Page 32 of The Wedding Crush

Avery’s fiery brown eyes narrow comically to slits, and as we stare into each other’s digital boxes, I can’t decide if this is a genius truce strategy or if she’s just laid down some wedding-planning revenge gauntlet.

Then she starts the timer, and fires off the first question.

“You brought up Dante’s marriage proposal no less than three times at dinner Friday night. What bothers you more, the fact that you weren’t in on it? Or that he isn’t taking your advice to prolong the engagement?”

All right, I guess we’re getting right to it.

Game face in place, I reply, “Neither, actually,” hoping my minimal response will still work.

This earns me a serious deadpan, so I figure I’d better elaborate as quickly and succinctly as possible.

“Rushing just feels ill-advised. Especially, for such an important life decision. But since we’re on the subject, did you purposely keep the proposal a secret from me?”

“Yes.”

It’s her entire response.

Albeit simply stated and childish, it’s an honest one.

Avery shrugs, like she, too, is annoyed that my family’s secrets are at the crux of our mutual gripes. However, given the vineyard hoax, she’s right to assume I’d have tried to reason with Dante, so I let the point rest.

Which, now I’m second-guessing.

Her expression tightens as if my silence is a full admission of guilt, and the crime should be sentenced accordingly.

So be it.

I fan out my hand, signaling that it’s her turn.

In the back of my mind, though, I don’t know why I expect her natural progression would be to jump from the proposal to planning. Then again, we’ll be getting to logistics and timeline shortly.

Avery squints like she’s debating her next question before she asks, “So, why Johnny Timmons?”

“Why not Johnny Timmons?” I counter.

“If we answer questions with questions, this won’t work.” Avery stares pointedly.

“Fine.” I trail my finger along my collar, emboldened when, yet again, her gaze follows. Although, I’m still unclear how this helps to clear our slate, I follow her honesty cue. “His podcast was a recommendation from Elena, the travel photographer down the hall. She recently remarried and said her husband—also his second marriage—swore that Timmons had helped lift him out of his rut.”

This part is true.

Avery scratches her scalp, glancing at me sideways.

Google is free, but I’m eager to hear what makes her tick.

“Now, my question,” I say, piggybacking on hers. “What makes himproblematic?”

Like she’s rehearsed a rebuttal for just this moment, less than a minute is all it takes for her to list the reasons on her fingers.

“For starters, you might’ve heard about the so-called self-help guru’s book being dropped by his publisher due to sexual misconduct. Beyond making advances on fans and staff, berating abuse victims, unfounded financial wealth-building claims, and general douchebaggery. Need I go on?”

Shit.

I blow out an impressed—and shamed—breath.

“Absolutely, not.” A shaky laugh trembles over me. “Noted. I’ll be sure, going forward, to complete my research before taking random self-help podcast recommendations.”How did I miss even a whiff of this?I shake my head, then realize maybe being preoccupied with family loss, in every sense of the word, could have been a contributing factor.

“Yes, the man is reckless, to say the least, but you can doom-scroll about that later. We’ve got, what…” she glances to her left, I’m guessing at the clock that I’ve been vaguely watching count down “…six and a half minutes, give or take a few seconds. I’m next, so—”

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