Page 41 of Fall Fake-Out

The sound of the river fills the silence until I finally ask the question that’s been sitting in the back of my mind.

“What’s the deal with Ari’s ex? I heard he left her at the altar.”

“No.” Jaxon shakes his head while working his line through the water. “She was engaged for, like, four years, but as far as I know, they never even set a date. Andy, I think his name was.”

“Landrie didn’t like him?”

“Nobody liked him.” Jaxon snorts. “The guy was a complete loser.”

My brows furrow. “What kind of loser?”

I can’t picture someone as smart and confident as Ari getting involved with a guy who’s not good enough for her.

“Like, he was always between jobs because he wanted to surf all the time. Or he’d play video games for twelve hours instead of contributing to rent. He just never followed through with anything in his life. Liked a good time, just didn’t like responsibility.”

In some ways, that description sounds a lot like how people view me.

But the truth is very different.

Unlike Andy, I’ve worked hard to become a principal at the young age of twenty-seven. Some might say I slid into the position, but I still had the credentials and the experience as an administrator to even be considered for the job.

Some people only see the casual side of my personal life and assume I behave that way professionally too. So yeah, maybe my dating life resembles this Andy guy. But professionally, I’m focused.

I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this right now and trying to rationalize why I’m different than her loser ex-fiancé. Ari and I are nothing. This train of thought has zero impact on anything.

I turn my focus back to Jaxon. “If her fiancé was so bad, why’d Ari stay with him for so long?”

“Beats me. You’ll have to ask her that.”

Maybe I will eventually.

But I’d rather our relationship get to a place where she’d tell me that freely.

After the incident last night, I’m not sure she’ll trust me with anything anymore.

Ari

“Could you make your cursive swoopier?” My mom leans over my shoulder, scrutinizing the invitation envelope I’ve been working on for the last thirty seconds like she’s grading a paper.

“Swoopier?” I repeat flatly.

“Yes. Romantic.” She points to the invitation Landrie just finished beside me. “See how Landrie’s handwriting has personality? Yours looks slightly aggressive.”

I glance at my sister’s envelope.

Sure enough, her handwriting belongs on Pinterest. Elegant loops. Delicate slants. The kind of cursive that people request on butcher paper signs at baby showers.

Mine looks like I’m signing legal documents under duress.

“It’s readable,” I mutter.

“It’s readable,” Mom agrees. “But Landrie’s is beautiful.”

Everything Landrie does somehow turns beautiful.

Her engagement pictures? Beautiful.

Her floral choices? Beautiful.