I can’t help but think back to a few months ago, when I was brimming with limitless, optimistic energy for everything that could happen. Sure, I had a diamond ring and no man and no plan, but I felt full of possibility. It was exciting. I had choices. Now it seems as if I made the wrong ones. Like Sophie said, the cat’s out of the bag, I’ve gotten emails from writers and editors at various wedding magazines and women’s sites offering to cover my wedding if I agree to interviews. Hell, there’s a seamstress out there somewhere making alterations to my wedding dress right this minute to tailor it exactly to my body. Whether it’s well-advised or not, there is a wedding under way, and that could still save the business.

“I’m not ready to give up on our store just yet,” I say finally. “I don’t know how I’m going to fix this. But I have to try.”

“Coming over for a drink,” I text Raj the minute I leave the shop that night. “I seriously need one.”

“What’s wrong?” he writes back.

“Ugh. I’ll tell you in person,” I respond.

Golden Years is unusually crowded when I walk in; every bar stool is taken, and a party of customers stands and nurses drinks while hungrily eyeing seats along the bar. When Raj spots me, he waves me over to the seat farthest from the door. I weave my way through the crowd and am greeted by a tower of mozzarella sticks and an entire pitcher of beer.

“I figured you needed more than just one drink,” he says, beaming at the spoils between us. “And I saved you a seat from the birthday party brigade.”

For the first time in more than twenty-four hours, I actually smile. I settle onto the stool and immediately jam the topmost mozzarella stick into my mouth while Raj pours me the first glass of beer.

“Ugh, yuh uh ah-ul,” I say, attempting to call him an angel with my mouth crammed with fried cheese.

“So what happened?” he asks.

I mumble an explanation into my plate so I don’t have to see Raj’s expression. “Blake and I broke up,” I say quietly. I can practically feel the girl next to me straining to listen, and I don’t have any interest in winding up in her viral tweet about the heartbroken mess she overheard at a bar. “He was ready to announce our engagement, and I just couldn’t let him go through with it. Not before he knew the truth about why I pursued him and the wedding I’m planning. So I told him, and, well, he got upset.”

“Eliza, oh no,” he says, grimacing. “I’m so sorry. That really sucks.”

It’s what he says next that catches me off guard. “How are you holding up?” he asks.