Page 45 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

“Bye,” I said, darting out the door.

I fought the urge to hide my face as I hopped into the backseat of the golf cart. Jo had already hopped in the front next to Peter, which meant I was stuck beside Declan. I gripped one of the side rails so that I could lean as far away as possible without falling out of the cart. The last thing I wanted to deal with was an accidental thigh graze or stray elbow right now, so the natural solution was to treat him like the kid with chicken pox. He gave me a bemused look as he climbed up next to me, but before he was able to resume the attempted conversation, the golf cart puttered to life.

Jo had discovered Peter’s reason for not texting her back this morning—he’d dropped his phone in the toilet after returning to his room last night and had left it “sitting out to dry” on his balcony overnight. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Peter was explaining as we buzzed down the main road into town. As though anyone had ever meant to drop their phone in the toilet. “But Lucas puked, and it was this really nasty bluish-green color, so I was trying to take a picture to send to my dad—”

“Why would you send a picture of your friend’s puke to your dad?” I asked.

“His dad is a gastroenterologist,” Declan interjected. I immediately regretted asking. He could’ve just let Peter answer. Or Jo.

“Like I was saying.” Peter shot a scathing look in the rearview, apparently as annoyed by our interruptions as I was. “I was trying to send a picture to my dad, but then Lucas stood up, so now we don’t even know what’s wrong with him. He could be sick or something.”

I wondered how a doctor had managed to produce … well, Peter. Jo had mentioned something about his mom running some high-powered PR firm, too. Maybe two smart parents canceled each other out. Holding back a laugh, I asked, “Out of curiosity, was Lucas drinking something blue?”

“Pretty sure he was drinking Hpnotiq at one point,” Declan provided.

I pretended not to notice that he was talking. “What I’m not understanding is what Lucas standing up has to do with anything.”

“I was standing over him, sort of like—” Peter let go of the steering wheel to mime holding a phone directly over someone’s head. Jo grabbed the wheel to keep the cart from veering onto the sidewalk. “His head knocked it right out of my hand.”

“Wait. You were sending your dad a picture while your friend was actively puking? You couldn’t wait until he was done?” I shook my head, laughing, both entertained and a little concerned. To be fair, it was his bachelor party, so he was probably pretty drunk. And possibly still wearing a maid uniform. Oh my God, this story got ten times better as soon as I pictured the maid uniform. “So did you get the shot, or what?”

Peter pouted in the rearview. “Well, now we’ll never know, because Jo says setting the phone out to dry isn’t going to help.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “You’re supposed to put it in rice.”

“I already called room service, and they said they don’t have any—”

“Wait,” I interrupted, realization and panic setting in all at once. “What did you do with the maid uniform? Is it still in your room?” I sincerely hoped it wasn’t lying somewhere covered in Hpnotiq-colored vomit. I had no clue what it would cost to buy a replacement uniform, but considering I already owed Declan two hundred dollars just for borrowing it from the housekeeper, I wasn’t eager to find out.

“I took it to the dry cleaners this morning,” Declan said. For the first time today, I met his eye, and my resolve weakened. “That’s part of why I was up so early.”

I would probably regret asking. I didn’t need to give him another opening; it would be smarter to call it quits now before I allowed things to get any messier than they already were. But curiosity got the better of me. “What was the other part?”

Up front, Jo quirked her head, listening in.

“Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about how badly I wanted to talk to you.”

I wanted to ask more, but I didn’t like the idea of someone eavesdropping on us. Not even if that someone was my best friend. I’d only gotten myself into this situation because of my brilliant idea to break the rules, but it felt like we were past that—past the point where it was any of Jo’s business. I’d have to tell her soon that I was changing my mind so that we’d have enough time to figure out something else for Season Seven, but I had more pressing issues at hand. Declan was searching my face, expectant, waiting for some hint of how I felt. “Later,” was all I said, and he seemed to take the hint.

We pulled up to the sprawling green lawn outside of the venue, which butted up to an airy white building overlooking a secluded beach. Renee met us at the door and ushered us past the dining room and through the kitchens, into a small back room with a table and a wall blanketed in fake foliage, where she plied us with stemless glasses of red wine.

The last thing I wanted to do was drink right now, but I accepted it anyway because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands.

Renee clapped her hands together. She looked different today than she had at the ziplining course. Her hair was twisted in a sleek braid and she’d swapped the khaki shorts for a chic blue dress with princess sleeves. Like a chameleon, I thought, blending in for whatever activity was planned for the day. “So the purpose of today’s cake tasting is going to be twofold. First and foremost, we want to help Jo and Peter make a final decision on their wedding cake, so we’ve got a few different options laid out here for you all to try.” She indicated the stainless-steel table, where an array of cake slices waited on gold-trimmed plates. “And then we’re also going to snap some fun little pictures for the website, which will also be available to share on your own personal social media, if you like.”

The photo wall was covered from floor to ceiling in fake greenery, with looping neon letters that read life’s batter with cake nestled in the foliage. It was cheesy and not at all on-brand for us, but it was also contracted, so we’d be posting something later whether we liked it or not.

“You’ll remember Rory, of course. He’s going to be snapping pictures throughout the whole process, so just pretend he’s not here.” Rory did his little wave thing. His hair was in a man-bun today and his camera looked lighter than last time, the sports lens swapped out for a portrait one.

Renee launched into an explanation of the various cake options. “So, in terms of the base, we have our regular chocolate and our dark chocolate. And then of course we have classic white cake—can’t go wrong there—and then the premium options, which are red velvet and carrot cake.”

Jo was nodding along thoughtfully. Peter looked like it was all cake to him. I was busy wondering what sort of experimental drugs you’d have to be on to order a carrot-flavored wedding cake when I realized that Rory had inched closer to me. “How about we get some pictures of you while they’re busy with the tasting?”

“Sure,” I said, glad to have something to do. I set my wineglass on the corner of the table. Rory asked permission to pose me, placing his hands on either side of my shoulders and moving me into position in front of the foliage wall, just to the right of the neon sign.

I felt like my arms were stiff and awkward at my sides, so I placed one on my hip, but then it felt like I was posing for the Miss America pageant, so I removed it again. “What should I be doing with my hands?”

Rory stepped back and gave me a long, assessing look. “You.” He snapped his fingers to get Declan’s attention. “Let’s get you in on this.”