I thought first of Jamie. By acknowledging Simon’s depth, was I implying I thought Jamie was shallow? When I broke down the evidence, he wasn’t. We’d talked about Fountainhead the last time he’d called. You couldn’t talk about Fountainhead if you were shallow. I made a few more tally marks in his favor. He ran a successful business. Had meaningful relationships with his family. Plus, he loved me, which had to say something.

It should have said everything I needed to know about our relationship, but I wasn’t convinced it did. I was afraid that while Jamie himself might not be shallow, our relationship very well could be. And that wasn’t a good thing.

I huffed, annoyed with my current train of thought, and turned over, pounding my fist into my pillow. Would I even be having doubts if Simon weren’t in the picture? If he were the one getting married in two days, if we’d never spent any time together, would I be overanalyzing Jamie’s flaws?

I said it wasn’t an issue, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was. Mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Still, everything with Simon was pretty nebulous. Vague notions from Granny Grace or moments of connection I’d tried to ignore. Broken down into individual moments, it didn’t add up to much.

But there was something more significant. Something I had yet to admit, even to myself. But lying there in the dark, staring at Randi’s ceiling, wishing I’d stopped at macaron number six instead of ten, the truth was too blatant to ignore.

I liked Simon.

Maybe I’d fallen in love with Jamie, but I’d noticed his older brother in a way I probably shouldn’t have. And everything felt more confusing because of it. I had to be careful. I couldn’t let my guard down around Simon—not even a little.

As a counterpoint to the argument, did it even matter if Simon was the reason for my doubt? If Jamie really was the right man for me, would any man, brother or not, be enough to lure me away?

My phone chimed with an incoming text, so I rolled over, curious to see who it was. It sat facedown on the coffee table beside me, its light reflecting off the glass tabletop and bouncing back up toward the ceiling. I reached for it, happy to see a text from my brother, John.

Little sister! Just got your voice mail. Are you still up?

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:00 a.m. Crazy, but true, I texted back. I’m still up and so happy to hear from you!

His response came through immediately. Can I call?