After a hectic day filled with the most work possible, I feel restless—maybe I’m still on the adrenaline high of scoring a surprisingly beautiful wedding dress for free, or maybe I’m too nervous about my deal with my sister in order to relax. I don’t want to go home to crash in front of Netflix alone. Sophie has concert tickets to a tuba performance by one of Liv’s old marching band friends (I told her to not get too wild tonight), and Carmen has an emergency appointment with her dermatologist. I could reach out to some friends that I see less often, like Sasha or Caroline from college, but I’m not in the mood for catching up on the details of one another’s lives; it would just be an awkward reminder of how little I’ve seen them since launching Brooklyn Jewels. And the prospect of either lying to my friends’ faces about my engagement or risking exposure by telling more people the truth is exhausting. It used to be that whenever I felt antsy and ready to go out, I could take a quick spin through my dating apps and find a suitable suitor for the night. But with so much staked on Blake, I don’t want to risk catching feelings for anyone else.

So, that’s why I find myself walking into Golden Years ten minutes later. Raj is behind the bar. He does that head jerk bros use to greet one another—eyebrows shooting up, chin jutting forward, a smile on his face. By the time I’ve plopped onto a bar stool, he’s already poured me a Brooklyn Bel Air Sour.

“On the house,” he says, sliding it over to me.

“Again? I must’ve made it into your inner circle.”

“Eh, you’re okay,” he says, clearly joking. “On your own again tonight?”

“Yep. Didn’t feel like going home.”

I reach for my beer and Raj’s eyes bug out toward my ring finger.

“That’s some rock,” he says, letting out a low whistle.

I glance down. I’ve gotten used to wearing it, to the point where my blood runs cold whenever I realize it’s not on. It always takes a split second to remember I’m not really engaged.

“Thanks. I put it on for wedding dress shopping today. I actually got one.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” he says.