“That means he’s serious, right? Like, I’m not crazy here? I can’t have him be another ex-fiancé. I’m almost thirty. I can’t afford to play around.”
“Have you met his family?”
“Uh, I mean, yeah, sort of…”
“There you go.” Hannah slaps the table.
“You think?” I can’t help the hope in my voice.
“He’s basically your dog’s stepfather, you met the fam, he listens to you, and he gave you a muffin instead of a car because you asked for it, which, you know, you are your mother’s daughter, so that lapse in judgment is to be expected. The sex is fucking amazing, that tongue can do more than drop F-bombs—”
“What if I’m wrong?” I fret. “McCarthy told me that he likes to play with his food before he eats it.”
“Don’t you mean devours it?” She growls and swipes at me.
“Hannah!”
My phone rings.
It’s McCarthy. He’d kissed me again in the morning, wearing the same clothes like he’d been up all night, and told me in between kisses that he wanted to spend the whole day with me but had to work.
“Starbucks muffins aren’t cheap.”
I can’t help the bloom of warmth in my heart when I see his name.
McCarthy is calling, and he’s calling me because he loves me!
“Screw my dad. Who needs a father-daughter relationship when you have a man like McCarthy?”
“You’re not going to answer it?” Hannah points.
“I’m talking to you, and I’m not going to turn into that type of girl who just ditches her friends whenever she has a boyfriend.” I wince. “I know I did that a little with Brock, but McCarthy has self-esteem, and he won’t care.”
At least the McCarthy in my head won’t care—the kind one who waited outside of my dad’s, who never said “I told you so,” just heated up leftover pizza and brought me a glass with the good ice for my Diet Coke.
“I need a bridesmaid,” I joke. “And you’re my only friend.”
“You know it! Your wedding’s going to be amazing! Your mom’s going to complain that it’s too bougie, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t ruin your big day. Oh! Raw bar for cocktail hour! All the oysters, lobster, scallops, those little crispy rice things with the spicy tuna on top. And a bonfire.”
“I think I’ll need more bridesmaids.” I chew on my lip. “He has a lot of brothers.”
“Pull some of his sisters in,” Hannah suggests. “Here.” She hands me my notebook. “Make a list. Oh, I need McCarthy’s contact information. I’ve made you a new Pinterest board with rings, and he and I need to have a conversation about it, and no, you don’t get to tell him he can propose to you with a plate of calamari or some shit.”
“I like calamari.”
“Diamonds!” Hannah grabs me. “Rose-gold micro pavé wedding band in a complementary—not matching—pattern.”
Bethany’s office door opens.
“Are you prepared for this meeting?” she demands.
“I, uh… What’s the agenda, exactly?” My voice sounds weak.
“Idon’t know.” Bethany’s curt. “We’re meeting withyourclient.”
“My client?” I stammer, jumping out of my chair, undocking my laptop, scooping up my papers and notebooks, and racing after her.
“I’m sorry, uhhh… Which client exactly?”
