Page 46 of Groomsman to Groom

This earns another round of laughter, louder than the joke deserves, surely from our collective sangria intake. I find myself relaxing into the moment. After weeks of constant competition and careful self-editing, there’s something liberating about sitting in a real restaurant, eating real food, having a conversation that isn’t explicitly designed to generate drama.

Well, not producer-designed drama, anyway. The organic variety is always a possibility when you put four women competing for the same man at a table with unlimited alcohol.

But also, I want to celebrate. On Sunday, early morning, I met with Seth in the garden, and his screenplay was amazing. We talked through my edits, and he was so happy, he gave him a big hug. I’m thrilled for him. I think his work has big potential to make it on TV, and I’m pulling for him.

“This paella is incredible.” Serena dissects a prawn with scientific precision. “The mixture of the saffron and the Bomba rice creates a uniquely aromatic compound that—” She stops herself, looking embarrassed. “And I’m being a nerd again. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say, meaning it. “It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about something real instead of pretending to be fascinated by whatever the producers decided is today’s conversation topic.”

Luna nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Like, if I have to have one more serious conversation about my ‘journey’ or my ‘walls’ or my ‘readiness for love,’ I might actually scream directly into the camera.”

“You’d probably still look gorgeous doing it,” Serena says dryly. “Meanwhile, I’d resemble a constipated owl.”

The unexpected image makes me snort sangria dangerously close to my nasal passages. Gabby looks momentarily startled by Serena’s self-deprecating humor, as if she’s just discovered our resident scientist possesses comedy.

“A constipated owl,” Luna echoes, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “That’s exactly how I looked during a one-on-one conversation when Hayes asked about my five-year plan.”

“At least you weren’t dressed as a penguin.” I earn a round of laughter.

This is the strange alchemy of reality TV—forming bonds with women you’re technically competing against, finding moments of genuine connection amid the construct of romance. In this moment, with Spanish guitar music playing softly in thebackground and the warm glow of too much sangria coursing through my veins, I can almost forget that tomorrow we’ll be back to angling for time with Hayes, analyzing every interaction for hidden meaning, and trying to determine if his smile means something real or is just part of his contractual obligations.

Almost.

“You know what I still can’t believe?” Gabby leans forward as she reaches for the sangria pitcher. “That Hayesactuallylikes all that Star-whatever stuff. Like, isn’t he a little old to be obsessed with space people with pointy ears?”

And just like that, the spell breaks.

“Star Trek,” Serena and I correct simultaneously, then exchange a look of mutual understanding. She and I have become very close. On top of all we have in common, she’s earned my utmost respect. Her parents couldn’t handle raising her between financial difficulties and mental illness, so she was raised by her grandmother. She worked hard in school, got a scholarship for college, and pulled herself up by her own bootstraps. She’s inspiring.

“Whatever,” Gabby waves her hand dismissively. “It just seems so... I don’t know, juvenile? For a grown man with a kid to be quoting made-up alien philosophies.”

Luna laughs. “Remember when he tried to explain the difference between Klingons and Romulans during the cocktail party? I nodded like I cared, but inside I was thinking, ‘Please stop talking about fictional aliens when I’m wearing this dress.’”

I feel something protective rise in my chest—a surge of indignation that catches me off guard with its intensity. I take a careful sip of sangria, trying to maintain my composure as Gabby continues, “Exactly! And all those weird hand signals.” She demonstrates what I assume is her interpretation of the Vulcan salute, though it looks more like an arthritic peace sign. “Like, does he do that in bed, too? ‘Live long and...’” She makesan exaggerated sexual gesture that has Luna covering her mouth in scandalized delight.

Oh, he doesn’t. Trust me. From what I’ve experienced in the intimacy department, he handles himself justfine. Of course, I have to keep that to myself, although I really don’t want to, and Luna knows the truth, too.

“It’s not that I mind him being into nerdy stuff,” Luna says, attempting to soften her criticism. “It’s cute in small doses. I just hope he doesn’t expect me to watch all those movies.”

“They’re shows and films spanning multiple series and timelines,” I blurt before I can stop myself, my voice coming out tighter than intended. “And they’re not just about aliens with pointy ears. They’re about human potential, ethical philosophy, and optimistic visions of cooperation across differences.”

The table falls momentarily silent, four pairs of eyes turning to me. I feel heat creeping up my neck, cursing my inability to let the comments slide.

Gabby recovers first. “Well, someone’s been paying attention during Hayes’s little lectures.”

“I knew all that before Hayes. I’m a nerdy fan too.” The sangria’s loosening my verbal filters. “Star Trekhas been culturally relevant for over fifty years. It’s inspired generations of scientists, engineers, and writers—not exactly a childish phase he should have outgrown.”

Luna raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, we get it. You’re Team Spock too. We know. You made it clear night one.”

I ignore her jab, saying, “It’s not about being ‘Team Spock.” I’m feeling that protective surge again. “It’s about respecting Hayes. If you can’t appreciate what makes him unique, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than I intended. Gabby’s eyes narrow dangerously while Luna looks genuinelytaken aback. The comfortable camaraderie of minutes ago has evaporated like morning dew in the Spanish sun.

“I think what Brielle means,” Serena interjects smoothly, “is that Hayes’s intellectual curiosity is actually one of his most attractive qualities. His interest in science fiction demonstrates imagination and depth—the same qualities that make him such a thoughtful photographer.”

I shoot her a grateful look, recognizing the lifeline she’s thrown me.

“Right.” I dial back my defensive tone. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to attack anyone. I just think there’s a difference between not sharing someone’s interests and making fun of them.”

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