Page 66 of The Wedding Menu

Maybe he feels it, too, because his eyes drop to our joined hands, and his thumb presses lightly over my knuckle. It’s the softest touch, but it makes my head spin, my heartbeat slowing down as my whole body tenses and I wait for what he’ll do next.

Eventually, he clears his throat, his eyes burning into mine. “I think there’s something wrong with my phone,” he says. “Your number’s not in it.”

And just like that, the tension eases off. I break out into a sharp, nervous chuckle, sliding my hand out of his and ignoring the tingle spreading through every finger. “Yep, that’s cheesy.”

“I’m sure I can come up with worse ones.” He laces his fingers together over the table and leans forward. “My turn, Amelie.”

I give him an uncertain nod, his weirdly serious tone sending chills down my spine.

“Unpopular opinion. If your fiancé can’t bother to drive two hours to see you, he’s probably not treating you the way he should.” Met by my glare, he shrugs. “Am I wrong?”

Why is he bringing this up now? We were having such a great night, listening to the band first, then swapping unpopular opinions. Why, out of everything we could talk about, does he choose to bring up Frank?

“Is that why you’re here, then?” I cross my arms over my chest, unable to help a scowl from forming on my face. “To tell me how terrible my fiancé is?”

He presses his lips tightly, trying—and failing—to suppress a sly smile. It aggravates me even more.

“Seriously, Ian?”

“Come on, Amelie,” he says, his voice warm and sweet in a way that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Of course not.”

“Because if that’s what’s happening… If you’re acting as if we’re friends, but you’re just waiting for the opportunity to sleep with me—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. After pressing a finger to his lips, he continues. “Look, I’m not going to say I’m not attracted to you, because I am. And I admit that when I approached you at your friend’s wedding, I figured I’d shoot my shot. But I didn’t plan all this. Us. Our friendship.” He smiles lightly, almost melancholically. “I meant it when I said I’m not looking for a girlfriend, Amelie. But you…” He shrugs. “You’re my favorite notification.”

It feels like a live wire is stretching between us. A connection I can’t explain, one unlike any other. His eyes are simultaneously hard to stare at and impossible to look away from.

With a nervous nod, I look over the dissipating crowd, then at a couple sitting at a nearby table. They’re both gorgeous, and there’s almost a glowing bubble around them. A circle of happiness and love that’s impossible to ignore as he leans closer to her, whispers something in her ear with a cocky smile, and makes her laugh. Or the way his eyes light up when she does.

“We’ve… we’ve been having problems,” I breathe out. Immediately feeling guilty, I add, “But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. Or that I don’t love him.”

“I know,” Ian says.

Reassured by the look on his face, I nod. “Since the engagement, though, some stuff has been… off.”

“Hmm.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shift position, but I continue staring at the couple intimately chatting as if nobody else is around. It’s the first time I’ve said any of this out loud, and it’s hard to hold back tears. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yeah. He says he needs this time before the wedding to himself. To have some new experiences.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “Everybody needs a little privacy once in a while.”

Swallowing, I nod. “Right.”

Except he’s after anything but solitude. He’s after nights out with friends, dates, sex.

“So what kind of experiences is he looking to have?”

There. That’s where the problem lies, and though I started out with the intention to once again vomit all my issues at Ian, now that I glance at his gentle and curious expression, I can’t bring myself to tell him the whole truth. “Just, you know… friends andstuff,” I mumble as I carefully avoid his stare. “Anyway, we’ve been together for fifteen years. Wanting a few months of independence doesn’t mean anything.”

“But?”

My eyes meet his. “But what?”

He brings a hand to the back of his neck. “It doesn’t look like you believe any of that. More like that’s what he’s told you over and over again. What doyoubelieve?”

I study his eyes for a while, considering how deep I should go to answer his question.

“Amelie,” he insists. “Just because yours is an unpopular opinion, it doesn’t mean it’s less valid than anyone else’s.” When my face relaxes, he tilts his chin up. “Let’s hear it. Come on.”

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