Chapter 11
Eleven
Chloe
Hiring someone to plan a couples shower they will also be attending as a guest is a lot like making a murder victim dig their own grave.
In hindsight, I probably didn’t do myself any favors.
Maya and Derek are in matching white wicker chairs—decorated with Mr. and Mrs. sashes that I burned my thumb hot-gluing this afternoon—finishing up their round of the newlywed game.
The room’s packed. Twenty-five people. Maybe thirty. Most of them guys Derek plays hockey with. I don’t recognize any of them, but they all fill the room with a sort of bravado and competition. And they’re all watching as Derek reveals his answer to the last question.
“Biceps,” he says, grinning as he holds up his whiteboard.
Maya flips hers. “His smile.”
The room erupts in laughter, and Maya doubles over. It’s a quick recovery, and she leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek, laughing.
“Close enough!” she declares. “How’d we do?”
There’s a chorus of wildly inaccurate scorekeeping. “Ten out of ten!” “Nailed it!”
I try my best to join in, but my heart is racing.
Because I know what’s coming. And maybe a week ago, after spending a day with Brody, I might have felt a little more confident that we could survive this. But today…there’s something off.
His words are still ringing in my ears from earlier. Let’s get this over with.
Over with. The way you do chores. Or hospital paperwork. Like I’m a dirty pot that you’ve just got to knuckle down and take care of before the fruit flies show up.
Very romantic.
Maya stands, smoothing down her dress. She’s got that mischievous look. The one that means she’s about to do something that will make me want to crawl under the furniture and die.
“Okay, okay!” She claps her hands and the chatter dies. “That was fun, right? But now”—she pauses for dramatic effect, because she’s Maya and everything must be done with flair—“we’re going to do something a little different.”
Here we go.
“Let’s see who’s got what it takes to become the next newlyweds!” She’s practically bouncing. I’d like to mention that this was all her idea, by the way. The whole dragging unwilling participants into the spotlight with you. Not my idea of fun. “We’re getting other couples in on this!”
The room goes wild. There’s cheering. And whooping. Actual whooping. Tyler’s girlfriend squeals so loud I think my eardrums might actually rupture.
Maya grabs the basket I prepped earlier and tucked under her seat—wicker, lined with tissue paper, filled with name cards of every couple here. She reaches in without looking. Dramatic pause.
Please not us. Please not us. Please not—
“Lauren and Brad!”
Thank You, God.
Lauren—blonde, perfect highlights, probably has never had a bad hair day in her life—squeals and drags her boyfriend to the center. I recognize him from the meet-and-greet party and the Blue Ox team roster. Brad’s laughing, shaking his head like he already knows this is going to be a disaster.
They’re pulling up chairs. Setting up. Everyone’s laughing.
Maybe we’re safe. Maybe Maya will pick another couple, and we can just watch and—
Derek takes the basket.
Oh…no.
His hand pauses inside. Fishing around. He pulls out a card.
Unfolds it.
His eyes meet mine.
And there’s something in his expression—calculating, testing—like he’s waiting to see if we’ll pass whatever test he’s set up.
“Brody and Chloe.”
Of course.
Of course.
The room absolutely loses it. Cheering. Whistling. Someone shouts, “Let’s go, Candy!” And I’m going to die. Right here. We’re in deep…deep trouble.
I know it’s not right to pray for God to help you lie…but I’m half tempted to toss a prayer up for good measure.
Brody’s hand finds the small of my back. The touch sends electricity up my spine, jumpstarts my racing heart.
His voice is low next to my ear. “You okay?”
I nod because what else am I supposed to do? Say no? Explain that I’m legitimately having a minor panic attack because we’re about to be tested on how well we know each other? Our get-to-know-you date was cut short because of his dad’s hospital visit. Give a girl a break!
We make our way to the center.
Pull up chairs.
Sit.
Lauren and Brad are to our left, Maya and Derek facing us like game show hosts, the entire room watching.
Cool. Just relax.
Maya is practically vibrating with excitement as she pulls out index cards.
At least someone’s enjoying this. “Okay, here’s how this works.
There are five questions. Two for the boys, two for the girls, and one last one for you both.
When I ask you the question, you’ll both write down your answer.
You get points if you match. Most points wins. ”
Someone hands us small whiteboards and markers. The kind teachers use. Very official. Very terrifying.
Brody’s knee presses against mine. Warm. Solid. He gives me this look—quick, assessing. How much do you remember from Barcelona? From Monday night. From any of the conversations we’ve had.
Spoiler: probably not enough.
“First question!” Maya announces, holding up a card. “Ladies, this one should be easy for all of you. What is your partner’s jersey number?”
Oh. Easy.
I write down: 7
Brody’s already done, his handwriting neat and slanted. Confident.
“Reveal!” Maya shouts.
We turn our boards.
Mine: 7
His: 7
The crowd cheers, hungry for something a little more challenging.
“Next question!” Maya’s grinning. “Gentlemen, what is your girlfriend’s comfort food?”
I hesitate.
Did we talk about this? I’m searching my memory—we’ve talked about food a lot, actually. Over tapas, coffee, dinner…
It doesn’t matter. I have to write something down.
I scribble on my board.
Brody’s done before me. Again. Not even hesitating.
“Reveal!”
Mine: Carbs.
His: Bread. Cookies. Carbs.
The room erupts, cheering.
And I’m just staring at his board. That is almost exactly what I said. I remember now, Monday night. What do you do when you’re stressed? That had been the question.
He remembered.
I spare a glance at Lauren and Brad. She’s looking at his haphazard scribble of “salad” with a look of absolute disgust. I don’t blame her. Nobody’s comfort food is salad. Come on, Brad.
“Ooooh.” Maya winces, her nose scrunching in that perfectly modelesque way I’ve always been a little jealous of. “You’ll get the next one, guys. Ladies, what’s your boyfriend’s guilty pleasure TV show?”
I smile. This one I definitely know.
Saturday morning at the coffee shop. He admitted it almost sheepishly, like it was this secret he didn’t usually share. I almost feel bad letting the secret out, but…
“Reveal!”
Mine: Cooking competitions
His: Cooking competitions
Again, the crowd goes wild. Lauren looks like she’s about to walk out of here because she wrote K-dramas (which feels like wishful thinking on her part), and all he wrote was cheese, all of which the crowd finds very amusing.
But I can’t laugh.
Because Brody’s looking at me with this expression I can’t read. And Derek’s watching us both. Really watching. Like he’s cataloging every microexpression.
“Seriously, Candy? Cooking shows?” Tyler shouts from the audience.
Brody pulls his gaze away, grins at the crowd, and gives a quick shrug. “You should give it a try.”
Maya cuts in, waving a hand, and the audience dies down for the next question.
“Fourth question!” Maya says, and there’s something mischievous in her smile now. “Gentlemen, what was your girlfriend wearing the first time you met?”
My stomach drops.
Barcelona was six-ish months ago. There’s no way he—
I can barely remember what I wore yesterday, let alone six months ago.
I’m frantically trying to recall. It was hot. Summer. I was wearing…a dress? Shorts? Did I have a sundress?
I write: Sundress (yellow?)
The question mark is doing a lot of work there.
Brody’s already done. Not even a pause.
“Reveal!”
Mine: Sundress (yellow?)
His: Blue sundress with white polka dots. Brown sandals.
The room absolutely erupts.
I’m staring at his board. My heart is racing. I think I can hear those little sirens again.
He remembered the polka dots.
“Oh my word,” Maya squeals. “That’s SO romantic!”
Meanwhile, this might be the only question Lauren and Brad got right, having both written white puffer jacket.
Brody smiles at the crowd, hamming it up, but there’s something in his face—soft, maybe a little embarrassed that he revealed just how much attention he was paying that day.
Oh, Brody.
“Final question,” Maya announces. “This one’s worth double points. And it’s for both of you—you each write your answer. Where did you two have your first kiss?”
My stomach drops.
Straight to the floor.
Through the floor.
All the way to the earth’s core.
Because I know the answer. The real answer.
In Barcelona.
Beneath the orange trees off Placa Reial. After we danced under twinkling lights. After he looked at me like I was the only person in the entire world. After everything felt real and honest and like maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t a mistake.
But that kiss isn’t part of our official story.
I glance at Brody.
He’s already writing. Face carefully neutral. Giving absolutely nothing away.
Right. Stick to the script.
I write quickly: The coffee shop where we ran into each other again.
Safe. Consistent. A complete lie.
“Reveal!”
Mine: The coffee shop where we ran into each other again.
His: The coffee shop.
Match.
Another lie we’re telling in perfect sync.
The room goes wild. Tyler’s yelling “SWEEP!” Someone’s demanding we get a trophy. Lauren and Brad are dramatically bowing out, retreating to the safety of the crowd.
“WINNERS!” Maya grabs our hands, lifting them like we’re championship boxers. “Five for five! Undefeated!”
Everyone’s clapping. Cheering. Derek’s nodding slowly—thoughtfully—like maybe we just passed his test.
And all I can think about is the way Brody remembered the polka dots.
We return to our spots as the party continues around us.