“You could have watched an interview.” I thought his words in person were inscrutable. Those six might have as well have been read by a robot.

I huff out a laugh anyway, too buzzed to dwell on nuances. “Yeah, I guess I could have.” If I’d wanted to hear the soccer star Beck instead of the guy who knows I ordinarily drink nothing besides gin.

I’m surprised to realize I can detect a difference. The softer tone. The emotion underneath.

I’m not sure what I might have said next, what he might have, because Hallie chooses this exact moment to burst out onto the patio. “We need you for another round of photos.”

If I wasn’t suddenly desperate for an exit ramp, I would cover the speaker and point out how we’ve already taken what seemed like hundreds of photos.

Instead, I veer off the road of regret I’m rapidly speeding along. “I have to go. Sorry for waking you up.” I tap the end button before Beck can say anything, shoving my feet back into the stilettos and wincing as my feet protest the uncomfortable footwear.

“Who were you talking to?” Hallie asks as I approach her.

“No one.”

Despite the literal impossibility of my answer, Hallie doesn’t press. Instead, she apologizes. “I’m sorry about before. I know today is tough for you.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter as we head back inside the country club. I probably owe her an apology too, but right now my emotions are all over the place.

It’s strange, being in my hometown surrounded by family mere seconds after talking to Adler Beck on the phone.

It’s a collision of two worlds: the Saylor Scott who grew up in a tiny town with a broken family and the one who took control of her identity and turned down the man who melts panties with a single smirk.

The girl who grew up convinced love was a legend and the woman worried she might have found and flung it.

We take more photos, there’s another round of dancing, and then my dad and Sandra disappear in a shower of grains of rice and a deluge of well wishes.

The drive back to Hallie’s from the reception is silent. Either she’s still annoyed with me or simply too tired to talk. I’d guess it’s a combination of the two.

The porch light is on when we arrive back at the bungalow, and I know it’s because Matt left it on when he brought Matthew Jr. home. For some reason it makes me wonder if Beck would do the same. Especially when my phone keeps buzzing with incoming calls I can’t bring myself to answer. Every time it vibrates, it sounds a little louder.

“Night,” Hallie tells me when we walk through the front door. She heads straight upstairs.