“That’s not the issue.”
Admitting that Brendan didn’t invite me bothers me more than it should. I still don’t have an answer as to why he ghosted me after our kiss in high school. All I know is it made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be his girlfriend. Not then or now.
“I actually have a thing that day. A supplier meeting I’ve been trying to nail down for weeks.”
Which is technically true.
After all, it’s been over a decade, and Brendan Marco still hasn’t asked me to be anything more than the girl who serves him coffee. One wedding week isn’t going to change that.
Her mouth presses into a disappointed line. “Are you sure? We were so looking forward to you coming. I’ll still keep a room reserved in your name, though, just in case your schedule opens up.”
I offer her an apologetic smile. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Well, please let me know if you change your mind.” She gives me one last look before heading out of the cafe.
I turn to Gabriella, who’s leaning against the counter, arms folded. “She offered you a week at the Marco estate filled with parties and fun. Why would you say no to that?”
“I’m not a terrible person,” I say under my breath. “Brendan didn’t ask me.”
She stares at me. “What?”
“She must have me confused with someone else.”
“Who else would he be going with?”
“I have no idea.”I grab my phone from my pocket. “I need toclear up this mistake before Isabella tells the whole town I just rejected her son.”
I grab a handful of silverware to take to the kitchen in the back while I type with my thumbs. I’m so busy looking at my phone as I turn the corner, I don’t see the person in front of me until I slam into him. Silverware and my phone clatter across the floor, and I land hard on my backside with the grace of a drunk raccoon.
“What in the—” I look up to find Brendan Marco standing over me, his dark hair perfectly styled under his backwards Crushers cap, his broad shoulders filling out his team jacket, and those achingly beautiful, brown eyes that have been haunting my dreams since I was sixteen.
“Scarlett—are you okay?” He crouches down, concern on his face.
“I’m fine,” I blurt, even though my tailbone throbs and there’s a fork-shaped puncture wound in my palm.
His brow knits as his eyes drop to my hand. “You’re bleeding.”
It infuriates me that he pretends to care. After what happened between us, I can’t fathom him actually concerned about my well-being now.
“It’s nothing.” I scramble to my feet and head for the sink, running cold water over the cut while trying to pretend my heart didn’t skitter across the floor along with the silverware.
“Maybe next time don’t text and walk.” I look over my shoulder to see the ghost of a smile.
“Maybe don’t lurk in back rooms like some kind of sexy stalker,” I shoot back before I think better of my phrasing.
Sexy stalker—really?Of all the adjectives in the world, why did I choose that one?
He arches an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No,” I say quickly, focusing on the water so he can’t see the heat blooming on my cheeks. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, it sounds like a compliment to me.”
“Hardly.” When I glance at him, he looks amused. Like the old Brendan, the one who used to make me laugh, who spent hours around the campfire, toasting the perfect marshmallow for me because every time I’d try, I’d burn it to a black crisp.
I turn off the water. “Why did you come in the back door?”
“Your brother always used the back entrance. Old habits.” He says it like that explains everything.