“Yeah…” How did she know that?

  “Well, holy shit, Caroline. He’s part of the Wilder Corporation. They own hotels all over the country!” Stella starts bouncing in place. “He comes from big money. Huge.”

  “Yeah, I kind of already figured that out.” Well. Sort of. I knew his father was a hotel developer, I just didn’t realize that they were a large corporation. I didn’t look at the business articles when I Googled him. I thought his family owned a couple of those rundown places in Monterey that charge an arm and a leg because of their location.

  “No wonder this Tiffany wants to marry him. He’s loaded.” There’s a gleam in Stella’s eye as she leans toward me. “How was the ring?”

  “What ring?”

  “Her engagement ring! Was it massive? I bet it was at least five carats. Maybe bigger?”

  Okay. Here’s what’s weird. “I don’t remember her wearing a ring.”

  “Say what? Come on. You can’t forget that type of thing.”

  “Exactly, and I’m saying I don’t remember her wearing one. At all.” And that’s something I would’ve noticed. Not that I’m hot to get married anytime soon, but I do notice diamonds, especially big ones on a woman’s ring finger. I see a lot of them in my business. Large, small, different colored stones, traditional settings, modern settings, I’ve seen it all.

  And I know I didn’t see a ring on Tiffany’s finger.

  “That’s freaking strange. I have a hard time believing he wouldn’t put a ring on it,” Stella says.

  “More like I have a hard time believing Tiffany wouldn’t demand he put a ring on it,” I add.

  We both laugh at that, and then my mind, like usual, starts to wander. I glance around our tiny apartment. Did I mention that it’s directly above the Sweet Dreams Café and Bakery? And that it always smells like coffee beans and butter up here? I can’t complain, though, because Stella’s parents only make us pay for utilities, and that’s it. I’m saving so much money living in this tiny place. Our bedrooms are basically the size of a walk-in closet, and our bathroom has a narrow shower stall, a pedestal sink and a toilet.

  It’s not much, but I can call it home and it only costs me on average around a hundred dollars a month.

  I’m lucky, right? This is why I don’t complain about our cramped living space.

  “I wish we could find decent guys to date,” Stella finally says, sounding sad. “It always seems like they’re taken by women who don’t deserve them.”

  Most of the time she wishes for a boyfriend more than I do, but at this very moment, I totally agree with her. The dating scene isn’t that great right now. I’ve put myself out there on the various apps, and the guys who swipe right on my profile don’t really do it for me. I’ve been on a few recent dates, but meh. I’d rather be at home on a Friday night sharing a blanket with Stella and watching Kavinsky and Covey fall in love yet again.

  That never gets old.

  “I know. I wish we could too,” I say, offering her a weak smile. “But at least we have each other, right?” I don’t know what I would do without Stella in my life. She’s my best friend. My homie. I count on her for a lot.

  Maybe too much.

  “Yeah, but you’re not my type. I like them big and muscly.” She laughs. “And with a penis.”

  “Yeah, can’t help you there,” I say with a laugh.

  I prefer them to have a penis too.

  Four

  It’s the end of the work week, and I’m feeling contemplative. Self-defeating thoughts run through my mind and cause me to worry, which is never good. For instance, sometimes I wonder if I’m settling with this job at Noteworthy. I mean, I basically work retail, which in many people’s eyes, kind of sucks. And while I love my job, and I think Iris is the most kickass boss ever, I do look around every once in a while at the end of the day and think, is this it?

  I’m only twenty-five, almost twenty-six, so I firmly believe it’s okay if I don’t know my life’s calling yet, but there are people my age who are out there already conquering the world, starting their own businesses or studying to become doctors and lawyers. Those types of people make me feel woefully inadequate.

  I didn’t even graduate college. Oh, I went to the local community college after I graduated high school, but I had to work fulltime to survive, and I was a waitress back then at a crappy seafood restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey. The tips were great most of the time, but it was hard work dealing with grumpy tourists, my boss was kind of a perv, and the hours were terrible. All late nights and weekends, which didn’t give me a chance to have much of a social life.

  In high school, I was too busy partying and chasing after boys to worry about grades and getting into college, and I ended up screwing myself. I didn’t make good life choices, and that was my own fault. Once all that went down, my mom was like, figure it out on your own, kid, and essentially gave me no advice. She didn’t give me any money either, not that I expected her to. And my dad ditched our family a long time ago, so I have no idea where he’s at. Not that I’d ask for his help anyway.

  So here I am, figuring it out on my own.

  Iris has mentioned she wants to retire someday, and she doesn’t have any kids of her own. She’s even hinted that she might want me to take over the business, but that sort of freaks me out, so I don’t know. Am I up for the challenge? Would I be able to run this business and not run it into the ground? I know business in general isn’t the best—the internet has taken a chunk of it, and the lease on this building is expensive considering its prime location, which Iris is constantly grumbling about. Plus, owning a business is so much responsibility.

  I’m not one for major responsibility. That sort of thing scares me.

  It’s past four, which means I have less than an hour to go at Noteworthy, and Cassie is already here. She’s the part time sales associate who closes most weeknights, and I adore her. She’s barely twenty, and such a wide-eyed innocent sometimes. She reminds me of me when I was twenty. When I firmly believed I could do no wrong and everyone I knew liked me.

  That was also before I started working with future brides, who will remind you real quick that they don’t have to like you if they don’t want to.

  The store phone rings and Cassie answers it, then puts it on mute to tell me, “It’s for you, Caroline.”

  “Thanks.” I go to my desk and answer the call to find Tiffany on the other end.

  “Carolyn, thank God you’re there.” I don’t bother correcting her on my name. Besides, she sounds completely frazzled. “I’m checking to see if our save the date cards ended up shipping to the store.”

  “I had them shipped to your fiancé’s house,” I remind her as I grab my iPad and bring up their order to double check myself. “Yes, it states right here that they’re shipping to Alex Wilder’s address in Carmel.”

  “They aren’t here.” Now she sounds panicked. And maybe a little pissed too. “You promised me they were supposed to arrive today.”

  Uh oh. I don’t like her choice of the word promise. I don’t promise anything. I’m not that crazy.

  But why aren’t they there? I know the basic times of UPS deliveries, and they should’ve arrived at his house by now.

  My heart starts to race. What if they don’t arrive? No, they always show up. Always, always, always.

  “Yes, they’re supposed to arrive by the end of today. It’s still early—” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “No, not really. It’s almost five, and UPS is done delivering for the day in our area. I already checked.” Tiffany’s stern voice tells me she’s not messing around, and my stomach drops. “It’s imperative those invitations arrive today. We plan on sending them out by the end of the weekend. The labels are already printed and ready to go. The only thing we’re waiting on is the cards.”

  Shit.

  “Did you check the shipping status? Hold on, let me do that.” I copy the UPS tracking number and open up their site, pasting the number into the required box before hitting send. “I’m sure they’re going to arrive today. I’ve double and triple checked the order for the last few days, keeping track of every step.”

  That’s no lie. I knew this order was going to cut it close, so I made sure to stay on top of it.

  “Maybe you haven’t checked enough, Carolyn.” Her snooty tone indicates she doesn’t believe me.

  And I swear she gets my name wrong on purpose.

  The information starts to load on the website screen and I tap my fingers against the edge of the iPad, nervous anticipation making my stomach twist. This is the one order I can’t screw up, and I’m scared I already did. I know I made sure the cards were sent to the Wilder residence. Why would I have them sent here?

  Maybe she’s not looking in the right spot around the house, or maybe they went to his workplace? Though I don’t know how that could happen…

  “Well? Where are they?” Tiffany practically screeches after I’m silent for too long.

  I scan the information on the website, relief flooding me. “They were sent here by accident. They delivered earlier today.” Again, not sure how that got messed up, though it’s happened before. Sometimes the home orders get thrown into the store orders, but it’s not common. All that matters though, is that someone has them, thank God.

  “And you didn’t see them when they arrived?”

  “I’m not the one who checks the deliveries.” That’s usually up to Iris, or our stock guy Jim.

  “Well, someone fell down on the job,” Tiffany says snottily. “Where exactly are they?”

  “Most likely in our stockroom.”

  “Will you please go check and let me know right away?” Tiffany asks.

  “Of course. I’ll go check right now,” I tell her.

  “Good. Call me back.”

  She ends the call before I can even say anything in reply.

  I head for our tiny stockroom, stopping short when I see the stack of boxes awaiting me. It’s a Friday, and I know sometimes on Fridays Iris has Jim do other stuff around the store. So then she sorts through all the boxes on Saturday, when the store is fully staffed and she can spend her morning behind the scenes.

  Looks like I’m the one who’s going to sort through all the boxes today. And I’m not dressed for it either, what with me wearing my white eyelet top I got on clearance at the end of last summer and trendy wide-leg jeans Stella gave me because she thought they looked weird on her.

  Not clothes I want to open a bunch of dusty boxes in. Doesn’t matter how long those boxes have been sitting around, they are always, without a doubt, dusty. And dirty.

  Ugh.

  After opening box after box and digging through their contents, I finally find the save the date cards, and I am so freaking relieved, I give a little cry of joy when I spot them. I open the box with my trusty box cutter and check the cards, making sure the information is correct.

  All looks good, which means all is right with the world.

  Grabbing the box, I settle it on my hip and exit the stockroom, heading for my desk so I can call Tiffany back and let her know her cards are here. But she’s not as enthused as I thought she might be when I make the call, and when I ask her how she wants to get the cards, she doesn’t hesitate with her request.

  “Bring them to Alex’s house,” she says.

  “Right now?” I glance at my phone for the time. It’s almost five, meaning I’m almost done for the weekend. I don’t have any Saturday appointments this week, so I’m excited to actually have the day off for once.

  “Right now,” Tiffany says firmly. “It’s the least you can do to make up for this major screw up, Carolyn.”

  “It’s Caroline,” I correct her, fed up with her yet again calling me by the wrong name.

  “I expect you within the hour, Caroline.” She ends the call before I can say another word, and I’m so annoyed I almost want to scream.

  Almost.

  I don’t scream. Instead, I tell Cassie I’m leaving a little early to deliver something to a client, grab the heavy box of three hundred save the date cards, and then call Stella to ask if I can borrow her car.

  Of course Alexander Wilder lives on 17-Mile Drive, though at least his home is closer to the Carmel side, so I don’t have to drive too deep in. But it’s still quite the drive, and since it’s a gorgeous, sunny late Friday afternoon, the tourists are out in force, driving extra slow so they can check out the beautiful views of the ocean and all the gorgeous homes along the way.

  I’ve only been on 17-Mile Drive a few times, and I’ve lived in this area my entire life. But why would I want to go on a scenic route that costs money to drive? That’s crazy talk, no matter how famous and beautiful it is. Plus, none of my friends lived up here. This area is way too fancypants for my blood. The wealthiest person in my life is Stella, since her family makes a fortune with their café/bakery.

  But Stella loves a good sale like everyone else. She’s the least fanciest fancy person I know.

  Signing, I restrain the temptation to lay on the horn and instead I hit the brakes, waiting for the car ahead of me to finish taking photos of the sprawling home on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the Pacific. I may have grown up in the Monterey Bay area, but I grew up in an older part of Monterey, then before I started high school we moved to Seaside, where the income levels are way lower and the ocean views are pretty much nonexistent. This type of living was the stuff of dreams for me when I was a kid. The castle on the hill above the sea, the handsome rich prince who dwelled inside…

  Fantasy, all of it.

  Siri tells me I need to turn left in a mile, so I’m actually thankful for the slow tourists ahead of me, their speed helping me not miss my turnoff. I put on my blinker and turn onto the narrow road, my jaw dropping at the opulent houses that surround me. Though I can barely see them, what with the tall gates and fences that protect the homes from curious onlookers. These homes aren’t just for rich people. They belong to the top-level CEOs, billionaires, even old money.

  I spot the Wilder address and slowly pull into the driveway, rolling down my window so I can enter the gate code Tiffany texted me right before I left Noteworthy. She also texted me very specific instructions.

  Please make sure you leave the box in the alcove to the right of the front door so no one can see it. Not that we have porch robbers in the neighborhood, but you can’t be too safe! Thank you!

  I was surprised by the thank you, but I’ll take what I can get from her.

  The driveway is long and curvy, lined by thick redwoods that open up every once in a while to offer a teassing glimpse of the ocean. I keep my window rolled down, the scent of the sea washing over me, mixed with the rich fragrance of the redwoods, and I breathe in deep, relishing the brief moment.

  What would it be like, to live like this? To have an endless supply of money, to never have to worry about…anything?

  The driveway ends in a circle directly in front of the house, which is freakin’ unbelievable. It’s a split level, all lean angles and clean lines, and has so many freaking windows, it’s almost as if the entire house is made of glass.

  I put the car in park and climb out, heading for the trunk to get the box of save the date cards. Before I grab it, I glance down at myself, noting the brown smudges on the front of my white shirt from carrying the box earlier. I try to brush them off, but it’s no use. My shirt is kind of wrinkled too, and my makeup is probably all sweated off from when I was tearing through the boxes in the stockroom. I’m sure I look like a wreck.

  Good thing I’m not seeing Alex today.

  Tucking my hair behind my right ear, I haul the box into my arms, somehow manage to shut the trunk with my elbow, and start my approach toward the vast front door.

  Correction, make that doors, since there are two. They’re tall, at least ten feet, maybe taller, incredibly imposing, and made of a solid wood that’s stained a dark, rich brown. The color reminds me of the color of Alex’s hair.

  Lord, woman, you need to stop with the Alex thoughts!

  I’m being ridiculous. I barely know him. I talked to him for only a couple of minutes, dealt with him at work, knew him when I was a kid, we shared a first kiss I put too much expectation on when I was young, yet I’m somehow drawn to him? It makes no sense. I mean, yes, he’s good looking, I understand that reason for being attracted to him. But why this weird fascination with him? I mean, he’s engaged.

  We always want what we can’t have.

  Isn’t that the truth?

  Determination pushing me forward, I climb the four steps that lead to the front doors and spot the tiny alcove Tiffany mentioned in her text. I set the box down carefully, tucking it into the alcove as best as I can.

  Rising to my full and not so impressive height, I catch movement in the window closest to me, and like the curious person I’ve always been, I lean forward, trying to see what it was.

  Listen, I need to make something clear at this point. There aren’t any coverings on the windows. No blinds, no curtains, nothing. So it shouldn’t be surprising that I saw something—or someone. And that I wanted to examine it further, because hello, I think if you were in the same situation, you would do the same damn thing, am I right?

  So yeah. I lean forward, crane my neck to the right, and lo and behold I see Tiffany standing in what looks like a living room, wearing…

  A pair of black lacy panties. And that’s it.

  I shift away from the window, my heart racing. I wasn’t supposed to see that. I’m being a creeper during an intimate moment, and that’s kind of gross. I take a step back, ready to turn and hightail it out of there, but then I hear high-pitched laughter, accompanied by a man’s voice saying something I can’t quite make out. My curiosity comes back full force, and yep, I’m creepin’ again, hoping for a glimpse of Alex Wilder without his shirt on, maybe?

  Please. No judgment.

  Unfortunately, Alex has his back to me. And it’s an impressive one, not that I’m surprised, all wide and muscly. Yes, I can see it in all its bare glory, considering he’s wearing a pair of black lounge pants that rest low on his hips and nothing else. Tiffany is facing him, and while I can’t see her entire face, I can see her mouth, and it’s stretched wide with a smile.