Page 92 of The Fiance Dilemma

“Hey,” Matthew complained. And when I looked over, he was covering the pig’s ears with a hand. “Don’t talk like that about Pedro.”

“We’re babysitting for María—”

Something moved in front of me. And in a second flat, Cameron was shoved out the way and I was being hug-attacked.

“Ada—” I started, but a choking sound stopped me. It wasn’t mine. I— Oh my God. Was Adalyn crying? After throwing herself at me? “Are you okay?” I asked, hearing my own voice crack. “Why are you crying?”

“Because she’s the furthest thing from okay,” Cameron answered.

My sister let out a little sob, making me immediately wrap my arms around her. “But you never cry. You— Oh my God, are you crying because of me? Did I make you cry?” My own eyes welled up. Emotion rose, flooding me. I squeezed her harder. Tighter. My sister never cried. She didn’t tackle people with hugs. “I’m so sorry. I—I came here to ask you if you wanted to be my m—”

“Yes,” she croaked. “Please. I’ll be your maid of honor. And I’m not crying over that. I’ve just been so stressed. I thought you hatedme because I wasn’t there for you, and I amveryemotionalandicannotholditin .. .” A strange trail of words I couldn’t make followed that.

But I didn’t care too much.

Adalyn didn’t hate me. I hadn’t ruined this for us. At least not for now.

My eyes fluttered closed.

“All right.” I heard Cameron say. “Let’s move this inside. And stop looking at me like that. The pig can come in too.”

Matthew let out a scoff. “As if I was going to leave Pedro outside.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something got my attention from outside the window of Stu’s.

Bobbi snapped her fingers, demanding I look back at her.

“Do you really need to do that?” I asked her as sweetly as I could. “Because I thought we’d turned a corner, and you were nice and encouraging and—”

“I’m a multifaceted PR strategist,” she said. “And your attention should be on this steak tartare. Not outside the deli. Stuart closed up the shop for us.”

I arched an eyebrow. Stuart? It didn’t sound like Bobbi to care about some man closing his shop for us. “A wedding planner,” I said, loading my fork and bringing it to my mouth. “Multifaceted wedding planner, in any case.” Matthew huffed out a laugh from my side, making me puff out my chest with pride. Bobbi’s eyes narrowed. “And no one serves steak tartare at a wedding. Raw eggs, raw meat, and unpasteurized cheese are very risky options. Everybody knows that.”

Bobbi drummed her nails on the small table where we’d beensitting. We were in a more private corner of the deli, although it was just us and Stu at the back. Stu’s Beef Barn was in a neighboring town. Despite its name, it wasn’t a big establishment, but it sourced everything locally and it had a few spaces for people inclined to grab a quick bite up front. Or for people like us, who were trying their offerings for an event. Bobbi had yapped about us going to arealcaterer, as she had called it. But I’d checked this out on her master list, as much as I’d done so randomly. It had been an existing option, and I loved that fate had brought us here.

“We’ll add it to the entrées—but for the rehearsal dinner, then,” she finally announced. “I’ll go check with Stuart to see if it’s possible.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that it made no difference, since the wedding and rehearsal dinner had exactly the same number of guests, but Bobbi was scurrying off her chair before I could.

“Who would have thought,” Matthew said.

I knew exactly what he meant. “Not me. But I can’t say I blame her.”

Matthew’s knee nudged mine. I also knew what that meant, so I glanced back at him. His smile was small, careful. “If you’re into bald, bearded men in aprons surrounded by cuts of meat, you should have said something. I’m not opposed to trying out new looks.”

I wasn’t. Stu was nice, objectively speaking. Attractive, if you were into those things Matthew had just mentioned. “I don’t know. Could you really pull off a bald head?”

“Absolutely I could,” he said, bringing a hand to his chin. “And I could grow a beard, too.” I cocked a brow in question. “I could learn how to broil things. Slice brisket. My biceps would flex really nicely while I do that, just the way you like.”

Something a little too close to a giggle almost left me then, but I intercepted it in time. “You’re pretty, but you’re not bald-head pretty,” I lied. I also loved his hair too much.

Matthew smiled. “So you think I’m pretty.”

I shrugged. “You know I do.” I turned back to the tartare and brought the plate closer to us. “I hope Stu stops Bobbi from adding this to the rehearsal dinner. I’d hate for half the town to get food poisoning. That happened at the last barbecue we held by the lake. And I ended up loading people on the bed of my truck and making collective runs to the ER.” My eyes returned to him as I loaded my mouth with more tartare. I pointed at him with my fork. “If anyone ever offers you homemade ice cream in Green Oak, just say no.”

Matthew watched me, as if waiting for something.

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