“What’s her name?”
“Melissa.” I haven’t said her name out loud since November. “I don’t know much about her. Just that she works with Garrett and apparently she’s everything I’m not.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t know anything about her.”
“Don’t need to. If she were better than you, he wouldn’t be watching you all weekend wondering what he gave up.”
“You don’t know that he’ll do that.”
“I know guys. Trust me on this.” Rodriguez reaches over and takes my hand, his fingers warm as they wrap aroundmine. “But that’s not why we’re doing this. We’re doing this so you can get through your sister’s wedding without feeling like the sad single one. Everything else is just a bonus.”
I look down at our hands. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For doing this. I know I keep saying that, but I mean it.”
“I know you do.” He squeezes my hand once, then lets go. “Now. What else do I need to know? Are there any family dynamics I should be aware of? Crazy uncles? Judgmental aunts?”
“My Aunt Yvette is going to ask when we’re getting married within five minutes of meeting you.”
“What should I say?”
“Probably that we’re taking it slow. We’ve only been dating a few weeks.”
“Got it. Slow and steady. Very respectful.” He’s grinning again. “What about extended family? Cousins?”
“A few. Most of them are around Olivia’s age. They’ll probably just be excited there’s a professional athlete at the wedding.”
“I can sign things if needed.”
“Please don’t encourage them.”
“No promises.”
The flight attendant comes by again, this time with warm cookies and more drinks. Rodriguez accepts both with another one of those smiles that seems to make people light up.
“You’re going to be exhausted by the end of this,” I say once she’s gone.
“By the end of what?”
“Charming my entire family for six days straight.”
“I don’t get exhausted from being charming. It’s kind of my default setting.” He bites into a cookie. “Besides, I’m not charming them. I’m just being myself. They’re going to love me because I’m legitimately great.”
The confidence should be annoying. On anyone else, it would be. But on Rodriguez, it’s somehow endearing. Like he genuinely believes it without being obnoxious about it.
“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re nervous?”
“I don’t get nervous.”
“Liar. You’ve been tapping your foot since we sat down.”
I look down. He’s right. My foot has been moving in a steady rhythm against the floor. I still my leg immediately.
“I get quiet,” I admit. “Overly polite. I smile when I don’t mean it and agree with things I don’t actually agree with.”
“So I should watch for the fake smile.”
“Probably.”
