"Goodbye, Victor,” she says with a nod.
My heart dances inside my throat. “Just a sec?—“
But she’s already turning on her heel. Over her shoulder, she flashes one last shy smile before disappearing into the crowd.
I’d follow. But my phone is already buzzing insanely again.
So, I do what I always do.
My pulse skittering inside my veins, I answer it, slipping back into business mode—the only mode I have these days.
3
TEQUILA SHOTS AND WEDDING KNOTS
HARPER
Six hours, four tequila shots, and one very enthusiastic male stripper later, I'm trying very hard not to think about Vic from the plane.
It's 11 PM on a Saturday night in Vegas, and the desert heat has finally broken into something almost pleasant.
We're fresh out of the male revue—where a man named Thunder showed me more glutes than I've seen in my entire life—and my baby sister Amelia is covered in body glitter, wearing a sash that says "BRIDE TO BE" in letters so sparkly they could be seen from space.
Petite and practically vibrating, her honey-blonde ponytail bouncing behind her, she flounces out the exit, my older sister Margot beside her looking terrifyingly put together in that way only she can manage.
Even now in “protective sister mode,” Margot’s dark hair is twisted into a low knot, but at least this mode is a helluva lot drunker than the one back at home in New York.
"Another round!" Amelia shouts, throwing her arms up like she's just won the lottery.
Margot catches my eye across the table and mouths, "Help me."
I mouth back, "Absolutely not."
Because if I'm being honest, the tequila is doing exactly what I need it to do: making me forget about silky dark hair and stormy-gray eyes and expensive shirts and a voice that sounded like whiskey poured over hand-crafted ice.
"To me marrying the greatest guy in the world!” Amelia announces, raising her shot glass. “Oh, and to Harper's new job! She starts on Monday. StreamEats' newest on-air talent! My sister, the STAR!"
I wince. "I'm not a star. I'm a cooking segment host, sweetie.”
"You're going to be on CAMERA," one of Amelia's friends—Jessica? Jennifer?—squeals. "That's basically famous!"
"It's basically terrifying," I correct, but I raise my shot glass anyway. "But thank you. To new beginnings."
"To leaving toxic men in the DUST!" Amelia adds.
"To never settling for less than we deserve!" Margot chimes in.
We throw back the shots in unison, and I try very hard not to think about the fact that my divorce was finalized exactly two weeks ago.
Two weeks since I officially stopped being Harper Sinclair and went back to being just Harper Beaumont.
Two weeks since I decided that starting over at thirty-seven meant taking the biggest professional risk of my life.
StreamEats.
The streaming platform that's been blowing up over the past few years with cooking content, restaurant reviews, culinary travel shows. And somehow—some way—they saw my YouTube channel where I've been posting recipe videos for the past year and decided I was worth hiring.
On-air talent.
