Page 71 of The Dating Pact

I choked on my sip of wine, and Holland’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?”

Coughing a few times, I held my index finger up then pointed to the bathroom, indicating I’d only be a minute. I hightailed it to the restroom and called Jude. “There you are,” he said when he answered. “Where’ve you been? You didn’t reply to any of my messages.”

I tried not to sound immature when I told him, “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to text me back?”

He didn’t believe me. We were well aware of each other’s schedules, and he knew it was a lie. No matter how long my midsummer days were, I would never not text him back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a while, and I faced the mirror, frowning as I lied again.

“Nothing.”

He huffed. “Well, what’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, so how about we stop pretending and you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m on a date, Jude!”

He made a rough sound I couldn’t interpret. “Sorry. It’s just that you weren’t talking to me, and I know we’re getting down to the wire, and I wanted to get a time so I could let my parents know when to expect the kids.”

I curled my hand around the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold under my clammy palm. “You really want to go?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

I stared at my reflection, at my furrowed brow and pinched mouth. “I…I figured you wouldn’t want to with Emma, and we?—”

“Emma? What does she have to do with anything?”

I twisted away from the mirror, unable to look myself in the eyes anymore. “It seemed like you two were?—”

“We’re nothing. I went to lunch with her, so I could tell her I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he mocked. “That why you’re on a date right now?”

“Technically, I’m in the bathroom talking to you right now.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

I sniffed a laugh, covering my smile with my hand even though no one was here to witness my giddiness.

“Take me to the wedding,” he said. “Can I please go to the wedding with you?”

“Yes. Of course. I don’t want anyone else there with me.”

“I don’t want you there with anyone else either,” he said gruffly, as if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Pick me up at three on Saturday,” I told him, and he agreed with a hum.

When I didn’t say anything else, he asked, “How’s the date going?”

I spun back around toward the mirror, a huge, goofy grin plastered across my face, wondering if he could hear it in my one-word answer. “Good.”

“What’s his name?”

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