“Dylan wants someone to carry their beets at a farmer’s market, and while I’m great at lifting things and looking hot, I don’t know the first thing about being in a long-term relationship.” Andrew looks sheepish, and I realize how damn tired I am. I’m tired of lying and pretending and not-talking about things. For a year, I pretended like I wasn’t hurt when I thought our day together meant nothing to Jack. For a year, I told myself it would be pathetic to hold onto any feelings for her.

But I was hurt, and I do still have feelings for her, and I can’t let Andrew repeat my same idiot mistakes. “Do you want one, though? A long-term relationship?”

He opens his perpetually open mouth a little bit wider in shock, then snaps it closed. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m not having this conversation with you in a dive bar. We’re getting married. You signed a napkin contract.”

A bartender with a lip ring and angel wings tattooed on her exposed décolletage raises both eyebrows at us. Andrew lowers his voice. “None of this is about love, Ellie. It’s a business arrangement. This is about the money. I need that money.”

“Why?” I demand. “Why do you need this money so badly? You drive a Tesla! You wear Tom Ford! Please explain to me why this inheritance is worth ignoring your own desires and deceiving your entire family.”

Andrew grabs me by the elbow and bodily yanks me even farther down the bar, farther out of earshot. “I’m doing this for my family.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Your family is disgustingly rich.”

He sets the pitcher down on the corner of the bar, pours himself a glass, and takes a long drink. “I’m doing this for Jack,” he confesses finally, his shoulder sagging in relief.

I stare at the stress-V forming between Andrew’s sleek eyebrows. “For… Jack?”

“The money. Jack, she—” He takes another drink and shakes his head. “I should have told you everything from the beginning, but I’m honestly so ashamed of my family. The money… my sister… the trust…”

Andrew fumbles for a second before he finds his verbal footing. “You know how my sister is opening a bakery? Well, she took out this huge business loan to do it, mostly because she believed she had this cushion to fall back on.”

“The trust your grandpa left you,” I say, remembering the Christmas cookie conversation.

Andrew nods slowly. “Yeah. We were both supposed to inherit one million dollars when he died….”

“But your trust is two million,” I correct him, even as the truth becomes so fucking clear. Of course. “Your grandpa wrote Jack out of the will and left all the money to you.”