After the long grind of the day, Sam sank onto a high stool at their favorite downtown bar, the polished wood warm under her palms. Ashley slid in beside her, a half-empty margarita in hand, ice clinking softly. The faint scent of lime and salt mixed with the richer tang of spilled beer and whiskey, and the low hum of post-work chatter buzzed around them. Neon lights flickered along the walls, reflecting in the dark polish of the bar like liquid fire.
"OMG! Seems like your love story has a season two," Ashley said, leaning back, the grin spreading across her face catching the glow of neon. She swirled her glass, the salt rim sparkling.
Sam rolled her eyes, but inside her chest tightened. I shouldn't have said yes. I wasn't supposed to say yes. "I don't even know why I agreed. It's like I woke up and realized I'd already told Cassey yes without even thinking."
Ashley's grin widened. "Maybe Alexandra's truly irresistible. Is that why you said yes? Don't tell me you're starting to fall for her."
Sam flinched slightly, the words like a spark against the dry tinder of her nerves. "You're ridiculous!" she said, though her voice was tighter than it should have been.
"Then why?" Ashley leaned forward, elbows on the bar, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Come on, Sam, spill."
Sam stared into her nearly empty glass. The amber liquid swirled, the reflection of the overhead lights fractured across the surface. Why did I say yes? I should have just stuck to the plan. The reunion ends, she leaves, and I— Her chest tightened with panic. "I don't know, Ash. This is stressing me out," she admitted, though the words felt small in the cavernous quiet of her own mind.
Ashley tilted her head, her eyes sharp. "Why? Alexandra was flawless at the reunion. You said so yourself. What's the problem?"
Sam's jaw clenched as she forced herself to breathe slowly. The mask she wore so well in the boardroom and at the reunion now pressed against her skin like a vice. "She was," she admitted, her throat tight. "It's just... I still have to pretend. I have to fool everyone around me. I can't... I can't let anyone see how much of a mess this is inside my head."
Ashley's grin softened, but she still teased, swirling her margarita again. "It's just one wedding. Or hey, stage a little fight, make it messy, then tell everyone you broke up before the wedding. Boom. Problem solved."
Sam's hand twitched around her glass, the knuckles whitening. Her chest hammered, a silent drumbeat of panic she couldn't stop. Stage a fight... That's ridiculous. Why did I promise her? Why did I let it slip? She forced a bitter laugh. "Okay... maybe that could work," she said, though inside her mind, chaos whirled.
The bar hummed around them—soft jazz from the speakers, the occasional clink of glass, murmured conversations weaving through the warm air. Yet none of it reached her. Sam's thoughts raced, swirling with the memory of Alexandra's smile at Cassey's request, the controlled calm of her voice when she said, she'll be there.
Why did I say yes? Why did I agree to this? I was supposed to end it. This was supposed to be simple. I planned it. I mapped it. And now... now I've made it complicated. Damn it, Sam.
She exhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly, forcing her fingers to unclench. The hum of the bar, the music, Ashley's casual sipping—everything felt distant now. And yet, somewhere beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else: maybe it's not just panic. Maybe... maybe I didn't want it to be over.
Ashley watched her for a moment longer, then waved the bartender over.
"Another round," she said easily, already nudging Sam's glass forward.
Sam hesitated, then nodded. The glass felt like something solid in a night that kept slipping through her fingers.
"You know," Ashley said, swirling her margarita, "you only spiral like this when something actually matters."
Sam shook her head, letting out a breath that sounded steadier than she felt. "You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?"
"It's not what you think," Sam said, eyes fixed on the bar. "It's the lying. All of it."
That part, at least, was true. The constant editing. The careful answers. The version of herself she handed to her family like a finished product. "Keeping up appearances gets exhausting after a while."
Ashley studied her, the teasing fading. "So it's not Alexandra?"
Sam answered too quickly. "No."
The word landed clean and sharp—and still, it didn't quite settle.
Because even as she said it, her mind drifted—not to explanations or excuses, but to a smile she hadn't planned on remembering, to the way she'd said yes before she'd even thought it through. She tightened her grip on the edge of the bar, pushing the thought away before it could take shape.
"This wedding just puts everything under a microscope," Sam went on, steadier now. "One slip and my family starts asking questions I don't have answers to."
The bartender slid the drink toward her. Sam wrapped her fingers around the cold glass, grounding herself.
Ashley nodded slowly. "Okay. That I believe."
Sam took a small sip, then set the glass down again. She wasn't sure what she'd expected—relief, maybe—but the unease lingered.
She hadn't agreed because it made sense.
She hadn't agreed because it was safe.
She'd agreed without knowing why at all.
And that, more than anything, was what scared her.