Page 30 of The Wedding Crush

My computer crackles to life, and when my eyes snap open, beside my dark square, there’s a second one with a neon blue border around it, and Avery Ellis’s name in the middle.

“Sorry, I thought I should tell you; you aren’t on mute.”

I flit a glance at the tiny microphone in the lower left corner, notably without the red line crossed through it.

This can’t be happening.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. Fire swarms over my neck and ears, spreading to my cheeks.

Briefly, I consider clicking the Mute button, then quickly decide against it, knowing the change will reflect on my box.

It’s fine, Dante and Morgan will be here any second. I can do this until they get here, I reassure myself.

Then the screen blinks, and there she is, smiling from ear to ear.

For a horribly humiliating beat, I stay unnaturally still, my attention drifting over this version of Avery Ellis displayed before me.

At Mother’s tea, she was dressed in a bold yellow-and-white polka dot dress that suited her sunshine and rainbows personality—reserved for everyone but me, of course. Then at dinner Friday, she was dressed for comfort.

Today, though, it’s not bright orange sweats.

She’s effortlessly, undeniably beautiful.

Composed, in a burgundy blazer and a pale pink blouse. Light blush is dusted over her smooth, contoured golden skin paired with a deep-plum-colored lipstick, and her always penetrating brown gaze feels trained on me. Even her posture commands authority and respect whilst somehow maintaining every ounce of femininity.

Everything about her says, “Look at me, but don’t dare underestimate me.”

I never would.

However, while I’ve got no romantic interest in her based on our maturity and life experience—not to mention the almost decade I’ve got on her—she remains an attractive woman, who might identify my appealing qualities, and how to amplify them with women again.

Be open.

Like she senses me watching her on the screen, she clears her throat now, signaling we need to get on with his meeting.

My pulse sprints.

Where are Dante and Morgan?

Reluctantly, I turn on my camera, forcing a smile and trying to laugh off my embarrassment when I’d love to yank out the cord, and throw my laptop out the window.

“Oh, yeah, no,” I say, getting my lie together. “This woman, Elena. She’s a travel photographer who works in the space a couple doors down from us, here in the Healdsburg office. She left, but she was at my door…”

It’s a flaming-hot mess of an excuse, but it’s the best I can do to save face, knowing she now knows how long it’s been.

“Ah, I see. Of course.” Avery nods but the corners of her mouth twitch. “Well, I’m sorry for the delay. I just got off the phone with Morgan.”

“Let me guess, they’re running late?” I laugh it off, grateful for the subject change.

But then, Avery’s mouth presses into an unbending line.

“Actually, they got a flat tire on the freeway. They’re not going to make it for this meeting.”

Panic flares in my gut.

I nod, masking my concern, and searching for a reason—any reason at all—to postpone this meeting until they can join us.

Honestly, being in a room with Avery Ellis, virtual or not, it feels like trouble. I thought I could do this. Dante made it seem so simple: show up, listen, and take notes on the wedding stuff, yes, but also, on how Avery acts toward me. Read between the lines to the unspoken subtext between us.

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