Page 75 of The Billionaire's Teacher

“The second one.” Noah frowned down at his plate. “Isn’t that kind of…weird? I mean, that’s a big party holiday for almost everyone. Would people want to give up their plans to come to a wedding?”

“Will there be food?” I mopped up the wing sauce with my pizza crust. “Dancing? Celebratory things that might also be party-like in nature?”

“And that’s basically Jenna’s point. She wants to get married at the house. Reception in the yard.” Noah set his plate aside, cleaned his hands, and reached for the cards. “Don’t ask about the weather. She’s got it figured out with tents and heaters. It’d have to be small. I don’t have a problem with that. I guess I’m just wondering if this signs us up for a lifetime of hosting New Year’s Eve.”

Tristan laughed. “Now we get down to the real problem.”

I chuckled. Tristan was right. That was absolutely what Noah wanted to avoid.

“I don’t think so. I won’t hold you to it, at least.” Scott picked up Noah’s plate and tucked it under his own before standing and carrying them to the kitchen. “Most of us go somewhere anyway. So I really don’t think it’s an issue.”

“Also what Jenna says.”

I tilted my head to the side. “You getting cold feet?”

“What? No.” Noah shot me an appalled look. “Why would you ask that?”

“I dunno. Doesn’t sound like you’re rushing to the altar. You’re sitting here saying all your objections have been countered with reasonable explanations by Jenna. So if not cold feet, what’s the issue?” I stood and took my plate to the kitchen. I left it on the counter. I might want another slice of pizza, even though Tristan’s snarky comment about metabolism was echoing in my head. I opened the fridge to grab a drink. I pulled out a can and held it up. “Seriously, Tristan? Diet?”

Tristan shrugged. “If you don’t like it, there is also water.”

“Maybe you ought to be the one getting married if you’re only going to stock girl drinks.” I popped the tab on the Diet Coke and took a drink, then shuddered. “Bleh.”

“No one’s forcing you to drink it.” Tristan scowled.

“You’re right.” I took another drink. I’d live. “You okay?”

Tristan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “Just a little stressed. Not really in the mood to be dragged for making healthier choices.”

“Sorry.” I resumed my seat, set the soda on the table, and reached for the cards Noah had dealt. “I vote you get married on New Year’s Eve, Noah. We all leave Tristan alone because he’s going through some stuff. And you all tell me what it means when someone signs an email ‘yours.’”

“Sounds good—wait.” Austin put his cards down in front of him. “Nice try sneaking that last one in. Sunshine?”

I nodded.

“Hmm.” Lips pursed; Austin tapped his fingers on his knee. “I’m not sure I’ve ever signed an email that way.”

“I know I haven’t.” Cody turned to look at me. “What’s the rest of the email like?”

I sighed. I should have known they’d ask. Maybe I had known and that was why I’d brought it in. I dug it out of my pocket and tossed it to Cody.

Cody scanned the paper, then handed it to Austin. “Huh.”

“Right?” I took another drink of soda. “I don’t even know if I should write back.”

“You definitely need to write back. You can at least be friends.” Austin handed the paper to Noah. “Friends is a good place to start.”

It figured that Austin would say that. He and Kayla had been BFFs for a lot of years before their relationship shifted. Not that he was alone in giving that advice. Mom always said how she thought a lot of her trouble with Dad was that they hadn’t had a solid underpinning of friendship before they got married.

I looked around the room at my friends. Everyone in a relationship had been friends first. “Yeah, okay.”

“So you write her back, mirror the tone. Casual, cheerful. Go ahead and use ‘sincerely’ if you have to at the end.” Austin tossed the email on the table. “Though I’d choose something a little friendlier myself. See what happens.”

I reached for the email but wasn’t fast enough. Tristan snagged it first. I could practically watch the gears turn as he read it. He smirked at the end before handing it over. “She’s trying not to be interested. But she is.”

I looked at the email again. “I don’t see it.”

“Trust me. I’m a lawyer.”

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