Page 20 of The Wedding Crush

Avery folds her arms across her orange-sweatshirt-clad chest. Her blonde ponytail is swept over one shoulder. She’s in sneakers and matching sweatpants, dressed for comfort. She was lured in under the pretense of a relaxing night to unwind with her friend while Dante promised me food and a one-on-one, knowing I’d jump at the opportunity to reason with him.

They wanted us both here. Even if that meant keeping us in the dark about the reason.

What is really going on here?

Morgan playfully nudges Avery’s shoulder with hers. “The more, the merrier, right?”

Avery darts an assessing gaze between Morgan and Dante then back to me like she’s still chewing on this version of what’s happening, and not the unabashed ambush we both know this is.

“Right,” Avery cautiously agrees.

“Well, okay, then…” Morgan’s wide-eyed gaze flickers not so subtly to Dante.

“Ah, yes.” He clears his throat. “I hope you’re hungry. My fiancée and I have been in the kitchen making tortellini, salad, and warm sourdough bread for you—from scratch.” He looks at her lovingly. “We’ve also got some red blend wine to pair with it. Or a Riesling if you want white or sweet. A little musicandwe’re hoping we can all enjoy some time together, and just…talk.”

And there it is.

“Talk,” I repeat, tasting the lie on my tongue.

“Yup, a little conversation over a home-cooked meal. A chance to catch up,” Dante says vaguely.

There’s definitely an agenda.

Quietly observing, I take note of the way Dante keeps rubbing the back of his neck, and Morgan’s restlessness, her fluctuating pitch.

“Ms. Ellis.” Dante takes a few steps back, sliding out a chair for Avery before pointing to the one beside hers. “Stef…”

As we both slowly walk toward the table, I briefly consider tonight could be a romantic setup.

His silver-fox brother, her wedding-obsessed best friend. It’s textbook double-date matchmaking. The sort of thing that happened all the time in those romantic comedy movies Carina made me watch.

Except between our hosts’ dips in and out of the dining room to bring out the meal, my appraising glances at Avery aren’t met with appreciation. After a stuttered scan of my shirt, she questions why I’m staring, scoots her chair another inch away from mine, and shoots me with a sidelong scowl.

I quickly toss out that theory.

Plus, I’m far more interested in what our hosts want totalkabout.

So, once we’re all seated with our plates and wineglasses full, and everyone has complimented the chefs, we dig in.

All of five minutes pass, the silence filled with clanking silverware and polite smiles, before Dante prefaces, “I gotta be honest here…” further ramping up my anticipation.

Avery steadies her fork halfway to her mouth, her attention, like mine, centered on my brother.

“I really want you two to be friends,” he says.

“Omigod, yes,” Morgan agrees.

Friendship is the reason they brought us here?

I feel my eyebrows dipping, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “Why?” I mean it to clarify Dante’s intentions, but it comes out like I’d rather die before I consort with Avery Ellis.

Whether she’s offended or not, she doesn’t let on, though.

“Yes, is there a reason?” she asks, warmly.

It’s strange, but I understand her approach. If Dante and Morgan have gone out of their way to bring us together when an email or text could’ve sufficed to put Avery and me in communication or a “friendship,” their motivation feels like it stems from something grander.

It’s Morgan who answers us.

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