Page 171 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

“Smells good in here.”

“Calla’s recipe for chicken parmesan. She’s at book club, so it’s just us.”

Just us. Right. The way he says it confirms what I already suspected. This isn’t a casual dinner invitation. This is an intervention.

I follow him into the kitchen, where he’s got sauce simmering on the stove and what looks like enough food for an army laid out on the counter. There’s Caesar salad, garlic bread, and a bottle of wine that I recognize as one of the expensive ones from the collection he and Calla started when they got married.

He cooks for four when he only wants to talk to one.

“This is a lot of food for two people,” I observe.

“I might have gotten carried away.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, which means he’s lying.

I notice he’s set the table for three. Three place settings, three wine glasses, three sets of silverware. Even though he only invited me.

“Jay.” I cross my arms and lean against the counter. “Why didn’t you invite Ryan?”

He doesn’t even pretend to look surprised by the question. Just keeps stirring the sauce like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Because I wanted to talk to my sister without her boyfriend hovering.”

“He’s protective. There’s a difference.”

Jay turns from the stove to look at me. I can see the concern written all over his face. The same expression he’s been giving me since I was five years old and decided I wanted to climb the big oak tree in our backyard.

“Wren, I’m worried about you.”

“I know you are. But you don’t need to be.”

“Don’t I?” He sets down his wooden spoon. “You’ve been with this guy for what, a few months? And now you’re living together, you’ve got a new job, you’re all over social media. That’s not like you.”

“Maybe the old me wasn’t the real me.”

“Or maybe you’re changing yourself for a guy who has a pretty bad track record when it comes to relationships.”

There it is. The thing we’ve been dancing around for weeks.

“Ryan’s track record is his business,” I say. “What matters is how he treats me.”

“And how does he treat you?”

“Like I matter.”

Jay sighs. “Wren, you’ve always mattered. You don’t need some hockey player to validate that.”

“You’re right. I don’t need him to validate it. But I spent a lot of years wondering if anyone would ever see me as more than Jay Rustin’s little sister. Ryan sees me.”

“I see you.”

“Do you? Because you invited me to dinner and specifically excluded the man I’m in love with. That doesn’t feel like seeing me. That feels like trying to control me.”

Before Jay can respond, the doorbell rings. We both freeze.

“Expecting someone?” I ask, even though I know exactly who it is.

“No.”

But I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket with Ryan’s text that he’s here. My stomach flips with nerves and relief in equal measure.