Page 54 of The Wedding Crush

As I slowly release it, the sleek, raven-haired concierge in a pristine red suit waves him over.

“Hello, again, friend.” She smiles and hovers her fingers over the keyboard. “Twice in one day, huh? Who’ve we got this time?”

“Let’s see, it’s got to be…” The guy tugs around one of the bags to scan the sticker affixed to the side. Surprise etches the lines of his forehead. “Ah, shoot. It’s Fortemani.”

I’ve got no idea why a grocery delivery would elicit this level of shock from them, but it does.

The woman’s confused gaze darts briefly to his strained arms as he hinges his weight onto the desk. Her brows braided together, she turns, picking up the phone and resting it on her ear before she presses a few buttons.

“Hello, Mr. Fortemani, we’ve got a gentleman here in the lobby with a grocery pickup for you… Uh-huh, yes. I’ll send him right up.”

When she ends the call, the man quickly thanks her, going on about the size of the pickup this go-around. Then he hikes up the bags again and shrugs with asee you later, and he walks away.

But now I’ve got questions, too.

Is it simply that he rarely uses grocery delivery services?

The guy recognized his name, though. So, maybe, it’s the contents of his order. But what strange things could he have purchased for a casual Dream Team night to pick music and choreograph a dance? Worse yet—and this is really reaching, based solely on out-of-context reactions from two people I don’t know—but what if his plans the night of the dress shopping appointment were with a woman? Not just any woman. What if she’s Carina, and Stefano’s giving their marriage another shot?

The way Stefano clammed up when I told him Victoria wants to invite Carina to the wedding—the way he hasn’t brought it up since—my early arrival could easily be cutting into their dinner date.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.

I turn on my heel toward the smiling doorman just as the woman swivels forward, glancing directly at me.

“I can help you here,” she says.

I swallow and turn back.

“Hi…yes, I’m here to see him, too. Mr. Fortemani,” I say. “I’m a little early so I can come back—”

“Your name, miss?”

“Uh, Avery Fortemani,” I say, slapping a hand over my face, cringing at my error. “Sorry, I’m AveryEllis, here to see StefanoFortemani.”

The woman flashes me a wide, knowing smile that, if I’m reading this correctly, says,if you didn’t want it to be a date then why did you try on five outfits? Why are you sweating and shaking? Why did you awkwardly sit through multiple ChatVideos with him and shamelessly google his address to prepare for “dance practice?” And for the love of God, WHY are you slapping this barely divorced man’s last name onto yours, and standing there with a personalized gift, if you aren’t shamelessly hoping for a date, hmm?

Obviously, her smile is nosy.

And correct.

I’ve been a nervous wreck because I thought I felt a shift between us. One day, we were at each other’s throats. Then I caught him with Ace, and we cleared the slate. I went and overshared about Justin. Now, instead of funny jokes and verbal jabs about his starched suits and my planner bible, I’ve started looking forward to seeing him, digitally or otherwise.

Suddenly, I’m noticing how nice his smile is and how large his hands are. Which,okay…They’re big, so of course, my mind pours right down the drain to the gutter, imagining what else might be as big on him.

One week of niceties.

That’s all it took, and now I’m naively standing here holding a bag full of personalized gifts.

I’ve got a dang prickly pear cactus with a tiny card that says, “Big Prick Energy. Thanks for inviting me over.”

Ugh. I thought it was cute.

But now, it just feels like overkill.

“It’s no problem for me to come back in an hour.”

I force a small smile as she glances back to her screen and taps over the keys. “Ah, here you are. You’re right, he isn’t expecting you for an hour, but I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant surprise.”

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