But he’s just . . . staring. His face is blank, and this is a Nick Velez expression I can’t read. And if I don’t know what it is, it must be bad. It must be too late.

Gary plays the air horn noise again and Annie hisses, “Not now, Gary!”

“Okay, um . . . that’s it,” I say, then drop the microphone and run out, the murmurs of all of Annie and Drew’s loved ones swirling around me.

I go down the narrow stairs so fast that I almost trip and fall on my dress, then burst out onto the street. “Shit, shit, shit,” I say, leaning against a lamppost and pressing my hands into my eyes. What a colossally bad idea. Why did I let Annie talk me into thinking this would work, just because it works in the movies? Now I’ve ruined her wedding and the only thing people will remember is that the maid of honor humiliated herself.

“Chloe.”

I turn around as Nick steps out of the building, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Are you crying?” he asks, closing the distance between us with a few of his long-legged steps.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my tears, aware that this isn’t how I wanted to look right after I confessed my love to Nick. I know my makeup is all over my face and I’m pretty sure I’m covered in snot. This isn’t a cute movie cry; this is an ugly cry, and now I have to do it in front of the man I love while he tells me he doesn’t love me anymore, because I’m too much of a mess to deserve this kind of love.

“I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—you were—” I try and fail to start about seventeen different sentences.

Nick grabs me by the shoulders, yanking me toward him. His mouth finds mine and he kisses me hard, his hands pinning me to him as I wrap my arms around his back. This isn’t a kiss like our first one, that urgent, secret, power-outage kiss. Nor is it a kiss like the night we slept together, a long, lazy, passionate kiss. This is something else. This kiss is a promise, a vow, an oath stronger than anything legally binding that says that Nick Velez is mine, forever and ever amen.

“Oh,” I say, stepping back. “That . . . wasn’t what I expected.”

Nick runs a hand through his hair, that gesture that is still as unbelievably sexy as the first time I saw it. “Me neither. It’s just . . . in there . . . I was surprised. I didn’t think . . .” He trails off.

“Nick,” I say, looking him in his dark brown eyes. “I’m so sorry I took you for granted, and that I told you we made a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake. I am so in love with you. I want to do it all with you—life, the café, everything. I mean.” I gulp. “If you want to.”