Page 7

Seven

A couple weeks later, we were well into March, and I found myself gritting my teeth one Friday after school as I drove into Princeton.

Davis and I’d both had packed schedules, so it had taken some time for them to align.

I was nervous about finally meeting him, but I was even more nervous about parking .

My dads liked to call me a capable but cautious driver .

Princeton was an idyllic town with historic Gothic architecture and high-end stores and restaurants, but at its core, it was also a college town.

Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, I had a hard time knowing where to look.

There were so many pedestrians.

Shoppers congested the sidewalks, and students seemed to have no patience for the crosswalks, choosing to ignore the laws of traffic to jaywalk.

And, oh god, parking.

I spotted a few open street-side spaces here and there, but I wasn’t confident in my parallel-parking abilities.

While Austin’s car had an awesome rear backup camera, I had to rely on my own skills, driving my late grandfather’s 1990 Land Rover Defender.

It was the coolest car ever, and I felt a huge rush of pride every time someone complimented it.

A few people had even offered to buy it from me, right on the spot.

But yes, I couldn’t parallel park.

I wasn’t especially proud of what I ended up doing.

Both parking garages were full, so I swung into the spacious lot behind St. Paul’s Church and its school.

Only ten or so cars were there.

PARISH MEMBERS ONLY, the sign read, and I cringed after cutting the ignition.

But you know parish members , I reassured myself.

The Gallants attend mass here, Katie went to elementary school here, and now Austin comes here every Christmas Eve…

Once I’d locked the car, I not-so-subtly speed walked across the parking lot, only stopping to smooth my shirt after I turned left on Moore Street.

Do you need advice on what to wear?

Katie had texted last night, and even though I knew what to wear (fun pants and a white top, an outfit ingrained in a girl’s brain), I said yes.

Fun pants and a white top , she told me.

Hair down with casual makeup .

I wore a pair of high-waisted black jacquard pants embroidered with silver flowers and a cropped off-the-shoulder sweater.

I’d weaved my hair into a side braid, and I didn’t need a guide for casual makeup.

To me, that was light eyeshadow with mascara, a dusting of blush, and a swipe or two of lip gloss.

You look adorable , Katie’s cousin Paige wrote after I texted the promised selfie to the group.

Good luck!

Davis and I were supposed to meet at Crescent Moon Coffee, an artsy café right off Nassau Street.

I’d learned he was a junior at a nearby private day school (the bridesmaids wouldn’t tell me which one, for fear I would use that as a stalking tool).

Reese also told me she’d sent him a photo of me for recognition purposes.

The suitors always know what the Bachelorette looks like before she knows what they look like , Meredith had reminded me.

It’s all good!

I told myself I could do this all the way to the coffee shop, but the second I stepped inside, my heart began to quake with nerves and I straight up forgot how to “people.”

My eyes flicked around as I stood frozen in the entrance, taking in the clusters of customers chatting at tables and the assortment of eclectic armchairs and couches.

Laptop users occupied the windowfront bar, their oversized mugs long drained but not ready to say goodbye to the free Wi-Fi.

He’s not here , I surmised.

He’d know if I were here.

He would’ve noticed me the moment I walked in…

Madeline Fisher-Michaels, you are so delusional , the host in my head said.

It’s a busy-ass coffee shop.

Nobody noticed you walk in, and you better move it before someone opens the door and slams into you!

Sure enough, I heard the bell above the door chime behind me several seconds later, so I quickly stepped out of the way and into line to order.

I had to do something, right?

I didn’t want to stand around and wait for Reese’s cousin to recognize me.

How awkward would that be?

Katie had pointed out that today wouldn’t count as a date, but who was she kidding?

My palms were starting to sweat.

This already felt like a date because this was the closest thing I’d ever had to a date!

There was a handwritten menu on the big blackboard above the coffee bar, and pastries upon pastries tempted everyone behind a glass case.

“Hello!” the barista said brightly.

“What can I get you?”

“Um…” I quickly scanned the endless menu before settling on their seasonal drink.

“A lavender latte, please.”

“Hot or iced?”

“Hot.”

The barista nodded.

“What size?”

“Tall,” I said, used to Starbucks lingo.

“I mean, small.”

“Great!” The barista input my order into the iPad-resembling register.

“That’ll be eight oh five.”

Sadly, I didn’t even blink.

Everything was so expensive these days.

“Put it on my tab,” someone said before I could dig out my wallet, and I whipped around to see Marco álvarez standing behind me.

One corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile, like we shared some kind of secret.

“I’ll have a medium chai,” he added.

“Iced, and we’ll also take two chocolate chip muffins.” He dropped his voice to a whisper while tapping his debit card against the register PIN pad.

“They aren’t the best pastries in town, but they’re good enough.”

Speechless, I couldn’t find my words until he’d guided me over to the pickup area, a gentle hand on my back until I not-so-subtly elbowed him.

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.

“I like to study here,” Marco answered, and it was then I realized that I was looking at a Marco I hadn’t met before.

I was used to him walking our school hallways in track pants and soccer hoodies or his soccer uniform.

His Ember contacts were much better for soccer.” He stepped forward to grab our order.

I hadn’t even noticed his name had been called.

“Ah,” I said.

“It’s true.” His lips twisted into a smile, and he handed me my million-dollar coffee.

It was in a takeout cup, and our pastries were in the same brown paper bag.

“Anyway.” He took out one of the muffins.

“What are you doing in town?”

“Oh, well, I’m…” I started, but drifted off, somehow noticing Crescent Moon’s bell ring amid all the chaos.

A cute Black guy walked through, wearing a blazer with a white button-down and a loosened striped tie.

A private school uniform if there ever was one.

That had to be Davis.

“I have to go,” I abruptly told Marco.

“I’m meeting someone.”

He raised an intrigued brow.

“Okay,” he said and handed me the pastry bag.

“It was good seeing you, Mads.”

Instead of grabbing a table and waiting around for Reese’s cousin to track me down, I went straight up and greeted him like he’d just gotten out of a limo at the famous Bachelor Mansion.

“Davis?”

From the flash of light in his eyes, I could tell he recognized me.

“Hey, Madeline!”

“Mads,” I said back.

“It’s just Mads.”

Crap.

I wanted to backtrack.

I couldn’t have said hello first?

“It’s nice to meet you,” I added quickly, smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” He smiled back, and then it was clear that neither of us knew what to do next.

A hug seemed like too much, and we couldn’t shake hands because I was double-fisting it with my latte in one and my muffin in the other.

Also, was shaking hands even a thing anymore?

“I’m sorry I already ordered,” I blurted.

“I, um, wasn’t sure…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Davis said.

He was cute, looking more like Reese’s younger brother than her cousin.

Tall and lean with what Austin and I called the “ Peaky Blinders haircut.” Shaved on the sides and longer on top.

His ears adorably stuck out a little.

“How about you find us a spot,” he suggested, “while I go grab a drink?”

I managed to snag two cushy armchairs the second two people vacated them, and Davis joined me several minutes later with what looked like a swirled caramel Frappuccino.

“School was really draining today,” he said when he caught my amused look.

“I’m treating myself.”

“Where do you go to school?” I asked.

“Reese wouldn’t tell me anything beyond your first name.”

Davis chuckled.

“That sounds like her.” He took a sip of his drink.

“I go to Hun. It’s right down the road.”

“I know Hun,” I said.

“They tried to recruit me for field hockey.”

“Oh, yeah, Reese mentioned you’re really into field hockey,” Davis said.

“Have you committed anywhere yet?”

I shook my head.

I didn’t really discuss my college prospects with anyone except my family and Coach Webber.

Well, and my high school guidance counselor because it was encouraged that she be in the loop.

“Not yet,” I told Davis.

“Hopefully by the end of the school year, though.”

Because that was when the Ivy League schools made the last of their offers.

April through June of a player’s junior year was their sweet spot, and I knew I would be holding my breath for those three months.

The University of Pennsylvania—Penn—was my dream school.

The Quakers were my dream team .

I loved their city campus and the team’s style of play.

I’d gone to their annual summer camp for the last several years, and nearly screamed when I got my first invite to their smaller, more exclusive clinics.

What I was now hoping for was an invitation for an official visit to campus.

If a coach wanted you to spend a weekend getting to know the girls on the team?

It was a big deal.

“Do you play any sports?” I asked Davis before taking an anxious sip of my coffee.

Was I talking about myself too much?

And even if I wasn’t, we needed to shift the conversation away from field hockey.

I could go on about it forever, but the bridesmaids had told me it was important to find out if Davis and I had anything in common.

“I played a bunch when I was a little kid,” he said as I chewed and swallowed a bite of muffin.

It was a little dry, but still good.

“But I wasn’t very good at them, so my parents thought maybe art or music would be more my thing.”

I smiled a little.

“And? Are you an artist or musician?”

“I’m the saxophonist in Hun’s band and in their choir. I’m also in a local chamber choir.”

“That’s really cool,” I said.

“I like to sing too, but my school’s choral director cut me for my extreme pitchiness.” I shrugged.

“So instead, I perform in the comfort of the car.”

“Oh, yeah?” Davis’s eyes shined.

“Let me guess—”

I cut him off.

“If you say Taylor Swift, I’m going to punch you.”

He chuckled.

“You don’t like Taylor Swift?”

“No, no, I do,” I said.

“I just think it’s stereotyping to assume every girl on earth is a Swiftie.”

“Fair enough.” Davis smiled, then after a beat added, “Although, as a guy, I am not ashamed to say she’s incredible. I skipped school to get tickets for the Eras Tour two years ago.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” he said.

“I suffered for seven hours, but then finally triumphed with two tickets. New Orleans, night one. We had to fly down and stay with my cousin, but it was so worth it. My girlfriend lost her mind.”

My spine straightened.

Girlfriend? He had a girlfriend ?

How had Reese not mentioned that?

“Oh.” Davis read the confusion on my face.

“No, Mads, I meant ex -girlfriend. It’s sort of”—he searched for the right word—“ new . I haven’t totally broken the habit yet.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Is that why you need a date to JProm?”

Davis sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really want to go, but all my friends have girlfriends or are, you know, talking with someone, so I’d be the only one going stag.” He paused to sip his drink.

“And I know I could just ask one of my friends, but they’re also friends with my ex…” He shook his head.

“Hun feels too small sometimes, and everybody knows everybody, and that can get old when it comes to dances. So yes, when Reese texted me about you, I didn’t hesitate.”

My heart flipped.

He’s sweet , I thought.

He’s really adorable and really sweet.

Maybe the ex-girlfriend thing was a bit uncomfortable, but besides me, who didn’t have an ex?

I liked talking to him.

It was fun and easy.

I didn’t realize my lack of response until Davis grimaced and asked, “Did I blow it?”

“Oh my god, no!” I exclaimed.

“No way! I was literally thinking about what a great time we’re going to have together.”

Davis grinned.

“You’ll be my date?”

I found myself grinning back.

“I’d love to.”

Then, I internally screamed.

I HAVE A DATE!

Davis and I talked for another hour, mostly about music.

“You have to check out Maisie Peters,” I told him.

“I guess she’s technically pop, but definitely has this British rock edge to her music, and she writes all her own songs…”

“Wait, I’ve seen Maisie Peters!” he said.

“Years ago, when she opened for Ed Sheeran in Philly. I supervised my little sister and her two friends while the parents peaced out for dinner. It was a great concert!”

Later, we exchanged numbers.

I internally rolled my eyes at myself when I saw Davis Adams in my phone, since Adams was also Reese’s last name.

I should’ve been able to guess that for social media reconnaissance.

Maybe I’d liked going in blind, though; it stopped me from wondering if the person I saw on Instagram would live up to their profile’s hype.

Davis said he would text me details for the dance, plus some songs he thought I would like.

I had some in mind for him, too, which made my stomach spin a little.

He hugged me before saying goodbye; we’d parked in opposite directions.

It wasn’t until I turned off Witherspoon Street and started up Nassau that I realized I’d forgotten my purse-that-I-literally-never-used back at the coffee shop.

I sighed, and then back to Crescent Moon I went.

The sun was starting to sink in the sky, and even though I’d only been gone for ten minutes, the café had calmed—calmed enough that I could clearly see Marco through the front window; he had an entire couch to himself and was focused on his laptop.

A few books and a couple of binders were splayed open on the cushions next to him.

Along with my purse!

“I tried calling after you,” he said by way of greeting when I marched up to him.

He closed his laptop.

“But you were definitely surfing some other galaxy.”

“Space cadet reporting for duty.” I sarcastically saluted him, then dropped the act.

“I had my AirPods in. I couldn’t hear you.”

And I might’ve been in the middle of sending a text to Katie and the bridesmaids: It went well!

!

As if on cue, my phone buzzed; I pulled it out of my pocket and placed it on the nearby coffee table, not yet ready to read the flood of messages.

It vibrated again on the tabletop, the screen lighting up to show there were six new texts in the chat.

Once six became eight and eight became ten, Marco gave me a look.

“Care to share what that was earlier?”

Not particularly , I almost said.

But those eyes .

Those damn honey-dipped eyes of his.

They looked dangerous.

Anyway.

“Earlier?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

“Yeah.” Marco moved his school stuff to make room for me on the half-moon-shaped couch.

I waited a beat before sitting down; he and I hadn’t hung out like this in a while.

“You and Davis.” He held up his hands before I could call him on it.

“I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping. You just turn up the volume when you’re nervous.”

I glared at him.

“I wasn’t nervous.”

He ignored me.

“Were you two on a date?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

His voice was teasing, but I swallowed my snark.

“More of a predate,” I said eventually.

“He goes to Hun and asked me to be his date to their junior prom. We wanted to meet in person first.”

“Mmm,” Marco hummed, which I somehow knew translated to, Someone set you up?

“Marco.” I sighed. “Don’t ask.”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

“Don’t tell.”

He opened his laptop again and went back to whatever he’d been doing earlier.

I tried not to fidget next to him, but my thudding heart made that difficult.

Because what if I did want to tell him about the bridesmaids’ Ready-Set-Date scheme?

Ever since agreeing, I had felt the urge to talk to someone uninvolved about it, but I hadn’t been able to figure out who that uninvolved someone was.

Because for once in my life I didn’t want to share with Austin.

How confused would he be when I told him this game was my make-or-break moment with Katie?

I also definitely didn’t want to tell my dads, and Connor would think the whole thing was ridiculous.

Marco glanced up at me after a few moments.

“You alright, Mads?”

I flopped back against the couch cushions.

“Marco, I never wanted to be one of Katie’s bridesmaids.”

“Ah, so you are telling.” He closed his computer and folded his arms across his chest; I had his full and undivided attention.

“Am I allowed to ask now?”

I waved my hand.

Be my guest!

He smirked.

“Did someone set up you and Davis?”

“Yes,” I said, and then let the whole saga spill out.

Everything from my parents and me being excluded from Austin’s Parisian proposal to Katie asking me to be a bridesmaid, to the engagement party, to the bridesmaid slumber party (and with plenty of tangents along the journey).

By the time I finished, we’d left Crescent Moon behind and were crossing St. Paul’s parking lot.

My lungs wouldn’t stop fluttering.

It had been such a relief to tell someone that I hadn’t been able to get the words out fast enough.

“What do you think?” I asked when Marco didn’t offer an opinion.

“Am I nuts?”

Marco took off his glasses.

“No, I wouldn’t say so,” he said, using his T-shirt’s hemline to methodically wipe their lenses.

He didn’t speak again until they were clean.

“It more sounds like you want to connect with Katie, and you’re willing to go a very long—and slightly silly—way to do so. I admire that; I can tell how important family is to you.”

“Family is everything to me,” I said with a delayed and dazed nod.

Because, excuse me ?

I’d just told him that I was trying to make the world’s most famous reality dating show a genuine reality, by being set up on who-knew-how-many dates.

I was expecting Marco’s reaction to be something more along the lines of an amused, Wow, you’re that desperate for a wedding plus-one?

But no, he’d seen right through the plan; he’d discerned my motivation as if it were tattooed on my forehead.

“I would…” I started but kept the rest to myself.

I would like a boyfriend, though.

I don’t think a boyfriend would be so bad.

Maybe a boyfriend would be a bonus of bonding with Katie.

Instead, I asked where Marco was parked.

The only other car in the lot was a Mom-mobile minivan, and bless me, I hadn’t been served with a ticket!

“Back home in Pennsylvania,” he answered.

“Students aren’t allowed to keep cars on campus.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Would you, um, like me to drive you back to your dorm?”

Marco shook his head.

“Thanks, but I’m meeting friends for a late dinner at Winberie’s.”

My eyebrows knitted together.

“Didn’t we pass Winberie’s on the walk back here?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But I wanted to make sure you got back to your car okay.”

“You didn’t have to,” I replied.

“I know my way around. Plus, I have pepper spray. You know, in case it ever comes to that.”

Marco opened the driver’s-side door.

“I know you know your way around.” He gestured for me to get inside, really committing to this bit we were doing.

“And I would be shocked if Mads Fisher-Michaels didn’t own pepper spray.” He winked.

“But that doesn’t mean she should use it. Princeton might never recover.”

“Correct,” I said, hopping into the Defender.

“My aim is impeccable.”

Once I’d closed the door with a sweet and satisfying slam, I expected Marco to take off across the lot to meet his friends, but he barely moved.

He only took two steps backward to wait under a lamppost. I felt almost awkward buckling my seat belt before queuing up Waze (I knew my way home, but assistance from my Australian-accented guide never hurt).

Marco waved when the Defender rumbled to life, and I did my best Queen-of-England wave back.

He didn’t leave his post until I’d flicked my left-hand blinker to leave the church; in my rearview mirror, I watched him start across the lot to take some shortcut I didn’t know about.

It must’ve been a Princeton thing.