Page 68 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I hesitated. “You know that server I was talking to? The one who’s bartended for us a couple times.”

“I’ve probably seen her in passing, but I wasn’t really paying attention, if I’m honest.” Declan’s hand was on my waist, holding me against him, but he drew back just far enough to look me in the eye. His brow knit in concern. “Why? What’s up?”

I searched his face, trying to find the words to explain. I wasn’t sure where to begin. With the no-rules experiment, maybe, but I really didn’t want to drag all that to the surface. I could tell him about my first encounter with Shelley. About how it was another in a long line of uncomfortable exchanges with people who seemed determined to be rude to me simply because I was an influencer—but how vapid and ridiculous did that sound? Poor little podcaster, getting bullied by the same people who were doling out free shit. Declan was pretty understanding, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand that. My relationship with social media was the antithesis of his own.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when I still hadn’t said anything.

Before I could answer, the steps leading to the deck creaked beside us. A female shadow loomed over us, silhouetted by the lights of the restaurant. “Oop! Sorry. Didn’t mean to—” I recognized the voice a split second before she recognized my face. She squinted in the dark. “Margo?”

“Mom.” I wriggled out of Declan’s grasp with all the embarrassed urgency of a teenager caught making out in the backseat of her parents’ car. “Hi.”

Declan shot me a quizzical look and warmth crept up my neck. I was a grown woman. I was allowed to be alone with a guy, but somehow, getting caught creeping around in the dark made my brain short-circuit. And it seemed like short-circuiting maybe ran in the family, because Mom was hovering over us, her mouth half-open. Come on, it wasn’t that shocking to find me with a guy. But when Tony Montpelier materialized at her shoulder, it started to make sense. They were the ones trying to sneak off to the dark beach. And Mom was the one feeling like she’d been caught red-handed.

A smile lit up my face. Mom placed a hand on Tony’s chest to stop him coming any closer. “Actually, I just remembered that I need another drink,” she told him. “Preferably wine. Anything with bubbles gives me a headache.”

Tony looked back and forth between my mom and where Declan and I were standing in the sand next to the stairs. He was plainly confused, but he didn’t argue, disappearing into the crowd to find her a glass of wine. I intertwined my fingers with Declan’s and dragged him around to the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve got him fetching drinks for you already?” I asked, amused.

“I’ve still got it.” Mom’s wedge heels thumped as she came down the stairs and planted her hands on her hips. “So,” she said, her eyes flicking to Declan and back again, “you’re catching the bouquet, right?”

“Mom,” I said warningly.

Declan reached around me to shake her hand. “Ms. McCarthy. I’m—”

“Declan Walsh,” she interrupted. “I saw your name on the program for tomorrow. And I remember Margo talking about you in high school.” She shot me a look that told me that particular conversation wasn’t over. I’d eventually have to explain how I’d gone from hating his guts to holding his hand in the span of two weeks. Not that I was entirely sure how to explain. Maybe mention something about his ineffable charm.

Declan grinned. I could already feel this train going off the rails. Separately, my mom and Declan were good at embarrassing me. Together—that just wasn’t fair. “Margo’s talked about me?” he asked.

“Complained is probably more accurate. And she drew a mustache on your yearbook photo.”

“It wasn’t a mustache,” I grumbled, though it was true I’d taken a fine-tipped Sharpie to several of my classmates’ pictures one day when I was bored. Declan’s senior photo sported a top hat and some pretty impressive muttonchops.

“First the Red Wedding comment and now this?” Declan looked positively tickled by this revelation. “Didn’t realize you spent so much time thinking about me.”

Mom took a step back and gave him a quick once-over. “You’re taller than I expected,” she said, sounding pleased. “Margo always made you sound sort of small. Great hair color, too. You know, I had a boyfriend in high school with red hair—”

“Mom,” I said through gritted teeth, because I could only imagine a handful of things worse than her assessing all of Declan’s physical qualities like a rich person assessing a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby. “Please.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you do something to your hair?”

I reached a self-conscious hand to my hair, which I’d curled this morning. “I dyed it brown.”

“It looks good. Healthy.”

“Thanks.”

She seemed to realize that she was overstaying her welcome. “I’ll have to chat some more with you two lovebirds tomorrow,” she said with a small smile, and I shut my eyes in an attempt to block out the cringe. Beside me, Declan shook with laughter. “I need to go find Tony. What time is it? I imagine they’re going to kick us out of here pretty soon.”

I patted around for my phone before remembering I didn’t have any pockets, and I’d left my bag hanging off my chair. Declan’s smartwatch illuminated as he lifted it to check the time. “Almost seven.”

“I think I left my phone back at the table,” I said.

We exchanged a quick see you tomorrow with my mom and hiked back up to the deck. “She seems cool,” Declan observed, once again failing to conceal his smile.

I rolled my eyes. “You just like that she shares your knack for embarrassing me.”

“Which part embarrassed you? The part where she ratted you out for talking about me in high school, or the part where she called us lovebirds?”

I shot him an exasperated look as we arrived back at the table. The rest of the wedding party was off mingling with guests. Bussers were spiriting the dirty dishes and used silverware away. I lifted my napkin from where I’d tossed it on the table, but the only thing beneath it was a stray salad fork.