As we stream into the restaurant reserved for the first night’s dinner, Will steps up to play host. He ushers people here and there between the tables set up in groups of eight, all warm but efficient congeniality. Obviously that side of him hasn’t changed. With the meetings we had to set up under Professor Maldew, he was strategic all the way down to the seating. “Working with you is like doing business with Sun Tzu,” I joked more than once. He was the planner and I was more of a . . . winging-it-er.

It was a good pairing while it lasted.

Tonight’s plan has the married couple sitting with the wedding party, so I’m at one end with Maggie across from me and her younger sister Lulu—who, true to form, is wearing a dress that covers less skin than some bikinis I’ve owned, but whatever, we were all twenty-two once—beside me, the happy couple in the middle, and Will at the exact opposite end, where there’s no chance of him even attempting to talk to me. Excellent. Filling out the table is groomsman Colin from Trevor’s cycling group, and best man Brad, who hits three other Bs of his type: buff, blond, and buzz cut.

Will makes a remark I can tell is sly from the curve of his lips, and Brad cracks up. A prickle runs down my spine. The two of them were frat brothers and at least casual buddies back in college. But I’ve crossed paths with Brad at a few of Trevor and Brooke’s dos, and he’s never shown any indication he remembers my humiliation back then. I don’t think the guy has the guile to pretend he’s forgotten. He’s kind of a meathead, more interested in building muscle than brain, but I’ve never seen him be cruel.

It’s not a big crowd overall because of the travel involved. I glance over at the other tables: Brooke and Trevor’s parents, grandparents, assorted extended family, a couple of Brooke’s college friends, a woman she works with at the art gallery, additional cycling buddies, and one of the guys Trevor often has gigs with when he’s working as a session musician.

“You’re kidding me!” Brad says. My eyes jerk back to my own table.

“I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.” Will grins broadly. He looks . . . different, in a weird way it takes me a moment to place. He’s relaxed, like he hasn’t been any of the times he’s been talking with me since our collision at the airport. Like he used to be.

No. I will not accept another stupid pang in my chest. However he acted when we were friends was a fraud. I know that.

Okay, okay, maybe it’s reasonable to be sad over losing the guy I thought I knew but really didn’t. But only briefly, please.

Will glances down the table at that second, of course, and our gazes catch. Yikes. I grab my wine glass and turn to Maggie. “So, how’s business going in the cupcake world?”

“Sweet!” she says, and smirks at her pun. “Really, it’s been good. I can’t believe the bakery opens in just one month.”

“That’s awesome.” Maggie is a master-baker—if you like your cupcakes boozy and shaped like penises. Who doesn’t? She’s been operating out of food trucks and tiny windows around Brooklyn for years, and is finally opening her own bakery. “Let me know when the big day is, and I’ll have my clients tweet about it.”

She grins. “Thanks. I can’t believe it. It’s been my dream for so long, and it’s actually happening now.”

“You’re going to rock it,” I reassure her.

Brooke and Trevor stand up, and the chatter around the room drops off. Trevor runs a hand through his dark floppy hair, looking as if he feels a little awkward in the formal shirt and slacks, but he glances at Brooke before he addresses the crowd, and then he’s only beaming. He and I don’t have a ton in common, but I give him full points for his adoration of my bestie.

“The food will be coming soon, don’t worry,” he says. “First off, we wanted to thank everyone for coming all the way out here to celebrate our impending marriage.”

“The trip is kind of a reflection of how the two of us ended up getting together,” Brooke says. “Although I’ll be the first to admit that when I tagged along with Ruby to her alumnae party, I had no idea I was going to meet the man of my dreams.”

“Of course, I’ve always been grateful that Brooke moved to me rather than the other way around, because I hear the surfing isn’t so great up in Philly,” Trevor puts in, to several chuckles from his audience. “I’ve got to give extra thanks to her family for being willing to let her go. I know how much you must have missed her, because she’s been a gift to me every day I’ve lived with her.”

Brooke’s cheeks turn pink, and I feel myself going misty.

“Save some of this for the wedding!” someone hollers out, and Trevor laughs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got lots more.”

“Anyway, we hope you get a great vacation out of this too,” Brooke says. “Try all the facilities, have fun—that’s what we want to see.”

“Toast!” her aunt yells. We all raise our glasses. As I clink mine with everyone’s in reach, a stream of waiters appears with platters of appetizers.

The shrimp canapé all but melts in my mouth. I close my eyes for a second to savor. Then Lulu is knocking me with her knob of an elbow.

“So did you know when you set them up that Trevor was going to be The One?” she asks, her head cocked, bird-like. Other than their coloring, she and Maggie couldn’t look more different. Lulu is thin as a rake and she’s always got her hair pulled up in configurations it gives me a headache to contemplate.

Everyone looks at me to hear the answer. I laugh. “Not exactly. I was more relieved she had someone to talk to, while I was busy networking for clients.” I tip my wine glass to her.

“And then I spilled red wine on my favorite dress, and Trevor knew just how to rinse it out,” Brooke smiled. “I knew then he was a keeper.”

“Wait,” Brad says. “Was I at the party? How come I don’t remember any of this?”

“I’m pretty sure you were still sleeping off a bender from the night before,” Trevor says with a laugh. “One of those all-night parties with the gym crowd.”

“Oooh,” Lulu says in a coo that makes me cringe inside. She prods Brad’s bicep. “If drinking all night leaves you looking like this, forget moderation.”

Brad looks somehow oblivious to her flirting. “I’ve cut back since then,” he says, his voice in physical trainer mode. “Your body should be a temple.”

The main course arrives: a creamy salmon risotto. While I am dying and going to heaven over that, Lulu flutters her eyelashes again, but in a different direction this time.

“How about you?” she says, and I realize she’s aiming her “charms” at Will. “Were you around for the historic party?”

“I’m afraid I missed it,” Will says smoothly.

“There’s a 50/50 chance Will wasn’t even in the country,” Trevor says. “Lots of important places to be, right?” He nudges his friend.

“Ah,” Will says with a modest grin, “you know, I actually wish I hadn’t missed so much. But you’ve got to make some sacrifices when you’re chasing a dream.”

Maggie catches my eye and flicks her finger across her throat with an emphatically unimpressed expression. Kill me now. I smother a giggle, grateful for the reminder that romanticism and Will are not an ideal pairing. White wine and a Ruby who shouldn’t be thinking about that guy anyway, on the other hand? Pour me a little more of that.

I’m on my third glass and have managed not to glance Will’s way more than twice—okay, maybe it was three times—when Brooke pushes back her chair.

“Ladies room,” she says in explanation, and it occurs to me that my wine may be catching up with me too.

“I’ll go with you,” I said. Maggie and Lulu stand up with me. Okay, I guess we’re making this a party.

“What is it with women and group washroom trips?” Brad says, sounding bemused. “Is it like a lemur thing or something?”

Everyone else looks puzzled. “You mean lemmings?” Trevor says. “You’re not planning on jumping off any cliffs, are you?” he asks Brooke.

“No, honey, I promise.” She grins back and kisses him on the cheek before we go.

“Someone has to say it,” Maggie says as she leads the way past the washroom door. “You two are disgustingly cute.”

“It is kind of stomach-churning, isn’t it?” I say, and wink at Brooke.

When we’re finished our main business and adding a few dabs of lipstick in front of the mirror, Lulu turns to me.

“What’s up with you and that friend of Trevor’s—Will?”

My heart skips a beat. “Um, what?” I say, eloquent as always. Have I been so over the top in my attempts to avoid him that even Lulu has picked up on it?

“He’s been looking at you all evening,” Lulu says instead, with a huff that gives me the impression she’s been trying to direct those looks her way.

Behind her back, Brooke raises her eyebrows at me. I pull a confused face. It’s probably just the product of Lulu’s man-crazy imagination.

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything,” I say, and ignore the tiny voice inside of me that wants to mull over whether it actually might.

* * *

We’re just finishing dessert—the creamiest crème brûlée I’ve ever had the honor of sticking in my mouth—when my phone vibrates in my purse. I grab it and hit ignore, but Brooke has already noticed.

“You’re not going to answer that?” she says.

“It’s your wedding,” I say, pointing my spoon at her. “No work allowed!”

She laughs. “Don’t be silly. We’re here a whole week—I know better than to expect you to relax the entire time.”

I hesitate, and she taps me with her foot under the table. “Go on. If someone’s calling you while you’re here, it’s got to be important. The world doesn’t stop just because I’m getting married.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try to make it quick.”

I hustle out of the restaurant and lean against the wall as I check my messages.

“Hello, Ms. Walters-san,” the woman on the voicemail says with a clipped Japanese accent. My heart leaps as she identifies herself. “We are so pleased to hear of your Miss Jackson’s interest in showcasing Sasumae soft drinks on her channel,” she goes on. “I look forward to discussing the matter further with you.”

One of the things you learn in the PR business is that there’s no telling how—or where—a bit is going to take off. My client Dionne Jackson, for example, has been struggling to get attention here in the US for her cosmetics videos even though her mastery of blending and contouring at twelve puts my makeup skills to shame. In Japan? They can’t get enough of her. She even changed her screen name to Kawaii Dionne after her fans coined the nickname.

I’ve been trying to leverage that popularity into a sponsorship deal for the last two months since I signed her. Looks like that work has paid off.

I give myself a brief moment to do a mostly internal happy dance, and then I call her back and get down to business.

“I’d be happy to discuss possible partnerships for Dionne,” I tell her, after we’ve done the chit-chat small-talk. “Did you have a compensation package in mind?”

Within a half an hour, I’ve scored Dionne a deal that’ll pay for college and a whole lot of makeup besides. Let no one say Ruby Walters is a pushover in a negotiation. When I get off the phone with her and her dad, my ear is still ringing from her shriek of excitement, but I’m grinning. I stride back into the restaurant, ready to offer Brooke another round of apologies and share my good news . . . and find it empty.

No, not quite empty. As I stall just inside the main doorway, Will walks out of the kitchen, discussing something with one of the servers.

He catches sight of me and makes one last comment to the guy before ambling over. “Everything okay?” he says.

“Yep,” I grin, still elated. “Major victory for Walters PR.”

He smiles, his eyes so intent on me that for a second I forget all about the mega-bucks deal I just struck. “You know, I never got around to telling you how good you’re looking tonight.”

The magic of the teal halter dress. I feel myself blush. “Pretty much anything is a step up from drenched rat, wouldn’t you say?”

Will chuckles. “I’m sure you have never remotely resembled a rat, Ruby Walters.”

Is he . . . flirting with me? Oh fuck, beam me out of here, Scotty, I’m too giddy to keep my head on straight right now. I take a step back. “So, uh, where is everyone?”

“Oh, they all headed into town to check out one of the bars there.”

I blink, thinking of the wilderness I drove through to get here. “There’s a town?”

“Just down the beach,” Will says, motioning past me. “The road isn’t the best, but we could walk it in twenty minutes.” He pauses. “Or the two of us could have a drink here. We never did get around to very much of that catching up. We can celebrate your victory, you can tell me all the details . . .”

I do want to celebrate. A twenty-minute walk through the dark jungle before I get to doesn’t sound super appealing. And whatever else Will has done, he was always a good person to celebrate with. He had a competitive streak a mile wide, for sure, but he never got insecure or weirded out by anything I accomplished. Unlike a lot of guys whose dicks seem to shrivel the second they find out you’ve ever cashed a paycheck bigger than theirs, Will’s dick always seemed . . .

Wait, where was I?

I try to drag my thoughts out of the gutter—or above the belt—and rethink having that drink with him. Maybe it’s safer not talking to him at all. Safer not thinking about his good . . . points.

Before I can fumble out an excuse, Will adds, “The former would be more of an adventure, I’ll give you that. But the hotel bar stocks better alcohol. We might even have that whiskey you liked so much.”

I waver, looking back at him. Looking at his expression, which right now shows nothing but good humor and what looks like a very authentic desire to have a conversation with me.

I don’t know what to do with that. So maybe because I’m already slightly tipsy, or maybe because I did really enjoy that whiskey—definitely there are no other factors coming into play—my mind makes itself up for me.

“Scrounge that up and you’ve got yourself a deal,” I hear myself saying. Too late to back out now.