“Yeah, but you had a reason, right? Because you were worried about your future.” The way she says it with suspicion makes me wonder if she doesn’t believe my reasoning.

“Yeah,” I say. “And because of other stuff… things I don’t like to talk about.”

“What kind of stuff? Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger, feeling uncomfortable. I can tell Micha personal things about me but he’s my best friend, fiancé, my everything, which sounds so cheesy but it’s true. I wonder if I should put it in the vows.

The burn of the alcohol rushes through my veins and I begin to think maybe it’s time to talk to Lila about stuff. She’s usually good about giving advice and maybe she can direct me on what to do. But I don’t want to talk about my mom and the box—I talked enough about that with my dad. But there is something else.

“I’m having trouble writing my vows,” I admit.

She props her elbow on the countertop as her eyebrows knit. “You guys are writing vows?

I nod. “It was Micha’s idea.”

Lila drums her fingernails on her knee. “Yeah, I assumed as much.” She pauses. “Why do you think you’re having such a hard time?”

“Because I’m not a writer,” I say. “And because… well, because I hate expressing my emotions to an empty room let alone to people.”

“Yeah, but we already kind of know how you feel about Micha, since you can’t keep your hands off him.” She inspects her reflection in the mirror on the back wall of the bar. “But I get the emotion part and not wanting to say it to anyone. Sometimes I hide what I feel, too.”

“Really?” I ask, raising my voice as the music gets louder. “It never seems like you do.”

She glares at some creepy guy with a ponytail who keeps grinning at her from across the bar. “Maybe it’s not that I hide what I’m feeling so much as I pretend to feel something else, but I’ve been trying to stop because it’s unhealthy.”

I know from experience that she’s right. “So how do you suggest I get over the not being a writer part?”

“You just put the pen to the paper and write, I guess.” She shrugs. “I’m sure something good will come out.”

I continue to try and figure out a better solution until the song switches to an upbeat tempo and Lila claps her hands together, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I love this song,” she says. “Let’s take another shot and dance.”

“I’m only taking a shot if it’s Jäger,” I tell her.

She makes a gagging face. “Ewe, you’re so gross. I’ll just stick with tequila.”