Page 28 of The Fiance Dilemma

Bobbi cleared her throat.

Cheeks flushing, I ripped my eyes off my finger.

“Earth to Josie,” Bobbi said with an unimpressed grimace. “I know all you want to do is stare at your hand, show the girlfriends, daydream of Blondie in a tux, handwrite your vows into perfection, or I don’t know, scroll down Pinterest to create the perfect wedding board. But we have ground to cover.AndI’m going to need your full attention.”

“I scrapbook,” I countered, out of anything better to say.“Scrapbooked,for my other, ah, projects. I like manual labor far more than staring at a screen, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Bobbi’s lip curled. “And you won’t need a scrapbook for this.” Bobbi produced an iPad. “You’re going digital. That’s why I need both your iCloud addresses. I’m syncing you to Bobbi Shark’s Ultimate Wedding Planner. You need to treat this as your new Bible. And before you ask, no, there’s no printable. And yes, you’re welcome for bringing you into the twenty-first century. Just remember this moment when I give you that last push down the aisle and you think,Damn, I wish I could marry Bobbi instead.”She frowned. “Although with your track record, you better not think of any such thing. You walk down that aisle, not up.”

A shout came from behind us.

“For the last time, there’s no pushing nobody down nowhere. Matter of fact, there won’t be any aisle at all if I have a say in it!”

I didn’t need to turn to know that Grandpa Moe, who had insisted on fixing a nonexistent problem with the window lighting while I was closed, was holding some tool he didn’t need and glaring at us.

“Does he need to be here?” Bobbi asked me.

“I’m changing a bulb,” Grandpa Moe complained.

“With a hammer?” Bobbi said.

“I’ll change bulbs however I please to,” he huffed out. “And this is my Josie, and this is her shop, so I’ll stay if I want to. And there won’t be any aisle-pushing unless she wants it. Is that understood?”

We all stared at the man, face serious and chest heaving.

Guilt and concern surged deep in my belly. Grandpa had lived through all my previous engagements, and it hadn’t been fun for him to watch me… navigate my way out of them. This was in many ways worse than a conventional engagement, because he knew the truth about Matthew and me. He was the only person who did. And he was doing a poor job concealing it.

I summoned a reassuring smile. “How about you go back to work, Moe Poe? I promise we have it handled over here. And if at any point we don’t, I’ll call out for you.”

That seemed to appease him enough to give me a nod and return to his alleged work.

“Back to iCloud details,” Bobbi continued. “You can give them to me or I’ll get them myself. I have my ways and asking is just the polite approach.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew shake his head. A whiff of his cologne hit me in the nose. Cedar and a touch of something I couldn’t catch. It was nice. And I liked it. It was also unimportant that I did, so I rattled my details off before I was sidetracked again, and Matthew followed my lead.

In seconds, our phones pinged with twin notifications.

“Excellent,” Bobbi said. “Now, this is not just any calendar, this is B.S.’s Ultimate W.P., which is what I prefer to call it. I know it’s unusual for a PR strategist, but I’m also your wedding planner.” She grimaced. “Apparently. Everything is linked to a checklist, log, diary, record, budget—which is only a reference, we can go higher—and everything you need to know.” She flipped the screen, tapping quickly in different spots. “Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. And here. Your homework is to go through it, read it, process it, assimilate it, and embrace it. You’ll have to sign an agreement to confirm you understand and concur with everything disclosed. Nothing strange, considering I suggested an NDA that Andrew immediately shot down. So. Questions?”

Huh. All of them. “Why do we need a—”

“Awesome, no questions,” she cut me off, her fingers decidedly flying over the device again. “Now that that’s out of the way. Have you settled on a date?”

Matthew grunted something unintelligible, shifting in his seat.

Something clattered to the ground from Grandpa’s corner.

“A date?” I repeated, my stomach swooping.

“For the big day,” she countered. “I’ve set a temporary one in the planner. One that suits us. But I’m open to discussion.”

My body turned to, well, stone. Not ice, because I was still sweating. Either way, I went very, very still. It really amazed me how I’d jumped into this without thinking things like rings or wedding dates would obviously be discussed. “No date,” I croaked. Bent my lips upward. “Let’s stick to the temporary one for now, please.”

“Music to my ears,” Bobbi declared. Crisis averted. “That’s December first.”

And back to crisis land. “That’s less than two months away,” I rushed out. My ears started ringing and I was almost sure I was between one and three seconds from dropping to the floor. Bobbi’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly Matthew’s arm was there. Resting on my back. “You’ll fix it, right? The press situation? The… narrative.” I found enough strength to say. “Before we get to that day. I’d… rather avoid rushing this. It’s supposed to be a special day.”

Although the truth was that I couldn’t chicken out. Not after convincing Matthew it was all fine and having us lie to everyone.

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