Page 54 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I could tell by the enthusiastic look on his face that I just gave him an opening for another dirty joke. But Jo spoke first. “Do I need to remind you that you promised me you wouldn’t ruin this vacation by bickering?”

“Bickering?” Declan repeated, looking back and forth between us.

I huffed. “I never promised that.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘I’m not going to go all Red Wedding on the best man.’ ”

A grin had taken over Declan’s whole face. “Red Wedding!”

“Okay, but it’s not my fault he always knows how to get a rise out of me,” I sputtered. Declan opened his mouth, and I tried to shut him up with a threatening finger. “Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t you dare.”

“You’re pretty good at getting a rise out of me, as well.”

He said it. He fucking said it.

Liv leaned toward Autumn, both watching our exchange unfold with all the interest of a pair of scientists working on their PhD thesis. “I can’t even tell if these are euphemisms anymore.”

“Oh, they’re definitely euphemisms,” Autumn assured her.

“Euphemisms?” Peter lowered the dessert menu with a thoughtful frown, having finally acquired basic deduction skills. He looked around at all of us. “We’re not actually talking about cake, are we?”

Lucas shook his head as he stirred the celery around in his Bloody Mary. “For God’s sake, just fuck or whatever. Eat your cake. Just let the rest of us enjoy our dinner in peace.”

“Thank you, Marie Antoinette,” I grumbled, about two seconds from hiding my face in the drink menu.

Peter’s eyes were like round, shiny marbles, ready to pop out of his head. “You and Margo,” he said, looking at Declan, and then at me, and then at Declan again. “Dude. You and Margo.” The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he stood to reach across the table and give Declan a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, like we’d just announced our engagement. “This is awesome. Bartender! Let’s get some shots of Cazadores over here.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” I called to the bartender, as Jo yanked Peter back into his seat. My face was on fire, everyone was in on the joke, and Declan was smiling like he’d just won gold in the Olympic sprint. And here I was, unable to keep up.

Dinner was obviously a bad idea.

CHAPTER20

“Who’s up for some dessert?” Declan asked, as soon as we all stepped out of the Crab Shack and onto a busy side street in Avalon. It was quieter now than yesterday, but the weekend crowds still lingered, people with towels slung over their shoulders as they hiked back to mid-century hotels and island locals drinking and heckling passersby outside a cantina.

“I swear, if you say anything about cake—” I began.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Chill. I was going to suggest ice cream.”

“Actually,” Jo interrupted, “I was thinking of stealing Margo for a bit so that we can go pick out my shoes for the big day.”

The girls took the hint without hesitation and Lucas didn’t seem to care either way, but Peter exchanged an uncertain look with Declan. “Oh,” Peter said. “Well, we could come with you.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride’s shoes before the wedding,” Liv said as she tugged at my arm.

“It’s—what?”

Autumn grabbed her brother by the arm and steered him away, up the street toward our hotel on the hill, and Lucas followed suit. For the briefest of moments, Declan locked eyes with me, uncertainty lingering there. As playful as our exchange during dinner had seemed, it had probably raised a few questions.

“We’ll catch you guys later,” Jo said, herding me like a willing but confused lamb toward the main street where most of the shops were.

“You already bought your shoes,” I said, because there was no way she’d trust an island this small to have anything halfway decent. “So what’s up?” I had a feeling she wanted to confront me about my evasiveness with the whole Declan thing. And all the crazy mixed signals. Because as much as I’d been frustrated by his mixed signals in the beginning, I was giving off plenty of my own, in just about every possible direction. But I didn’t know how to stop it. “If this is about everything with Declan, I’ve been meaning to talk—”

“Are you kidding?” She steered me into a touristy shop, complete with island-shaped magnets and lifeguard beach towels in the window. Inside was muggy and smelled like cheap tropical-breeze-scented air freshener, but the only people in sight were the cashier and some lady in skinny jeans, so it was a safe place to talk without worrying about who overheard. “About time. You’re, what, a decade overdue?”

I stared at her. “What?”

“You like him.”