Page 9

Gracie

The clink of hangers and rustle of fabric fills the air as I carry an armful of tulle skirts through the rental shop, my sister’s bridesmaids each carrying their own load. A rainbow of dresses drapes over their arms.

"Can you believe how stunning the reception looked with all those peonies everywhere?" Jenna gushes.

"Totally Instagram-worthy," adds Rachel. "And these dresses! I mean, seriously, I'm thinking of renting it again just to take selfies."

I smile, nodding along. Bridesmaid dresses are a foreign territory to me; my role was guest, observer, singleton amongst the paired-up and partnered. Today, I’m only here as a sister’s obligation to see that all rentals get returned in time.

"Gracie, didn't you love the color scheme? It was so... what's the word? Vibrant! Yes, vibrant," says Maria.

"Absolutely," I agree, the word slipping out easily. "It was like walking into a sunset—warm, inviting, and full of life." I can appreciate beauty when I see it, even if I'm standing on the sidelines.

"Right? And those centerpieces!" Jenna chimes in, clasping her hands together as if she could physically hold onto the memory.

"Speaking of beautiful things," Rachel throws me a teasing glance, "that guy you came with—what a looker!"

Heat creeps up my neck. "Oh, Bennett?" I say, trying to keep my voice level, casual. "He cleans up well, doesn't he?"

Their laughter echoes off the walls, mingling with the clatter of returned items and the soft tapping of smartphone screens as they undoubtedly start planning their next social media posts. Meanwhile, I'm mentally swiping left on the idea of getting tangled up in conversations about dates and would-be romances. Sometimes, the best defense is a good offense, and my game plan is to stay on the periphery, a strategy that's served me well since the day I watched my own wedding plans crumble like a badly baked cake.

"Alright, ladies," the store clerk announces, breaking through the giggles and gossip, "you're all set. Thanks for returning everything on time."

"Thanks!" we chorus, and the door jingles a merry goodbye as we step back out into the bright sun.

We're weaving through the throng of Miami's midday crowd when Rachel nudges me with her elbow. "So, Gracie," she starts, drawing the attention of the other girls, "that date of yours. Bennett, was it? He's quite the catch."

"Uh, yeah." I force a smile, adjusting the strap of my purse. The lie tastes like lemon on my tongue, sour and bold. "He's my boyfriend," I add, hoping the extra detail sells it.

"Serious?" Jenna asks, eyebrows arched high like she's fishing for a story.

"Sort of," I hedge, wishing the subject would change as quickly as Miami weather. Although, luck isn't doing me any favors today.

"Girl, you've got to get that locked down and have a ring put on your finger," another bridesmaid pipes up, her tone playful yet insistent. The group giggles, imagining scenarios far removed from the truth.

I'm about to steer the conversation toward safer waters when I notice Carly, a bridesmaid with honey-blonde hair, hanging back. Her lips press into a thin line, and her fingers fidget with the hem of her dress—a clear sign something is offside.

"Actually..." Carly's voice trails off, catching everyone's attention. She's staring at me, and there's an apology swimming in her eyes before she even says what’s next. "I saw Bennett last night."

"Out with Gracie?" Rachel queries, tilting her head to look at me.

"No," Carly confesses, her discomfort palpable. "At Rinkside Tavern, with his teammates. And…" She hesitates, looking at me.

"And?" I prompt.

"He was... flirting. With multiple women." The words hang heavy in the humid air, and I feel my carefully constructed defense wobble.

"Flirting how? Like Bennett-flirting or actually flirting?" I challenge, trying to laugh it off while my stomach knots tighter.

"Gracie, I don't want to make assumptions, but it wasn't just friendly banter," Carly adds softly, almost apologetically.

The rest of the girls exchange looks. Silence spreads between us, thick and uncomfortable, and I'm left wondering if my fake romance with Miami's most eligible defenseman is melting away right under my nose.

I squint at the sun piercing through the open window of Rachel's SUV, a glare that somehow feels like an interrogation spotlight. I'm clutching my phone like it's my lifeline as the chat bubbles from last night pop up in my memory, unsolicited and bittersweet.

Bennett texted me late last night. I remember the way my lips had curled into a smile, how my heart had skipped. His message had been the kind of sweet nothing that could make a girl think she was the only one in his world.

The SUV jostles over a speed bump, rattling the wedding paraphernalia in the back. I use the momentary distraction to piece together the two images of Bennett: the one with the tender texts and the one Carly described, charming a bevy of women with that disarming smile of his.

"Everything okay, Gracie?" Jenna asks from the passenger seat, her head cocked to catch my eye in the rearview mirror.

"Yep, all good," I lie, my voice steadier than I feel. "Just thinking about work stuff."

"Speaking of work, do you really work for the Holidates App?" Rachel chimes in, eager to shift gears.

"Uh-huh," I nod, grateful for the change of topic. Nonetheless, even as we dive into tech talk, my brain is doing laps around one gnawing question: If Bennett and I were to drop the pretense and actually try for something real, could I trust him? Could I hand over my fragile heart and not end up getting hurt again?

The girls are laughing, recounting some pre wedding prank involving copious amounts of glitter, but their voices fade to the background. I'm lost in the 'what ifs,' skating circles around the possibility that Bennett might want more than just a one-time fake date arrangement.

"Earth to Gracie!" Rachel's laugh pulls me back again, and I force a grin, nodding along to a story I haven't heard a word of.

Yet behind my green eyes, there's a replay of every move, every glance Bennett and I shared. The problem with players—on the ice or off—is that you never know if they're sticking to the game plan, or if they're about to pull a deke that leaves you grasping at air.

"Girl, you're quiet," Carly observes.

"Sorry," I say, "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Like a certain hockey hunk?" Maria winks, and my stomach does that unwanted somersault again. “Don’t worry about what Carly saw. You know that’s how professional athletes roll.”

"Hmm." I manage a small smile, turning my gaze back to the phone that holds the evidence of Bennett's sweetness—and now, my skepticism.

Can he really be monogamous? The question skates through my thoughts, unbidden and unwelcome. Once a player, always a player, right?

He’s charismatic, enigmatic, heart-stoppingly gorgeous on and off the ice. Can a guy like that trade in his bachelor plays for a one-woman show?

"Look, I know we all have our pasts, our... habits. Bennett seems different with you than when I saw him out," Carly says, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder reassuringly.

"Did he?" I murmur, skepticism lacing my voice. The text was sweet, sure, but sweetness can be a guise, honeyed words dripping from a forked tongue. Is Bennett drizzling sugar just to mask the bitterness?

"Girl, yes!" Carly confirms. "He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And trust me, that room was full of potential puck bunnies."

"Potential puck bunnies?" My lips curve into a reluctant smile despite the turmoil brewing inside.

"Yes, it's a thing," Maria adds.

"Maybe," I concede, my mind still having doubts. "But can a leopard change his spots? Or a player his... playbook?"

"Only one way to find out," Carly says with a wink.

"Right," I reply, the word tasting like a challenge on my tongue. I reach into my pocket and grip my phone, the cool surface grounding me. As I glance down at the screen, Bennett's name illuminates it once again, and I'm faced with a decision.