. I didn’t see that coming.
Should I have? I take another drink, processing his reaction.
He wants to do this too? What would that look like?
Him and me tackling a list of date-like experiences?
A bucket list of romantic wishes? My breath catches with excitement, but I swallow down a healthy dose of worry too. It feels dangerous.
He breaks my thoughts with a question. “Remy, why did you think I bought the dress? Like, right away offered to buy it?”
I meet his determined gaze, focusing on his questions, not the million running through my head. “Because you want to be a good fake boyfriend? The whole ‘be the best rebound ever’ thing?”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he leans back in the chair and drags a hand through his now very short hair. “Because it clearly touched you. Because it matters to you. But also, we found it together. It’s like finding a wallet on the street. You’d try to return it, right?”
“Yes!”
“Or a dog who didn’t have a collar or tag. You’d help the dog, right?”
“Of course. I’d take him to a rescue. Or give him a home if he needed one.”
“The list is the same. We can’t return this list. We can’t give it back to her family.”
“And we can’t leave it undone.”
He nods a few times. “There’s only one thing to do with it. And maybe we weren’t looking for it, but it found us. We’re the guardians of this list now.”
My skin feels tingly. My heart, bubbly. Maybe this drink is going to my head. That’s the only explanation I have for why I say exactly what’s on my mind. “I thought you were something of a secret poet,” I say in a whisper, like a confession, “when we were texting the other day.”
He scoffs. “I’m not.”
“You say you’re not good with words. But I say you are. Everything you just said is…kind of soulful.”
He rolls his eyes, mumbling, “It’s the right thing to do.”
“You say you’re rude and you’re not. You’re sweet.” I spot another piece of the lettuce and attach it.
“Okay, now you need to stop.”
But I don’t. Apparently, when I stop overthinking I’m a little unleashed. “The last time we were here you admitted you were secretly sunshine.”
He narrows his eyes, then scans the pile of puzzle pieces. “I never admitted it.”
I lift the cup, not quite stifling a smile. “You didn’t have to.”
He snags a light green piece, adds it onto the one I just locked into place.
“Enough of your poet theories. We have work to do,” he says, all stern and bossy as he leaves the puzzle alone.
He pushes up the sleeves of his Henley a bit, revealing taut forearms, strong and sinewy, with a smattering of dark hair.
And the owl, perched on a tiny branch, watching me.
My chest rises and falls as I imagine reaching out a hand, touching those forearms, tracing the fine lines of his tattoo.
He points to the list, all sexy business.
I fight off a smile as I look down the list, reading the five items again.
I think it’s doable. I slip into planning mode, since now’s the time.
This list—it feels like something a romance designer would craft.
It’s like a series of experiences for a couple to complete before they walk down the aisle.
A list of challenges for young lovers. A road map of where to go next.
I wish I knew who she was. I don’t even know her name. But as I study this list, the pieces slide into place like a puzzle.
She liked dresses that are simple but with a little flare. Her handwriting is neat but she writes her y’s with a flourish and dots her i’s with panache, so she was orderly but artsy. I know, too, she had something of a romantic, adventurous heart. She was a dreamer and a doer.
I get her. I really do. I look up, fueled by this understanding. “We can do this whole thing before my sister says I do.”
I brace myself for pushback, for questions. This list is a lot. It’ll take time, and we only have a little over a week. It’s too much to ask, perhaps.
But Lake simply nods a few times, like he’s considering it. “Yep. It’s a plan.”
It’s that easy with Lake, and I like that. Maybe I even need it.
As if this is an event I’m planning, I rub my palms together and get down to business.
“We don’t have much time. Item number one on Five Things To Do Before I Say I Do—play a truth-telling game.
” My stomach twists. That’s exciting, but daunting.
There are things I don’t love talking about.
But then again, we all have things like that. “Should we try Two Truths and a Lie?”
He scrubs a hand across his beard, momentarily distracting me. His hair is shorter on his head, thicker on his jaw. I kind of like the shift. That beard is making me think about how it might feel against my thighs.
I clench them as he shifts his gaze to the shelves in the store. He pops up. “I’ve got an idea.”
I tuck the letter away in my bag as he busses our mugs quickly, then offers me a hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It feels natural, but it also feels delicious in a way that makes my bones vibrate. That makes my pulse skitter. And that somehow calms my strung-tight nerves.
For now at least, but I’ll take it.
We walk to the shelves, stopping at the card games. He scans the offerings, then grabs The Naked Truth with his free hand.
“Feels apropos.”
He slides his thumb along the crease between my thumb and forefinger, a slow, smooth slide. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but I jump into the unknown of the list. “Sure.”
We head to the counter and he buys the game. Before we leave, I hold up a finger. “There’s something I need to do.”
I head back to the table, remembering where I spotted the final piece for the two heads are better than one lettuce, then slide it into place. “I like this puzzle. Would your dad like it?”
His eyes flicker with vulnerability. “Yes.”
I grab it and rush to the counter to buy it before he can stop me. When we get to his car, I hand it to him. “You can give it to him.”
“Thanks. Seriously.” He sets the puzzle and The Naked Truth down on the back seat next to my garment bag and the gift bag with the wedding dress. “This means a lot.”
This whole night has meant a lot. “You’re welcome.”
He turns on the car but doesn’t make a move to go. He stares straight ahead at the street unfolding in front of us, clearly thinking before he turns to me. “It means a lot, especially since my dad’s still around, you know?”
My throat tightens. “I do.”
“Clem told you?”
“Enough. I know your mom left?”
He sighs heavily. “When we were in high school. Gavin was in college. She was just done.”
My heart aches for his family. “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”
He drags a hand across his beard. “It kind of sucked.”
That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one, but I’m learning he doesn’t share easily. When he does it’s the bare minimum. But sometimes the bare minimum is enough. “Do you ever miss her?”
He scoffs lightly, shakes his head. “Nope. My dad is there for me for whatever I need.”
I can’t not touch him right now, so I reach out and squeeze his biceps. “I’m glad.”
“Me too, Remy.” He taps the gas, and pulls into traffic. After we cruise through a few green lights, I return to the topic du jour. “When do you want to play The Naked Truth?”
I half want him to say tonight, but I also don’t know that I can excavate any more of my emotions today. I hold my breath, waiting for him to answer.
“Tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow. That work for you?”
He has a game in the late afternoon. I need to be at the arena too. I’m conducting a VIP tour for a local youth sports and mental health charity that we partner with prior to warmups. “Before the game?”
“Yeah, I was thinking since we picked up your dress today, why don’t you come over to my place? You can help me pick out a suit for the wedding. I’ve got a lot.”
But all I hear is why don’t you come over.
Lake’s inviting me to his apartment, in the city, before a game. He wants me to look through his clothes. Like a girlfriend would do. Then, play The Naked Truth.
My chest is lava.
My throat is a desert.
He’s been in my home, so I don’t know why this feels different. But maybe it’s because of the way he kissed me today.
Maybe it’s because of the things he said in the dressing room.
Or possibly it’s because he wants to do five things with me that a bride and a groom were never able to do.
“Sure,” I answer, but my voice hardly sounds like my own. This is the real danger, and I’m walking right into it.
As the buses and the buildings and the city streak by, I try to tell myself it’s just his home. It’s just a project. It’s just a thing two people going to a wedding together would do.
But it’s also a card game, a list, and a night where we held hands.
We’re both quiet as he drives me home, grabs the dresses, and walks me to my door. I unlock it and open it slightly. I hardly want the night to end. “The Ruby Glow? It’s doing great,” I say, stalling.
His gaze sails down to my lips once again. They feel tingly under his stare. “Because you take good care of it.”
“I’m just good at following directions—that’s all.”
He scoffs, looking me in the eyes again. “Nah. It’s more than that, Remy.”
I buy some more time. “Is it?”
“Yeah. You’re detailed. You remember things. Not everyone can take care of a plant.”
“It’s not a dog. Or a cat.”
“But someday it will be, right?” It’s a reminder of what I told him—that my plants would become real pets.
“See? You’re the one who remembers things. But yes, someday it’ll be a dog keeping me company as I plan dates for my clients. For now it’s plants,” I say, and I’m doing it again. I’m trying to extend the night. I force myself to shift gears. “What time tomorrow?”
“How about noon?”
“Perfect,” I say on a rough swallow. “I have to be at the arena two hours before the game. And you need to be there two and a half hours early, so it should all work out.”
There. That was businesslike.
“Yes, I’ll text you the address, but you should know I always take a nap on game days. So, bring your nap blanket.”
I go inside with a black dress for me and a white dress for someone who never got to wear it, but all I’m thinking about is a small, soft fleece.