save the date- the bridal shower | william nylander
a/n: wow, has it been that long? I can't promise it wont be four years before there's a next part, but one can hope.
prologue | the engagement party
“You’re having a tea party?” Will frowns, throwing an almond in his mouth, somehow still sounding confused, even though Sutton’s explained this to him a hundred times
“I mean,” Sutton clicks through one of her excel sheets to enter some updated figures for Ally’s shower. “Yes. But probably not how you’re thinking about it. It’s like, a brunch.”
Will stops digging through her trail mix for “the good stuff” and eyes her up. “What kind of brunch?”
“The kind you’re not invited to.” Sutton says sweetly, too sweetly; she knows what he’s after.
“Sutton.” He groans when she thwarts his invite. “You know brunch is my favorite meal.”
“Last week it was dinner.” She frowns, hearing her phone vibrating somewhere on the table, but unable to see it.
“Second dinner.” Will corrects her. “And that was before.”
“Second dinner.” She mutters under her breath, shuffling some papers around, finally finding her phone. “Silly me.”
“Yes, that was-”
“It’s Ally.” She cuts off what was sure to be a ridiculous statement, holding finger up to shush him. “Hey!” She answers.
“I have the biggest favor to ask.” Ally jumps in immediately, no hi, no hello, no nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Sutton asks.
“So you know that big storm we’ve been worried about hitting this weekend and ruining the shower?” Ally tees up.
“Uh huh.” Sutton says.
“Well it’s here right now…my flight is delayed.”
Sutton looks at her calendar. “Ok…”
“And…I made an appointment with a bridal shop for this afternoon when I get in.” Ally pauses. “When I was supposed to get in.” She amends.
“What? Do you need me to cancel it?” Sutton puts her on speaker and starts scrolling through her contact list. “Just tell me who it’s with. I’ll take care of it.”
“Actually…” Ally hesitates. “There’s a few dresses there that they agreed to hold until today only. So I was hoping…that you’d go over and try them on for me?” She asks hopefully. “Send pics so I can at least decide if I like them on someone and if it’s worth putting a hold on?”
“Ally.” Sutton sighs.
“Please, please, please?”Ally begs. “I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Sutton drawls but she checks her calendar. Besides one call with a venue coordinator that she can push back to tomorrow, she’s free. “Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t expect these pictures to be perfect! Or even flattering.”
“You’re the best!” Ally cheers. “I love you! The sister I never had! Love of my life.”
“This alone is worth a five-star google review.” Sutton grumbles teasingly.
“Six!”Ally promises, blowing her kisses as she hangs up, with promises to keep her posted about her flight status.
“Well fuck.” Sutton says to Will, once she hangs up. He’s laughing openly, not even trying to hide it. “Clear your schedule for the afternoon.”
“Excuse me?” He asks.
“How badly do you want that brunch invite?” She says, gathering her stuff together. “Come on, let’s go.”
-----
Snickering.
That’s all Sutton hears as the store consultant adjusts a veil and fixes the train around her. Rachel- the bridal consultant who’d greeted them upon their arrival about two hours ago and hadn’t even blinked when Sutton had explained that she was here as a stand in- finally steps back and assesses her work with a critical eye.
“You look like a cake.” Will says and he finally loses it entirely, letting out that loud laugh of his.
Rachel is, of course, too well trained to say anything, but Sutton hisses at him. “William!”
“What?” He laughs. “It’s true!”
Well…he’s not wrong. This one’s a ballgown, strapless cut with a sweetheart neckline into a beautiful corset bodice. At the waist though, the skirt cascaded down into layers of silk organza fabric. The texture and the sheer amount of fabric in the skirt did give it the appearance of a tiered wedding cake.
Sutton decides it’s better not to acknowledge and agree with him. “Just take the picture, please.” Right now, she’s not even sure why she decided to bring him along.
“Turn a little.” He points to the left. “No, not that far. There!” He takes a few pictures- both vertical and horizontal- and then gestures for her to turn a little the other way before taking more. “Got ‘em.”
Right, that’s why. His sisters have trained him well in photo taking.
“I could get used to this.” Will muses, accepting the offer for another pour of champagne for each of them, as Rachel removes the veil to get Sutton into the next dress. “You in the market for an assistant?”
She is, actually, but she has very high standards. “It’s not all champagne and sitting!” She teases, as Rachel begins the process of doffing this dress and donning the next.
“I’m in it for the food alone.” Will decides.
Sutton laughs. “You already get that now; how am I supposed to make you actually do work as my assistant?”
“Mm, good point.” She can practically hear his grin, even from behind the curtain. “I’ll stick with my day job, I guess. Pass my knowledge on when you do find one.”
“Knowledge of what?” Sutton laughs. “Hockey plays? Best restaurants?”
“What to do when you’re stressed out.” He responds. “How to calm you down when-oh, hello!” He grins when she steps out.
“Oh no.” What was that tone? Sutton steps up on the platform and looks in the mirror. “Oh my god! This is not a dress. This is lingerie.”
“If that’s what you think is lingerie, you need to get out more.” Will says teasingly, but his eyes keep roaming her up and down like they don’t know where to focus- the ample chest hanging out the too-low sweetheart neckline; the sheer, corset bodice with the exposed boning and floral lace; or the very high leg slit in the skirt.
“William!” Sutton glares at him in the mirror.
“Right, pics.” He nods and begins snapping at all the right angles.
“That wasn’t-” She shakes her head, stopping midsentence as she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with that anyway. She wasn’t calling him out, and she wasn’t trying to hint at him to get on with it, she was just…well, she doesn’t actually know what she was doing. “I think there’s one more.” Sutton says, quieter than she has been since they entered.
If Will notices, he doesn’t comment. “Perfect, time for a little more champagne.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t even like champagne that much.” She laughs, following Rachel.
“It’s the vibes!” Will calls back to her. “Immaculate.” She laughs, allowing herself to be fit into the final dress. “They don’t do this with tux fittings.”
“That’s because it’s all about the bride.” Sutton teases, stepping out, smoothing her fingers over the smooth satin material. She likes this dress, is surprised Ally had them pull it; it’s really not Ally’s style at all. It’s a clean, A-line gown with an off shoulder, portrait neckline; delicate but structured, simple but striking. “Everything is all for the bride.” She grins, stepping up on the platform to allow Rachel to adjust the skirt and the train.
“Yeah.” Will says, sounding almost breathless, even more so than when he was hysterical about the cake dress, and so Sutton turns to see in the mirror what could possibly have him sounding like that.
She can’t see anything except herself though, in this beautiful, perfect dress that she absolutely loves, and when she looks up to catch his eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. He just keeps looking at her, as if in awe, in disbelief, like he can’t believe she’s real. It’s almost like she’s really the-
“Did you guys want pictures of this one-or…? Rachel says and Sutton jumps at the interruption. How long were they standing there for?
When she looks back, Will hasn’t moved and she meets his eyes in the mirror for the second time as he says, “Nah, I think we can skip this one.”
-----
“Stop that!” Sutton smacks Will’s hand away from the three-tiered serving stand filled with macarons. “Those are for later.”
“Come on.” He whines. “I was so good! I didn’t have a single sandwich even though they’re, like, bite-size. I carried all the things I was supposed to. I crushed the tea table!”
She sighs. All of those things are objectively true, especially the tea table, where he had painstakingly set up the different patterned china cups and tea plates that she’d been collecting for the occasion. “Fine. Fine. One.” Will cheers in delight. “From the back! Don’t touch the front; it’s perfectly arranged.”
“I would never.” Will says solemnly and then grins at her as he makes sure to reach widely around the plate for a macaron. “See?” He says, mouth full of pastry. “No harm.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak mouthful.” Sutton says dryly, and turns to inspect the room.
Everything looks just as she’d hoped- just as she’d planned. The floral centerpieces in pastel shades of blues, purples, and greens burst from the teapots at the center of each table. The small finger food appetizers have been set, ready for guests to help themselves, before the main meal is served. The bartenders are finishing their set up- wine, mimosas, the works. Favors have been placed; games are prepped and ready. She nods as she runs through her mental checklist.
“It’s all good.” Will says, arm squeezing her shoulders tightly and shaking her around a little in that way she used to find annoying but has come to realize is just Will. “Go put your real shoes on before anyone comes and sees you in sneakers!” He gasps mockingly. “The horror.”
“It’s like you’re trying to annoy me today.” Sutton says.
He grins. “Can’t stress about the party if you’re annoyed at me.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Go.” He nudges. “I’ll keep watch for Ally if you’re not back.”
Ally’s just coming in when Sutton returns from the back room, where she’s stored all the boxes from decorating and her change of shoes. She’s accompanied by her mom, Kim, and her grandmother, Barbara, who are gushing over the space, the decor, the theme, and Will all within the first minute of arrival.
Shocker.
Will can flirt it up with an old lady with the best of them so Sutton doesn’t bother to rescue him, choosing instead to steal Ally and show her all of the little things she requested (and some special touches Sutton knows she’ll love). Ally is thrilled, beaming over all the details, big and small, as they wander around the room toward the bar, just in time for the first wave of guests to arrive.
It’s a while before she finds Will again, greeting friends as they come in and introducing herself to relatives of both Ally and Kappy, but she’s just about to find the rest of the bridesmaids to ask them to help her disperse everyone to their seats when he appears at her shoulder.
“Bingo!” He drapes an arm over her shoulders casually, but strong enough to stop her in her tracks.
“What?” She frowns.
“Bingo.” He repeats, waving the brown cardstock in her face; she swats it away.
“It’s been like an hour!” She says in disbelief.
“Double bingo actually.” He says, after a moment of study to his card. “See, look. Beth is the oldest child; Nanny Helen is the oldest person here; Ally-cat has been to more than two countries; Sweet, dear, looking-hotter-than-ever cousin Freya is a vegetarian; and you-” He pauses to poke her nose. “-are the same age as me!”
“I don’t count!” Sutton tries to argue, even though she’d signed more than one bingo card already.
Will shrugs, undeterred. “Alright. Aunt Gina is left handed; Haley had a baby last year; McKayla is the youngest person here-”
She cuts him off before he can continue. “Gimme that.” She pulls the card from his hand and looks. There’s only a few spaces left that he hasn’t filled out. Who hasn’t he spoken to yet, good lord?
“No bullshit free space either.” He comments. “All for the love of the game.” She cracks up at that and Will grins. “Do I win?”
“Oh my god.” She can’t.
“First pick of the prizes?” He goads.
“Go check on how the food is coming.” She shoves him off her and he crows victoriously.
-----
Long after they’d served the food, after Brooke had won the Spill the Tea game and Ally won the shoe game tie-breaker against a Face-timed Kappy, after Sutton had made Will carry all the gifts down to Ally's car, it was only her and Will left doing a final sweep.
That’s definitely Kayla’s sweater hanging on a chair back, she’s always leaving things everywhere. Sutton snags it and adds it to the growing pile of things in Will’s arms.
“Sutton, if you add one more thing to this pile, it’s going to crash on the floor.” Will threatens.
“What? Too weak to carry it all?” She teases, still focused on scanning the room.
“You got it all.” Will says, ignoring the chirp he’d normally latch right onto. “Grab your stuff, let’s go home. Watch a movie. Relax.”
“That sounds nice.” She says honestly. It’s been a busy couple weeks getting this ready. It’ll feel good to sit down.
“I bought kettle corn just for the occasion.” Will says, and he waits until he sees that she’s started exiting before he even follows.
“You’re the best.” Sutton declares.
“Where was the energy when I won bingo?” Will grins.
save the date- the bridal shower | william nylander
a/n: wow, has it been that long? I can't promise it wont be four years before there's a next part, but one can hope.
prologue | the engagement party
“You’re having a tea party?” Will frowns, throwing an almond in his mouth, somehow still sounding confused, even though Sutton’s explained this to him a hundred times
“I mean,” Sutton clicks through one of her excel sheets to enter some updated figures for Ally’s shower. “Yes. But probably not how you’re thinking about it. It’s like, a brunch.”
Will stops digging through her trail mix for “the good stuff” and eyes her up. “What kind of brunch?”
“The kind you’re not invited to.” Sutton says sweetly, too sweetly; she knows what he’s after.
“Sutton.” He groans when she thwarts his invite. “You know brunch is my favorite meal.”
“Last week it was dinner.” She frowns, hearing her phone vibrating somewhere on the table, but unable to see it.
“Second dinner.” Will corrects her. “And that was before.”
“Second dinner.” She mutters under her breath, shuffling some papers around, finally finding her phone. “Silly me.”
“Yes, that was-”
“It’s Ally.” She cuts off what was sure to be a ridiculous statement, holding finger up to shush him. “Hey!” She answers.
“I have the biggest favor to ask.” Ally jumps in immediately, no hi, no hello, no nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Sutton asks.
“So you know that big storm we’ve been worried about hitting this weekend and ruining the shower?” Ally tees up.
“Uh huh.” Sutton says.
“Well it’s here right now…my flight is delayed.”
Sutton looks at her calendar. “Ok…”
“And…I made an appointment with a bridal shop for this afternoon when I get in.” Ally pauses. “When I was supposed to get in.” She amends.
“What? Do you need me to cancel it?” Sutton puts her on speaker and starts scrolling through her contact list. “Just tell me who it’s with. I’ll take care of it.”
“Actually…” Ally hesitates. “There’s a few dresses there that they agreed to hold until today only. So I was hoping…that you’d go over and try them on for me?” She asks hopefully. “Send pics so I can at least decide if I like them on someone and if it’s worth putting a hold on?”
“Ally.” Sutton sighs.
“Please, please, please?”Ally begs. “I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Sutton drawls but she checks her calendar. Besides one call with a venue coordinator that she can push back to tomorrow, she’s free. “Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t expect these pictures to be perfect! Or even flattering.”
“You’re the best!” Ally cheers. “I love you! The sister I never had! Love of my life.”
“This alone is worth a five-star google review.” Sutton grumbles teasingly.
“Six!”Ally promises, blowing her kisses as she hangs up, with promises to keep her posted about her flight status.
“Well fuck.” Sutton says to Will, once she hangs up. He’s laughing openly, not even trying to hide it. “Clear your schedule for the afternoon.”
“Excuse me?” He asks.
“How badly do you want that brunch invite?” She says, gathering her stuff together. “Come on, let’s go.”
-----
Snickering.
That’s all Sutton hears as the store consultant adjusts a veil and fixes the train around her. Rachel- the bridal consultant who’d greeted them upon their arrival about two hours ago and hadn’t even blinked when Sutton had explained that she was here as a stand in- finally steps back and assesses her work with a critical eye.
“You look like a cake.” Will says and he finally loses it entirely, letting out that loud laugh of his.
Rachel is, of course, too well trained to say anything, but Sutton hisses at him. “William!”
“What?” He laughs. “It’s true!”
Well…he’s not wrong. This one’s a ballgown, strapless cut with a sweetheart neckline into a beautiful corset bodice. At the waist though, the skirt cascaded down into layers of silk organza fabric. The texture and the sheer amount of fabric in the skirt did give it the appearance of a tiered wedding cake.
Sutton decides it’s better not to acknowledge and agree with him. “Just take the picture, please.” Right now, she’s not even sure why she decided to bring him along.
“Turn a little.” He points to the left. “No, not that far. There!” He takes a few pictures- both vertical and horizontal- and then gestures for her to turn a little the other way before taking more. “Got ‘em.”
Right, that’s why. His sisters have trained him well in photo taking.
“I could get used to this.” Will muses, accepting the offer for another pour of champagne for each of them, as Rachel removes the veil to get Sutton into the next dress. “You in the market for an assistant?”
She is, actually, but she has very high standards. “It’s not all champagne and sitting!” She teases, as Rachel begins the process of doffing this dress and donning the next.
“I’m in it for the food alone.” Will decides.
Sutton laughs. “You already get that now; how am I supposed to make you actually do work as my assistant?”
“Mm, good point.” She can practically hear his grin, even from behind the curtain. “I’ll stick with my day job, I guess. Pass my knowledge on when you do find one.”
“Knowledge of what?” Sutton laughs. “Hockey plays? Best restaurants?”
“What to do when you’re stressed out.” He responds. “How to calm you down when-oh, hello!” He grins when she steps out.
“Oh no.” What was that tone? Sutton steps up on the platform and looks in the mirror. “Oh my god! This is not a dress. This is lingerie.”
“If that’s what you think is lingerie, you need to get out more.” Will says teasingly, but his eyes keep roaming her up and down like they don’t know where to focus- the ample chest hanging out the too-low sweetheart neckline; the sheer, corset bodice with the exposed boning and floral lace; or the very high leg slit in the skirt.
“William!” Sutton glares at him in the mirror.
“Right, pics.” He nods and begins snapping at all the right angles.
“That wasn’t-” She shakes her head, stopping midsentence as she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with that anyway. She wasn’t calling him out, and she wasn’t trying to hint at him to get on with it, she was just…well, she doesn’t actually know what she was doing. “I think there’s one more.” Sutton says, quieter than she has been since they entered.
If Will notices, he doesn’t comment. “Perfect, time for a little more champagne.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t even like champagne that much.” She laughs, following Rachel.
“It’s the vibes!” Will calls back to her. “Immaculate.” She laughs, allowing herself to be fit into the final dress. “They don’t do this with tux fittings.”
“That’s because it’s all about the bride.” Sutton teases, stepping out, smoothing her fingers over the smooth satin material. She likes this dress, is surprised Ally had them pull it; it’s really not Ally’s style at all. It’s a clean, A-line gown with an off shoulder, portrait neckline; delicate but structured, simple but striking. “Everything is all for the bride.” She grins, stepping up on the platform to allow Rachel to adjust the skirt and the train.
“Yeah.” Will says, sounding almost breathless, even more so than when he was hysterical about the cake dress, and so Sutton turns to see in the mirror what could possibly have him sounding like that.
She can’t see anything except herself though, in this beautiful, perfect dress that she absolutely loves, and when she looks up to catch his eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. He just keeps looking at her, as if in awe, in disbelief, like he can’t believe she’s real. It’s almost like she’s really the-
“Did you guys want pictures of this one-or…? Rachel says and Sutton jumps at the interruption. How long were they standing there for?
When she looks back, Will hasn’t moved and she meets his eyes in the mirror for the second time as he says, “Nah, I think we can skip this one.”
-----
“Stop that!” Sutton smacks Will’s hand away from the three-tiered serving stand filled with macarons. “Those are for later.”
“Come on.” He whines. “I was so good! I didn’t have a single sandwich even though they’re, like, bite-size. I carried all the things I was supposed to. I crushed the tea table!”
She sighs. All of those things are objectively true, especially the tea table, where he had painstakingly set up the different patterned china cups and tea plates that she’d been collecting for the occasion. “Fine. Fine. One.” Will cheers in delight. “From the back! Don’t touch the front; it’s perfectly arranged.”
“I would never.” Will says solemnly and then grins at her as he makes sure to reach widely around the plate for a macaron. “See?” He says, mouth full of pastry. “No harm.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak mouthful.” Sutton says dryly, and turns to inspect the room.
Everything looks just as she’d hoped- just as she’d planned. The floral centerpieces in pastel shades of blues, purples, and greens burst from the teapots at the center of each table. The small finger food appetizers have been set, ready for guests to help themselves, before the main meal is served. The bartenders are finishing their set up- wine, mimosas, the works. Favors have been placed; games are prepped and ready. She nods as she runs through her mental checklist.
“It’s all good.” Will says, arm squeezing her shoulders tightly and shaking her around a little in that way she used to find annoying but has come to realize is just Will. “Go put your real shoes on before anyone comes and sees you in sneakers!” He gasps mockingly. “The horror.”
“It’s like you’re trying to annoy me today.” Sutton says.
He grins. “Can’t stress about the party if you’re annoyed at me.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Go.” He nudges. “I’ll keep watch for Ally if you’re not back.”
Ally’s just coming in when Sutton returns from the back room, where she’s stored all the boxes from decorating and her change of shoes. She’s accompanied by her mom, Kim, and her grandmother, Barbara, who are gushing over the space, the decor, the theme, and Will all within the first minute of arrival.
Shocker.
Will can flirt it up with an old lady with the best of them so Sutton doesn’t bother to rescue him, choosing instead to steal Ally and show her all of the little things she requested (and some special touches Sutton knows she’ll love). Ally is thrilled, beaming over all the details, big and small, as they wander around the room toward the bar, just in time for the first wave of guests to arrive.
It’s a while before she finds Will again, greeting friends as they come in and introducing herself to relatives of both Ally and Kappy, but she’s just about to find the rest of the bridesmaids to ask them to help her disperse everyone to their seats when he appears at her shoulder.
“Bingo!” He drapes an arm over her shoulders casually, but strong enough to stop her in her tracks.
“What?” She frowns.
“Bingo.” He repeats, waving the brown cardstock in her face; she swats it away.
“It’s been like an hour!” She says in disbelief.
“Double bingo actually.” He says, after a moment of study to his card. “See, look. Beth is the oldest child; Nanny Helen is the oldest person here; Ally-cat has been to more than two countries; Sweet, dear, looking-hotter-than-ever cousin Freya is a vegetarian; and you-” He pauses to poke her nose. “-are the same age as me!”
“I don’t count!” Sutton tries to argue, even though she’d signed more than one bingo card already.
Will shrugs, undeterred. “Alright. Aunt Gina is left handed; Haley had a baby last year; McKayla is the youngest person here-”
She cuts him off before he can continue. “Gimme that.” She pulls the card from his hand and looks. There’s only a few spaces left that he hasn’t filled out. Who hasn’t he spoken to yet, good lord?
“No bullshit free space either.” He comments. “All for the love of the game.” She cracks up at that and Will grins. “Do I win?”
“Oh my god.” She can’t.
“First pick of the prizes?” He goads.
“Go check on how the food is coming.” She shoves him off her and he crows victoriously.
-----
Long after they’d served the food, after Brooke had won the Spill the Tea game and Ally won the shoe game tie-breaker against a Face-timed Kappy, after Sutton had made Will carry all the gifts down to Ally's car, it was only her and Will left doing a final sweep.
That’s definitely Kayla’s sweater hanging on a chair back, she’s always leaving things everywhere. Sutton snags it and adds it to the growing pile of things in Will’s arms.
“Sutton, if you add one more thing to this pile, it’s going to crash on the floor.” Will threatens.
“What? Too weak to carry it all?” She teases, still focused on scanning the room.
“You got it all.” Will says, ignoring the chirp he’d normally latch right onto. “Grab your stuff, let’s go home. Watch a movie. Relax.”
“That sounds nice.” She says honestly. It’s been a busy couple weeks getting this ready. It’ll feel good to sit down.
“I bought kettle corn just for the occasion.” Will says, and he waits until he sees that she’s started exiting before he even follows.
“You’re the best.” Sutton declares.
“Where was the energy when I won bingo?” Will grins.
save the date- the bridal shower | william nylander
a/n: wow, has it been that long? I can't promise it wont be four years before there's a next part, but one can hope.
prologue | the engagement party
“You’re having a tea party?” Will frowns, throwing an almond in his mouth, somehow still sounding confused, even though Sutton’s explained this to him a hundred times
“I mean,” Sutton clicks through one of her excel sheets to enter some updated figures for Ally’s shower. “Yes. But probably not how you’re thinking about it. It’s like, a brunch.”
Will stops digging through her trail mix for “the good stuff” and eyes her up. “What kind of brunch?”
“The kind you’re not invited to.” Sutton says sweetly, too sweetly; she knows what he’s after.
“Sutton.” He groans when she thwarts his invite. “You know brunch is my favorite meal.”
“Last week it was dinner.” She frowns, hearing her phone vibrating somewhere on the table, but unable to see it.
“Second dinner.” Will corrects her. “And that was before.”
“Second dinner.” She mutters under her breath, shuffling some papers around, finally finding her phone. “Silly me.”
“Yes, that was-”
“It’s Ally.” She cuts off what was sure to be a ridiculous statement, holding finger up to shush him. “Hey!” She answers.
“I have the biggest favor to ask.” Ally jumps in immediately, no hi, no hello, no nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Sutton asks.
“So you know that big storm we’ve been worried about hitting this weekend and ruining the shower?” Ally tees up.
“Uh huh.” Sutton says.
“Well it’s here right now…my flight is delayed.”
Sutton looks at her calendar. “Ok…”
“And…I made an appointment with a bridal shop for this afternoon when I get in.” Ally pauses. “When I was supposed to get in.” She amends.
“What? Do you need me to cancel it?” Sutton puts her on speaker and starts scrolling through her contact list. “Just tell me who it’s with. I’ll take care of it.”
“Actually…” Ally hesitates. “There’s a few dresses there that they agreed to hold until today only. So I was hoping…that you’d go over and try them on for me?” She asks hopefully. “Send pics so I can at least decide if I like them on someone and if it’s worth putting a hold on?”
“Ally.” Sutton sighs.
“Please, please, please?”Ally begs. “I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Sutton drawls but she checks her calendar. Besides one call with a venue coordinator that she can push back to tomorrow, she’s free. “Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t expect these pictures to be perfect! Or even flattering.”
“You’re the best!” Ally cheers. “I love you! The sister I never had! Love of my life.”
“This alone is worth a five-star google review.” Sutton grumbles teasingly.
“Six!”Ally promises, blowing her kisses as she hangs up, with promises to keep her posted about her flight status.
“Well fuck.” Sutton says to Will, once she hangs up. He’s laughing openly, not even trying to hide it. “Clear your schedule for the afternoon.”
“Excuse me?” He asks.
“How badly do you want that brunch invite?” She says, gathering her stuff together. “Come on, let’s go.”
-----
Snickering.
That’s all Sutton hears as the store consultant adjusts a veil and fixes the train around her. Rachel- the bridal consultant who’d greeted them upon their arrival about two hours ago and hadn’t even blinked when Sutton had explained that she was here as a stand in- finally steps back and assesses her work with a critical eye.
“You look like a cake.” Will says and he finally loses it entirely, letting out that loud laugh of his.
Rachel is, of course, too well trained to say anything, but Sutton hisses at him. “William!”
“What?” He laughs. “It’s true!”
Well…he’s not wrong. This one’s a ballgown, strapless cut with a sweetheart neckline into a beautiful corset bodice. At the waist though, the skirt cascaded down into layers of silk organza fabric. The texture and the sheer amount of fabric in the skirt did give it the appearance of a tiered wedding cake.
Sutton decides it’s better not to acknowledge and agree with him. “Just take the picture, please.” Right now, she’s not even sure why she decided to bring him along.
“Turn a little.” He points to the left. “No, not that far. There!” He takes a few pictures- both vertical and horizontal- and then gestures for her to turn a little the other way before taking more. “Got ‘em.”
Right, that’s why. His sisters have trained him well in photo taking.
“I could get used to this.” Will muses, accepting the offer for another pour of champagne for each of them, as Rachel removes the veil to get Sutton into the next dress. “You in the market for an assistant?”
She is, actually, but she has very high standards. “It’s not all champagne and sitting!” She teases, as Rachel begins the process of doffing this dress and donning the next.
“I’m in it for the food alone.” Will decides.
Sutton laughs. “You already get that now; how am I supposed to make you actually do work as my assistant?”
“Mm, good point.” She can practically hear his grin, even from behind the curtain. “I’ll stick with my day job, I guess. Pass my knowledge on when you do find one.”
“Knowledge of what?” Sutton laughs. “Hockey plays? Best restaurants?”
“What to do when you’re stressed out.” He responds. “How to calm you down when-oh, hello!” He grins when she steps out.
“Oh no.” What was that tone? Sutton steps up on the platform and looks in the mirror. “Oh my god! This is not a dress. This is lingerie.”
“If that’s what you think is lingerie, you need to get out more.” Will says teasingly, but his eyes keep roaming her up and down like they don’t know where to focus- the ample chest hanging out the too-low sweetheart neckline; the sheer, corset bodice with the exposed boning and floral lace; or the very high leg slit in the skirt.
“William!” Sutton glares at him in the mirror.
“Right, pics.” He nods and begins snapping at all the right angles.
“That wasn’t-” She shakes her head, stopping midsentence as she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with that anyway. She wasn’t calling him out, and she wasn’t trying to hint at him to get on with it, she was just…well, she doesn’t actually know what she was doing. “I think there’s one more.” Sutton says, quieter than she has been since they entered.
If Will notices, he doesn’t comment. “Perfect, time for a little more champagne.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t even like champagne that much.” She laughs, following Rachel.
“It’s the vibes!” Will calls back to her. “Immaculate.” She laughs, allowing herself to be fit into the final dress. “They don’t do this with tux fittings.”
“That’s because it’s all about the bride.” Sutton teases, stepping out, smoothing her fingers over the smooth satin material. She likes this dress, is surprised Ally had them pull it; it’s really not Ally’s style at all. It’s a clean, A-line gown with an off shoulder, portrait neckline; delicate but structured, simple but striking. “Everything is all for the bride.” She grins, stepping up on the platform to allow Rachel to adjust the skirt and the train.
“Yeah.” Will says, sounding almost breathless, even more so than when he was hysterical about the cake dress, and so Sutton turns to see in the mirror what could possibly have him sounding like that.
She can’t see anything except herself though, in this beautiful, perfect dress that she absolutely loves, and when she looks up to catch his eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. He just keeps looking at her, as if in awe, in disbelief, like he can’t believe she’s real. It’s almost like she’s really the-
“Did you guys want pictures of this one-or…? Rachel says and Sutton jumps at the interruption. How long were they standing there for?
When she looks back, Will hasn’t moved and she meets his eyes in the mirror for the second time as he says, “Nah, I think we can skip this one.”
-----
“Stop that!” Sutton smacks Will’s hand away from the three-tiered serving stand filled with macarons. “Those are for later.”
“Come on.” He whines. “I was so good! I didn’t have a single sandwich even though they’re, like, bite-size. I carried all the things I was supposed to. I crushed the tea table!”
She sighs. All of those things are objectively true, especially the tea table, where he had painstakingly set up the different patterned china cups and tea plates that she’d been collecting for the occasion. “Fine. Fine. One.” Will cheers in delight. “From the back! Don’t touch the front; it’s perfectly arranged.”
“I would never.” Will says solemnly and then grins at her as he makes sure to reach widely around the plate for a macaron. “See?” He says, mouth full of pastry. “No harm.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak mouthful.” Sutton says dryly, and turns to inspect the room.
Everything looks just as she’d hoped- just as she’d planned. The floral centerpieces in pastel shades of blues, purples, and greens burst from the teapots at the center of each table. The small finger food appetizers have been set, ready for guests to help themselves, before the main meal is served. The bartenders are finishing their set up- wine, mimosas, the works. Favors have been placed; games are prepped and ready. She nods as she runs through her mental checklist.
“It’s all good.” Will says, arm squeezing her shoulders tightly and shaking her around a little in that way she used to find annoying but has come to realize is just Will. “Go put your real shoes on before anyone comes and sees you in sneakers!” He gasps mockingly. “The horror.”
“It’s like you’re trying to annoy me today.” Sutton says.
He grins. “Can’t stress about the party if you’re annoyed at me.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Go.” He nudges. “I’ll keep watch for Ally if you’re not back.”
Ally’s just coming in when Sutton returns from the back room, where she’s stored all the boxes from decorating and her change of shoes. She’s accompanied by her mom, Kim, and her grandmother, Barbara, who are gushing over the space, the decor, the theme, and Will all within the first minute of arrival.
Shocker.
Will can flirt it up with an old lady with the best of them so Sutton doesn’t bother to rescue him, choosing instead to steal Ally and show her all of the little things she requested (and some special touches Sutton knows she’ll love). Ally is thrilled, beaming over all the details, big and small, as they wander around the room toward the bar, just in time for the first wave of guests to arrive.
It’s a while before she finds Will again, greeting friends as they come in and introducing herself to relatives of both Ally and Kappy, but she’s just about to find the rest of the bridesmaids to ask them to help her disperse everyone to their seats when he appears at her shoulder.
“Bingo!” He drapes an arm over her shoulders casually, but strong enough to stop her in her tracks.
“What?” She frowns.
“Bingo.” He repeats, waving the brown cardstock in her face; she swats it away.
“It’s been like an hour!” She says in disbelief.
“Double bingo actually.” He says, after a moment of study to his card. “See, look. Beth is the oldest child; Nanny Helen is the oldest person here; Ally-cat has been to more than two countries; Sweet, dear, looking-hotter-than-ever cousin Freya is a vegetarian; and you-” He pauses to poke her nose. “-are the same age as me!”
“I don’t count!” Sutton tries to argue, even though she’d signed more than one bingo card already.
Will shrugs, undeterred. “Alright. Aunt Gina is left handed; Haley had a baby last year; McKayla is the youngest person here-”
She cuts him off before he can continue. “Gimme that.” She pulls the card from his hand and looks. There’s only a few spaces left that he hasn’t filled out. Who hasn’t he spoken to yet, good lord?
“No bullshit free space either.” He comments. “All for the love of the game.” She cracks up at that and Will grins. “Do I win?”
“Oh my god.” She can’t.
“First pick of the prizes?” He goads.
“Go check on how the food is coming.” She shoves him off her and he crows victoriously.
-----
Long after they’d served the food, after Brooke had won the Spill the Tea game and Ally won the shoe game tie-breaker against a Face-timed Kappy, after Sutton had made Will carry all the gifts down to Ally's car, it was only her and Will left doing a final sweep.
That’s definitely Kayla’s sweater hanging on a chair back, she’s always leaving things everywhere. Sutton snags it and adds it to the growing pile of things in Will’s arms.
“Sutton, if you add one more thing to this pile, it’s going to crash on the floor.” Will threatens.
“What? Too weak to carry it all?” She teases, still focused on scanning the room.
“You got it all.” Will says, ignoring the chirp he’d normally latch right onto. “Grab your stuff, let’s go home. Watch a movie. Relax.”
“That sounds nice.” She says honestly. It’s been a busy couple weeks getting this ready. It’ll feel good to sit down.
“I bought kettle corn just for the occasion.” Will says, and he waits until he sees that she’s started exiting before he even follows.
“You’re the best.” Sutton declares.
“Where was the energy when I won bingo?” Will grins.
Flaws/Quirks in Friendships That I’m BEGGING Writers to Explore part three
✧ Friends who constantly argue over the dumbest stuff. Pineapple on pizza? Who gets shotgun? Neither will back down, and it’s beautiful.
✧ The friend who always shows up late, but with snacks. Yes, you’re annoyed, but also you’re eating fries, so… forgiven.
✧ Friends who speak in their own weird language. Inside jokes so cursed even they don’t remember how they started.
✧ The “planner” and the “chaos goblin” duo. One has a color-coded schedule, the other forgets what day it is. It just works.
✧ Friends who roast each other so hard outsiders think they hate each other. Nope, that’s just love in disguise.
✧ That one friend who adopts stray animals (and sometimes stray people). Their house is chaos, but it’s home.
✧ Friends who share clothes but have wildly different styles. Nothing like borrowing a crop top from your goth bestie and showing up to brunch like a vampire Barbie.
Summary: When Francesca brings Mat on a trip pretending to be her boyfriend, everything changes. Will their new relationship survive and thrive under the new conditions, or will it fizzle to an end before it begins?
Word Count: 7.8K
Author’s Note: Cutting it real close, but happy summer fic exchange, @broadstbroskis! I had so much fun writing this for you - I hope you like it! Thank you to @wyattjohnston for both hosting my favorite event of the year and for being a beta reader, sounding board, and brainstorming buddy all in one 💖
Warnings: Alcohol use/hangover (vomit), mature content, a healthy dose of angst, awful ex boyfriends.
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On Long Island, Mat Barzal was The Guy. Handsome, talented, funny.
To Francesca Lopez, he was so much more. An acquaintance at first, when her group of friends merged with his; later, their own friendship threaded out of the nucleus, a special connection hatching between the two of them. It was an easy rapport, one that didn't take any effort and developed so naturally Francesca almost wondered if it was fate.
Mat and Francesca had a standing date—every Thursday in the summer, and as often as his travel schedule permitted during the season—making their way through IMDB's Top 200 Movies list. They picked at random, from an online generator. It started as something to do during the cold New York winter, but quickly turned into a sacred routine. Through the months, her time with him became a comfort; something soft she could land on and steady enough to rely on.
Mat showed up at her door at 6 o'clock sharp, a large bag full of Sweetgreen takeout in his hand. They ate, and, pausing Singin' in the Rain, Mat collected their takeout containers from the coffee table to bring them into the kitchen. Francesca heard the sound of him setting the dishes in the sink, then the sound of her cupboard opening, glasses clinking, and a bottle being uncorked.
"My boy John's finally tying the knot, huh? In Aruba, no less?" he called from the kitchen. The save the date had just arrived the week before and she'd hung it on her fridge, a looming reminder of her upcoming trip. Mat rounded the corner, two stemless glasses of Sauvignon Blanc in his hands.
Francesca nodded, accepting the glass he offered to her. "I don't really want to go, though."
"Is Jason going to be there?" His voice was soft. He'd been there when they broke up, watched the way that he'd broken her down with small digs; he would understand the dread of being stuck in a remote destination at a celebration of love with Jason.
Francesca scoffed. "Yeah, with his new model girlfriend."
Mat pulled a face. "And you're going to let him ruin a perfectly good tropical vacation?"
"No, but—I can’t go alone," she explained. "I'll be miserable if I have to listen to him peacock all week. There won't be any avoiding him."
"So take me. I can be your boyfriend," he said with a shrug. Francesca ignored the flutter in her chest at the idea of Mat Barzal, her boyfriend.
"Come on, Mat."
"I'm serious! I already know most of the people there. It'll be fun."
Francesca gave Mat ample opportunity to back out, but even she had to admit that having him on her arm would be the perfect touch. Eventually, travel day arrived and Mat was there in his black snapback, plopping into the seat beside her with a grin. "You think they got Pans Labyrinth on here?"
The hotel lobby was every bit as ornate as she expected, including bright flowers and a warm breeze with a soothing rustle of palm tree leaves, a promise of the week ahead. The front desk host greeted Francesca when she walked up, confirming her stay details and taking her credit card (Mat insisted that he at least pay for his half despite Francesca's assurance that she was going to pay the total price regardless had she not found someone to accompany her). She accepted her keys, the resort map, and the brochure of the week's schedule and activities—water aerobics at 9am every day in the South pool; beach volleyball Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 1pm; and no less than four bars open every night on the property alone.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," purred an all-too-familiar voice behind her. Francesca's heart stopped, blood turning into ice before she turned around to meet the eyes of her ex-boyfriend.
"Jason," she said, forcing a smile onto her face. "Nice to see you."
Jason returned the smile, slipping an arm around the waist of the tall, leggy blonde beside him, brandishing a Versace beach bag. She, too, offered a smile, though admittedly her face didn't move much due to the excessive amount of Botox in her face. "This is Melanie. Melanie, Francesca—my ex."
Melanie extended a thin hand, jangling with gold jewelry, which Francesca begrudgingly shook. She couldn't help but wonder if Jason had purchased all of her accoutrements solely to make a splash with her arrival.
"Babe, did you get the keys? We got some welcome drinks!"
All three of them turned in the direction of the fourth voice. Mat was walking down the hallway, two drinks in his hands, held up on display. Once he approached, he handed her the extra, clinking his own against hers. Then, as if he only just noticed the other two standing there, he offered each of them a warm smile. "Oh, shit, sorry—didn't mean to be rude. Jason, right? Mat—we met at John's party last year."
Jason was clearly taken aback by Mat's arrival, though he accepted Mat's handshake with a smile. A rush of satisfaction coursed through Francesca—she'd caught him off guard. He'd been expecting her to arrive solo, never to find someone that compared to him.
"Ah, yes, the hockey player," Jason said, recovering quickly. "Sorry about the end of the season. At least you get to work on that golf swing, eh?"
Mat smiled, like he was prepared for it. "Haven't been out on the course too much. Been spending all my time with this one."
Francesca's heart swelled when Mat jerked his thumb over to her, earning a flick of Jason's eyes. His face was a perfectly schooled expression of indifference, but she saw the flash of insecurity in his eyes before he turned his gaze back to Mat.
They forced some small talk—Jason informed them without being asked that he upgraded to the suite with a beach view—and Francesca willed her cheeks not to flush when Mat slipped an arm around her waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her hip. He offered a very subtle, very slight squeeze. You're doing great. Almost done.
It was enough to see her through the remainder of the conversation, finally able to get an out. They said their goodbyes and Mat wheeled both of their suitcases to the elevator. Once safely inside, he looked at her and smiled. "You survived."
She returned his smile with an unimpressed one. "Barely. He's such a prick."
"I won't lie, he's pretty bad. I actually can't believe you dated him for so long."
"Don't remind me," she shuddered. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. "I think I was possessed when we were together."
The room had an impressive entryway, with a large bathroom area that, conveniently, featured an all-glass shower with very, very clear glass. Francesca felt exposed just thinking about showering. A sleek wooden wardrobe was tucked in beside a swanky-looking mini bar, after which the room opened up to reveal a plush, King-sized bed and tasteful, modern decor.
Francesca's eyes widened and darted back to the bed. As in, singular. As in, not two.
There was only one bed. There was only one bed. She knew she booked a double because she triple checked before she made the reservation.
"Okay, Jess and John," Mat said, impressed. If he was concerned about the bed, he didn't show it, instead flopping down onto the blue couch. "This is niiiice."
Francesca nodded in agreement, surveying the rest of the room. She reached the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio. They had a view of both the pool and the beach, palm trees swaying in the breeze. Outside, there was a coffee table with two lounge chairs. She sat in one, letting the warmth soak into her skin.
"I don't mind the King bed," his voice said behind her. Francesca watched a seagull land on the thatched roof of a pool umbrella, feeling her heart beat quicken at the reminder. "It's probably for the best, anyway, just in case someone stops by our room."
Our room.
"Thanks for being here, Mat," was her reply. "It means a lot."
Mat sat down in the chair beside her and nudged her knee with his. Island music played quietly below, enveloping them in tropical bliss. "A vacation and a week with you? Only an idiot would miss this."
The welcome party was later that evening, set on a plot by the beach with fairy lights strung overhead, tall cocktail tables draped in fluttery white fabric. Mat kept his hand glued to Francesca's side as they stepped off the wooden-planked beach walk onto the sand, helping her onto the uneven surface.
John and Jess were standing at the front, greeting each guest. When Jess hugged Francesca, she gave her an approving raise of her eyebrows. She'd been pestering her about when she was going to admit to herself that she and Mat were made for each other. Francesca simply smiled.
"Mat, I'm so glad you're here," Jess said, giving Francesca a pointed look.
"The bride-to-be looking stunning," he replied with a smile, accepting her hug. "Your groom will always have my heart, though."
Jess laughed, and Mat and John embraced, the former loudly proclaiming how much happier he'd be if he'd just marry Mat instead.
Francesca and Mat mingled, eventually getting pulled into separate conversations. She was glad that she'd brought someone like Mat, who could hold his own and didn't need to linger by her side for the entire trip. It helped that he knew the majority of the guests in attendance; she didn't feel obligated to worry about introducing him to everyone.
It did, however, open up the door for several conversations with her friends about how and when they got together. Francesca gave each of them the practiced answer: that, despite being friends for several years, matching on Hinge was what had given Mat the courage to ask her out for real. Initially, Mat had a few qualms with using his courage—or lack thereof—as the crutch of their love story, but he came around once Francesca promised she'd be sure to regale tales of his chivalry and charming nature.
Later in the evening, Francesca was standing at a cocktail table with her friend Amara. For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt the urge to confess, to come clean about the elaborate lie she was selling; at the last minute, though, she decided against it and let Amara gush over what a cute couple they were.
"Everybody knows Mat's been in love with you forever," she said. "I'm glad he finally made a move."
Francesca's eyes slid over to Mat across the beach, talking with John's two brothers. His hand was loosely holding a sweating Corona, his linen shirt flapping slightly in the breeze as he listened to the conversation at hand.
Amara was the second person to bring up her relationship with Mat and the alleged unrequited romance that hung between them. Had he harbored feelings for her? If he had, why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't she noticed?
As if he could feel her eyes on him, her heart skipped a beat when his eyes locked on hers before he grinned.
"Yeah," she said weakly, quickly averting her gaze when she felt her cheeks begin to heat. "It was a long time coming."
The next morning, Francesca woke suddenly all-too-aware of Mat's warm body pressed against hers. Squinting around the room, she regained her surroundings. Sometime in the night, the pillow they’d placed between them as a barrier had shifted, somewhere near the foot of the bed. In its place lay Mat, his solid figure curled up beside her.
He was handsome, Francesca had always known that, but vacation Mat—with day-old scruff, sleep-mussed hair, and, of course, a body sculpted by the gods—was something different entirely. Francesca wasn’t sure how long she watched him sleep, his deep breathing so calm that she wondered if she’d ever slept as deeply as him in her life.
Mat shifted in his sleep, and, remembering how exposed the shower was, Francesca opted to use it while he slept. By the time she got out, Mat was awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and mumbling out a sleepy, "G'morning." Francesca was self-conscious in her towel, taking her things out of her bag and returning to the bathroom to change into a simple t-shirt dress to wear to breakfast.
Navigating their way through the well-manicured resort toward one of three different breakfast buffets, Francesca was surprised when Mat took her hand, lacing their fingers together. It made her heart tick in her chest, doubling when he gave an affectionate squeeze. A few moments later, she understood why: Jason, Melanie, and two others were returning from their own breakfast, walking toward them on the neatly landscaped wood pathway. Melanie was gesturing widely about their romantic Italian vacation a few months back. Francesca resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead daring to press a kiss to Mat’s cheek as they passed.
Mat’s face was flushed pink until they sat down to eat.
They ordered coffee (black for Mat, cappuccino for Francesca) and, shortly after, set off to explore the buffet. In true resort style, there was a buffet for every cuisine, and Francesca had to laugh when Mat returned with two heaping plates of food. “What?” he said. “I need protein.”
Francesca cut into her omelette, internally fist pumping when the cheese was the perfect level of melted.
“We never talked about kissing. Is that on the table?”
The question came out of the blue, but Francesca controlled her surprise quickly and smiled. “Aw, you wanna kiss me, Matty?”
A wide smile crept up on Mat's face. He swallowed. “Well, yeah.”
Francesca’s heart flipped, but she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we should probably be kissing on this trip.”
“So I can just go for it whenever, or?”
“Wow, you do really want to kiss me,” she teased. “Whenever. I think that’s most realistic, don’t you?”
He nodded in agreement, and then his smile morphed into a smirk. “With tongue?”
A raised eyebrow. A soft smile. “You decide.”
As part of their wedding package, Jess and John had several beach cabanas booked throughout the week for guests to use. After breakfast, Mat and Francesca returned to the room to change, ignoring the awkwardness of not changing in front of the other. As soon as they set their things down onto the luxury loungers, waiters flitted by attentively, taking drink orders.
Soon enough, they were lounging beside each other, clinking Mat's pina colada (“Shut up, do you know how good these are?”) to Francesca's strawberry daiquiri. The rest of the morning passed peacefully, with more of their friends slowly claiming more of the group’s cabanas surrounding them. They played a few card games, switching later to Coronas with lime.
At some point, Francesca dozed off, listening to the breeze and the steady sound of the waves. When she woke no less than a half hour later, Mat was lying beside her, watching her sleep. He smiled when her eyes opened, pressing a finger to his lips and indicating for her to stay quiet. Then he mouthed, “Jason,” and pointed subtly behind her.
Mat’s hand reached out to cup the back of her head, pulling her in for a deep kiss. It caught her off guard, the feeling of his lips on hers, but once she got over the shock, she returned the kiss, surprising herself by deepening it. It was slow, but not tentative, just unhurried and patient. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that she was in clear view of all of her friends.
Behind her, she distantly heard the sound of a bag being placed on the lounger beside her and Jason’s voice talking indistinctly. Mat smiled against her mouth, taking the opportunity to dart his tongue against her lips.
He was right; kissing with tongue was absolutely the right move. She allowed him to all but devour her, slotting his mouth over hers and taking the air clean out of her lungs. She could’ve kissed him all afternoon.
Mat pulled away so quickly that it took Francesca a moment to recognize his absence. His lips were flushed, wet; his cheeks coated with a light shade of pink that had nothing to do with the sun. An involuntary smile broke out onto Francesca's face—she couldn't remember the last time she'd been kissed like that.
"Got him," he whispered, and without even looking, she could feel Jason's eyes on her. She straightened, willing the warmth in her cheeks to dissipate, and plastered a smile on her face. "Jason, Melanie—hi! Didn't hear you guys walk up."
Melanie smiled back, though it didn't reach her eyes. She was watching Mat apply his sunscreen, not attempting to hide her gaze when he asked Francesca to get his back.
His skin was warm under her hands, electricity sparking as she spread the lotion over his back. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, a flash of an image of her hands running down his back emerging in her brain.
"Mat! Come play volleyball!" Amara called, snapping Francesca out of her own reverie.
"Thanks, babe," Mat said, standing up once she finished. He turned and planted a peck against her lips. "A kiss for luck."
Melanie stared at him as he joined John and the others on the sand.
That night, Francesca and Mat joined a group for dinner at the onsite hibachi restaurants. They were displeased to see Jason and Melanie, and even more displeased to be seated across the table from them. Mat, however, took it in stride, almost seeming to relish the opportunity to flex his skill in being the world’s most doting boyfriend.
With an arm draped over the back of her chair, he stroked gentle circles on Francesca’s shoulder, beaming as he engaged Jason in conversation about his work. She was impressed at how well he was managing to bullshit, and with Jason none the wiser. Melanie batted her too-thick lash extensions at Mat across the table; if he noticed, he gave her no attention. Francesca's hand found its way onto Mat’s thigh, smiling sweetly back at Melanie as she staked her claim.
Between the sake bombs and the cocktails with dinner, it didn't take long for everyone to get liquored up. After a 10-minute monologue from Jason on the benefits of a high-risk market (during which Mat's fingers absently stroked her hand), the group migrated from the bar to the club, where the lights were dark save for neon-colored tube lights lining the room. The music was loud, so loud that Francesca had to shout in Mat's ear to tell him her drink order, allowing her to follow Amara and Jess out onto the dance floor.
She allowed her body to be moved by the beat and the multiple tequila shots she'd taken at the bar. When Mat found her in the crowd, handing her her drink, she found herself pressing her body against his. She felt his surprise, but only for a moment; the next, his hand was snaking its way over her hip like it belonged there, the other holding his Corona.
If she were more sober, she'd have an excuse ready. But she was on vacation, and she was feeling good. For all intents and purposes, Mat was her boyfriend, and what are boyfriends for if not to dance on at a bar in Aruba?
His body was solid and warm against her, a steady backdrop for her to lean into. Francesca would be lying if she hadn't envisioned doing exactly that after seeing his washboard abs. Seeing Jason's eyes lingering on them only encouraged her more.
Between the tequila in her drink, the energy in the air, and Mat's warm hand pressed against her hip bone, Francesca found her body rolling against him, sinking into him. He matched her every move, pressing back against her with just the right amount of pressure, and soon they were moving in sync amid the electronic beat of the DJ's mix. Heat pooled between Francesca's thighs, an unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome response to Mat's proximity. Based on his half-hard dick pressed against her ass, she felt justified.
The song melded into one, then two, then three, and soon enough, Francesca was moments away from breathing into Mat's ear to take her back to their room. She knew it was a bad idea, knew it would mess with every carefully crafted plan they had concocted, but she couldn't find a convincing enough reason to stop.
But then, Amara was at her side like a splash of cold water, pulling her out of her lust-laden daydream, shouting over the music that Jess and John wanted to do a round of shots. Francesca pulled away from Mat, avoiding eye contact with him and instead following Amara toward the bar. Mat trailed behind her, and when the group lifted the small glasses up in a toast, she felt the burn of his eyes much stronger than the burn of the tequila.
The ache in her head woke her up first. Sunlight filtering in through the crack in the curtains was next, feeling more akin to thousands of fluorescent lights than gentle morning rays. In an instant, a violent throbbing began in her skull and she tucked her head back into the pillow to shield herself from the aggressive sunshine that seemed determined to destroy her.
Francesca registered the roil in her gut just moments before she dashed into the bathroom to vomit. Fortunately, it seemed to be the kind of hangover that's significantly improved just by emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl, but she still helped herself to a few Advil that Jess and John included in their welcome bags for wedding guests.
After rinsing out her mouth, Francesca caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She barely noticed the disheveled hair and dry lips because she was too busy observing the oversized navy t-shirt adorning her frame—distinctly not hers. Confused, she padded back into the bedroom to ask Mat where she got it when she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt.
Her stomach sank and a cold sweat that she was pretty sure had nothing to do with her hangover broke out across her skin. It wasn't hard to do the math.
"Did we…?"
Mat's brown eyes slid to hers, and she watched the muscles in his face shift to a grin, then a laugh. Francesca didn't know why, but his smile set her at ease. "Frannie, are you saying that you want to fuck me?”
She cast him an unamused look, rolling her eyes. “Mathew.”
He grinned wider. “No, we did not—regrettably. Ended up carrying you back to the room because you decided your feet didn't work anymore. I just grabbed the closest article of clothing because you needed to get to bed, stat."
Embarrassment flitted through her, but she managed a laugh and a shudder. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."
"You were hanging all over me. We made such a cute couple."
Francesca pulled the sheet over her head, willing the heat in her cheeks to go away. Mat nudged her foot with his. "It was cute."
The wedding party had booked a snorkeling excursion that day, and Mat and Francesca met at the beach shack to board the boat. Twenty of them piled on, listening to the safety instructions and getting fitted for their life vests. On the other side of the boat, Jason was loudly proclaiming how he was Scuba certified. ("Does he ever stop?" Amara whispered to her.)
Once the boat arrived at the bay, Mat slipped his goggles with the snorkel attached over his face. He grinned at Francesca, holding out his hand for her to take before they jumped in together. The water was cool, but it felt wonderfully refreshing as she submerged in the rich blue of it. They swam around, studying schools of fish and bright colored coral.
After a little while, Francesca noticed the nausea threatening to creep into her senses. Whether from the hangover or simply being on a boat in open water, she wasn't sure. She swam around for a while longer, the feeling growing to the point of swimming back to the boat. Retrieving her towel, she sat on the cushioned bench, queasiness rolling in her gut. Gazing out at the ocean, she tried to breathe steadily, observing the snorkel tubes and flippered feet breaking the surface of the water.
Mat's head popped up, looking around, more frantically, then stopping once he caught her wave from the boat. His concern was visible as he made his way to her, quick to ask one of the tour guides for the ginger water they'd offered at the front end of the trip for those with sea sickness. Despite the insistent, impending feeling of vomit lingering in her chest, she was touched at his level of care and concern—exactly what she'd do for him, if the roles were reversed. Without asking, he tugged her head into his lap, gently stroking her hair until she fell asleep.
By the time she woke, they were almost to shore, and Mat offered to carry her back to the room so that she could sleep. She did whine just a little at the prospect of having to miss time with her friends, but Mat promised her they'd have a night out on the town if she just took a nap.
Francesca woke, groggy but nausea-free, three hours later. Mat was sitting out on the patio, a cocktail in his hand while he read a book. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and smiled. "There she is. How you feeling, babe?"
She chuckled softly, plopping into the seat beside him. He accepted her feet in his lap, gently rubbing them with his hands. "Better. Hungry."
"Let's order room service for dinner. Stay in. Everyone is splitting up tonight anyways."
Though she was disappointed, she was equally excited to relax for a little while. A night off from partying would probably be a good idea. They ordered a large spread, feasting over tacos on the patio, a small portable speaker playing one of Mat's playlists quietly.
"You should've been there," he was saying, "Jason almost got attacked by a barracuda because he was wearing that ridiculous, blinged out chain around his neck."
"Wish it had—would've put us all out of our misery," Francesca grumbled. "He pisses me off so much."
"What's all that about, anyways? I thought you were over him."
"I am over him," she said insistently. "It's just that seeing him happy and with someone else really makes me lose faith in humanity. How is it that someone like him can find someone while I'm over here without even any prospects?"
"That woman isn't anything but another accessory to him, Fran," Mat said. "He might have 'found someone' but they aren't happy together. That much is obvious."
Francesca shrugged—he had a point. Jason wasn't worth her mental energy, she knew that. It didn't stop the very human side of her from wanting to prove to him that she was doing way better than him, because she was.
"What about you? Can't tell me that you don't have a line of girls who'd jump at the chance to date the Mathew Barzal."
Mat laughed, shaking his head—about what she said or something else entirely, she wasn't sure. "I guess I'm not in any rush to settle down. I'm having fun. Focusing on hockey and just not really interested in doing the whole dating thing right now."
Something about the way he said it calmed her, like there was a comfort in knowing she didn't have to prepare herself to give him up. Of course, they'd stay friends no matter what, but there was something different about being second place to another lady in his life.
After they ate, and after Francesca insisted multiple times that she was feeling perfectly fine, they opened the Casamigos in the mini bar, ordering with club soda, salt, and a bowl of limes from room service. One drink turned into three—so much for not partying—which turned into her sitting in Mat's lap, giggling over his contributions to a Dutch-dubbed Family Feud.
Mat turned to her, and for a moment, time stood still. Unmistakably, his eyes traced over her lips; she could practically feel his gaze against her skin. Francesca's voice was barely more than a whisper, almost afraid to speak and burst the bubble that had formed around them. "Are you going to kiss me?"
"Do you want me to kiss you?"
Francesca hummed, letting her own gaze move to his mouth. She remembered the taste of his lips, the feeling of them pressed against hers, the way she felt while she was kissing him. "I liked kissing you."
He smiled. "I liked kissing you, too."
Mat's lips hovered over hers, feeling her breath against his skin. She couldn't breathe, wouldn't breathe, not until he closed the gap between them. His lips were familiar this time, pressing warmly against her mouth, and this time, she got to enjoy it purely for herself, not just for show.
Something about the privacy, the intimacy of it all, hit Francesca like a freight train. There was no Jason around, no Melanie; it was just her and Mat, legs tangled together and his fingers in her hair, a little bit drunk and kissing as the sun went down.
Somehow—she wasn't sure how—Francesca found herself lying on her back on the half-made bed with Mat's tan, muscular forearms bracketed around her head. His hair tickled her face, his knee between her legs and pressed dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. Heat coursed through her body, thrumming and humming underneath Mat's touch.
Francesca's hands grabbed at the hem of Mat's shirt, eager to remove one of the layers between them; she'd been wanting to touch him again ever since she'd gotten a taste the previous morning. She couldn't help the moan that sounded in her throat when she ran her fingertips over the firm muscle. In response, Mat simply smirked, moving his mouth over her jawline. Brat.
He kissed and licked his way down to her neck, pausing to suck a mark into the sensitive skin. Heat rolled down her body, hips pressing upward to reach his thigh. Another moan escaped her lips, this time accompanied by his name.
Mat hummed against her collarbone, the low vibrations a catalyst for goosebumps to erupt over her skin. It was Mat's turn to ruck up the fabric of her t-shirt, tugging it over her head to reveal bare breasts, the tan line of her bikini colored on her skin. Under his heated gaze, Francesca's nipples tightened; he licked his lips, hand moving to cup one of her breasts and massage it gently.
Another moan left Francesca's mouth, pressing her chest into his palm. She needed more of him, needed to feel his warm skin pressed against hers. Francesca arched her back into the firm muscle of his core, their bodies melding into one.
She felt drunk from the tequila, but intoxicated by Mat. He was everywhere: on her skin, in her lungs, consuming her with his touch and his kiss and his breath. She would've let him swallow her whole, if he wanted to.
Mat's body tensed slightly and she felt the shift immediately. He sighed, pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers. Breathing hard, the space gave Francesca the opportunity to attempt to unscramble her brains inside her skull.
"Fran. We shouldn't."
His voice was like a bullet, shooting into her heart and exploding out the other side. It stopped beating, though the pulse between her thighs, she noted, didn't dissipate.
He didn't want her.
All of it—the affection, the kisses, the secret glances—had truly been just a show. A farce that he'd been putting on, so good it even fooled her.
Francesca knew it was stupid, foolish to believe it; he was there pretending to be her boyfriend, playing the part she'd asked him to. But a tiny, minuscule, foolish part of her wanted to believe that there was some truth behind it all.
Things were different. She knew they were. The way he kissed her felt too real, too natural to be fake.
And there, with his hands on her bare chest, her nipples still pressed against his palms, like their bodies hadn't quite caught up with reality yet, Francesca realized she had fallen for Mat. She wasn't sure when, and she wasn't sure how; all she knew is that she wanted this, wanted it to be real, and—
And he didn't want her.
"M'sorry," he said, standing up and adjusting the tent in his shorts. He didn't give her the chance to speak, not that she'd have anything to say anyways, before he was walking into the bathroom. The water (presumably set to cold) turned on.
As she retrieved her shirt from the floor, Francesca's vision went blurry and tears welled up, spilling hotly over her cheeks. The sting of rejection was harsh; jarring, even—the sharp pivot of her emotions gave her whiplash.
By the time Mat stepped out of the bathroom again, she was re-clothed and lying in bed, facing away from him. He didn't say anything as he turned out the lights, sliding into the opposite side of the bed in silence.
Francesca didn't know if she was waiting for him to say something, but either way she found herself disappointed when she heard his gentle snore on the opposite side of the pillow between them.
Breakfast the next morning included a private chef for guests of the wedding. Sitting across from Mat, Francesca noticed his inability to meet her eye, feeling a dull throb in her chest. The distance was a stark contrast to the night before, with the warmth of his lips still imprinted onto hers. She shoved the hurt down, the feeling quickly swallowed by the urge to scream at him.
Even if he regretted what happened last night, he didn't have to ignore her. Dick.
Francesca brushed off Amara's question of why she was so quiet ("Just a little tired," she said with a smile) and threw herself into a conversation with Jess. If he could play that game, then so could she.
When Jason and Melanie walked in, talking of their private rooftop sunset dinner the night before, Mat expertly and strategically placed his hand on hers on top of the table, lacing their fingers together. It took everything in her not to snatch her hand away, but one glance at Jason had her setting aside her hurt feelings and remembering the part she was there to play.
But as soon as they got back to their room, she was unable to keep it in for a moment longer. "What's the deal?"
Mat looked up from his phone, and the blank expression on his face nearly made her go blind with rage. "Huh?"
"Why are you acting funny?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "M'not."
"You can barely look me in the eyes, Mat. If you regret what happened last night, that's fine, but I don't deserve to be ignored because of something that you had equal control over."
Mat's expression didn't change and he said, far too nonchalantly, "You’re reading into things."
Francesca scoffed. "You can't even look at me but you’re over here being Mr. PDA—do you have any idea what mixed signals are?"
"You brought me here to put on a show," he said, gesturing to the door, to the guests outside, to the elaborate lie they'd built together. "That's what I'm doing, aren't I?"
"You're sure doing something, alright."
"What is that supposed to mean?" he finally snapped. Good—at least he was showing something.
Francesca's brows raised, her voice rising. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. How thick are you? I thought the dumb jock was just an act."
"Fran, what the fuck are you talking about?" Mat's eyes were blazing.
She paused for a moment, giving him one last opportunity to state the obvious. When it was clear he still had no idea, she said, "You seriously are going to have me halfway naked in bed and claim that's 'putting on a show'?"
He scoffed, gesticulating wildly. "You asked me to kiss you! Practically begged me to do it." Then he added, "I was drunk."
"So was I, obviously." She didn't know why, but the qualifier of his sobriety stung—like he wouldn't have kissed her if he was sober. Like she was just a drunken mistake.
"Obviously," he repeated sarcastically. "You know, this is exactly why I shouldn't have come. Tito told me not to—didn't listen to him, obviously."
Tito. What did he know, anyway? "Why did you agree to come on this trip, then, Mat?"
"Beats me," he said, throwing his hands up. "Come here and do this favor for you—"
"Oh, yeah, because a paid trip to Aruba is definitely such a chore—"
"You're missing the key detail of also being your fake boyfriend in front of all of your friends."
The question was out of her mouth before she even had a chance to think it, borne of anger and embarrassment. "Then why don't you just skip the wedding altogether, if it's such a bother for you?"
"Maybe I will," he said coldly.
"Fine," she spat. "Good."
Mat didn't look back before he pulled open the door and stormed out. Instead of slamming shut, the way it should've given the mood in the room, the soft-close hinges shut it gently behind him and left Francesca stewing in silence.
Giving someone the cold shoulder is difficult when you are confined to a 700-square foot space in a foreign country, but Francesca did her best. Mat slept on the couch, after creeping into the dark hotel room at 2am while Francesca pretended to be asleep. She didn't know where he'd been or what he'd been doing, but he smelled like salt water.
She knew she should talk to him, apologize, but she just wasn't ready to yet. Instead, she listened to him pad quietly around the room, feeling his eyes on her in the soft light of the moon..
The next morning, she snuck out early, while Mat was still sleeping peacefully. She grabbed a coffee from the breakfast bar, and made her way down to the beach. She sat in the sand, watching the sun rise higher in the sky, listening to the sound of the waves crashing and seagulls cawing in the sky.
Francesca tried to replay the conversation in her head, only to find that large bits and pieces blurred together, forgotten in the frenzy of anger. She did remember Mat saying that he shouldn't have come, remembered the way it deepened the crack in her heart that had already formed when he pulled away.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly she'd wanted him to never stop, she could admit to herself (not to him—not yet) that he probably had stopped at the right place, before they did irreversible things that they'd regret. The line between friendship and romance was blurred already for them, playing the part while trying to avoid the feelings that come with it.
Unfortunately for Francesca, she'd failed at the last part.
She wanted to get back at her ex, show him that she was better off, happier without him; instead, she'd only managed to develop feelings for her fake boyfriend and, like clockwork, hurt herself in the process. And now, she'd gone and fucked up by picking a fight with the man she was sharing a hotel room with for another three days.
"Frannie?"
Whipping around, Francesca saw Amara, decked out in a matching green yoga set, a mat tucked under her arm.
"What are you doing here?"
Francesca smiled sadly. "Mat and I had a fight. Just taking some space, is all."
"Do you want to come with me? I'm on my way to beach yoga."
A distraction would be nice, she thought. An opportunity to give herself some space from Mat, to think, to breathe, to calm down.
"I'll meet you there."
Francesca spent the rest of the morning with Amara, the beach yoga peaceful in a way she wasn't anticipating. They ate breakfast at a different buffet in an attempt to avoid running into Mat, sitting at an outdoor table on a patio overlooking the beach where they'd just done yoga. The sun shone high in the sky, and the warmth of it felt good on Francesca's skin, like it was reviving some life back into her and sealing some of the cracks in her heart.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Amara asked once their mimosa flight was set down.
"Just a stupid fight," Francesca replied—she wasn't interested in confessing the truth now, not after all of this. "But I'm not sure if he's going to come to the wedding anymore."
Amara frowned, but didn't press it; Francesca sent a silent wave of gratitude at her friend. "I'm sorry. You can get ready in my room, if you want."
Nudging away the guilt she felt—she knew she was being petty and immature—Francesca did grab her things from her room, grateful that it was empty, and returned to Amara's for an afternoon of early 2000's rap music. They made up an excuse for Mat's absence ("Food poisoning—let everyone know he's got diarrhea," Amara suggested matter-of-factly) for when she was inevitably questioned as to her boyfriend's whereabouts.
Mat showed up moments before the ceremony started, slipping into the empty seat beside Francesca without a word. He slipped an arm around the back of her chair but didn't offer a glance, instead settling into his seat and glancing down at the program. For a moment, she dreamt of slapping him across his smug face, facade be damned, but the sight of Jason and Melanie settling into the seats in front of them had her recollecting her thoughts.
Francesca opened her mouth to speak—to say what, exactly, she wasn't sure—and then the string quartet began playing, silencing her. Part of her was relieved at having to wait to speak to him for even a few minutes longer.
The ceremony was lovely. Perhaps it was the grand proclamations of Jess and John loving each other forever, promising to always find a compromise and never go to bed angry, but Mat was back to the charming, doting boyfriend, his hand resting on her waist as they made their way to the cocktail hour garden; no one would know they had fought just mere hours earlier. Before either of them could say anything, they each were whisked away into different conversations, and soon enough, dinner was being served.
If anyone noticed that Mat and Francesca didn't speak a word directly to each other, no one said anything; not even Amara, who watched them with a catlike intensity that almost made Francesca nervous. They managed to get through first dances, toasts, and dessert, until guests began leaving their chairs to make their way to the dance floor.
"You look beautiful."
He said it so softly that she almost didn't know it was him that spoke. She turned to see his hand outstretched and a glint in his eye. Part of her wanted to reject him, to leave him hanging the way he'd left her hanging. But the other part of her, the part of her that wanted to fall into him and enjoy her last few days of being Mat Barzal's girlfriend, whispered louder.
"Thank you."
She took Mat's hand and followed him onto the dance floor, her legs moving of their own accord. Once they were in the middle of the pack and You Are In Love—Jess and John were both huge Swifties—began to play, Mat turned to face her, offering a small, apologetic smile. His hands were warm on her hips, guiding her gently to sway to the music. The lyrics of the song were not lost on her, and she was sure that Mat was hyperaware of them, too, swirling between them in an unspoken confession.
"M'sorry," he said after a long while.
"Me, too," she replied. A wave of relief washed over her, like the words were the antidote she'd been looking for to relieve her aching heart.
"I shouldn't have said any of that shit. I'm glad I'm here with you."
There was a pause in the conversation as he spun her around during the chorus. She laughed, grateful for his uncanny ability to know exactly how to break up a tense moment.
"I kissed you because I wanted to," he continued, hand at the small of her back tugging her close to him. "Because if acting for a week was the only chance I ever got to know what being your boyfriend is like, then I was going to take it without hesitation."
Francesca was stunned. A million questions ran through her mind—huh? being the primary one, but she managed to collect herself. "Mat, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'd like to start over. Do this again. And when we leave here, I want to take you on a real date—not to impress someone or make someone else jealous—I want to go on a date with you. Just you."
The song faded out, moments later replaced by disco lights and ABBA's 'Dancing Queen', the volume enough to drown out their voices. Mat's face cracked into a grin—because of course this would happen—and, keeping her hand in his, led her away from the speakers, to a more concealed area.
"Basically what I'm trying to say is, I want this—with you, Fran. I think I've wanted it for a long time, but didn't know it until now. And being with you, doing this with you—it got too real for me. I couldn't do all of that if it meant you were going to go back to being just my friend after this week." He said it all at once, letting out a sigh of relief once he was finished.
Francesca was quiet, processing everything he'd just thrown at her. It was everything she wanted to hear, but it was overwhelming to take in.
Mat was studying her, and took her silence for distaste. "Oh god. Did I say too much? I'm sorry—"
Francesca interrupted him by kissing him, the first time she initiated it, and this time, she didn't care if anyone or no one was watching. His lips curled up into a smile, then a laugh, against her mouth. "I'll take that as a yes."
5 Sounds of Falling in Love (+1 Moment of Silence) | brock boeser
a/n: as usual, running in past deadline (sorry!!!) but finally here is my entry for @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange 2k25! I was super excited to be able to write this for you @laurenairay and I hope you love it
One- a laugh
The first time he hears it, it’s maybe their fourth date? Fifth, possibly? Brock’s not entirely sure what they’re officially counting as dates. Ever since they were introduced by mutual friends, the lines have been a little blurry. There’ve been a handful of outings that straddled the fence between casual and something more- group dinners that somehow ended with just the two of them lingering after everyone else had gone, a Sunday hike that had all the makings of a date if not for that stupid tree root and the dreaded ankle sprain.
All that is to say, Brock has been seeing Emily for a few weeks now, has been building an easy friendship with her for a couple of months before that, and has been hopelessly crushing on her basically since the moment Demko’s wife had let “this new girl from her pilates class, she’s super sweet, you’ll love her!” crash the team’s Christmas party.
And yet, despite all that time, he's never heard her laugh.
Or at least, not like this.
He honestly can’t even remember what he said to make her laugh like this- something dumb, probably. A throw-away joke or a half-teasing comment that just slipped out. But now she’s laughing. Really laughing. The sound of it hits him like a truck. Her entire face lights up with it, her eyes crinkling at the corners and a beautiful grin on her face. She’s bent over slightly, one hand pressed to her chest, the other wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
Brock can only sit there, utterly captivated. He wishes he knew what he said but all thoughts of anything that wasn’t her, laughing like that, flew out of his head as soon as he heard the giggle. When it progressed to a full on laugh, he wonders if they could stay in this moment forever. When her eyes finally met his again, he’s pretty sure he’s in love.
“Yeah,” he thinks, watching her take a sip of water, to try and calm down. “I could do this for the rest of my life.”
-----
Two- our favorite show
Bum buh-duh bumbum, bum dum dum
“That better not be what I think it is!” Emily calls out, her voice echoing lightly through the apartment as she toes off her sneakers by the door..
Silence answers her.
She frowns. He either muted the TV… or paused it in a guilty panic.
Her eyes narrow as she straightens, already suspicious. If Brock had the audacity to start without her…
“Brock!” Emily calls again, sharper this time..
“It’s nothing!” He calls back, far too quickly.
She rounds the corner into the living room, and there it is. The unmistakable neon-pink glow of the Love Island: Aftersun title card shining smugly from the television screen like the world’s most damning piece of evidence.
Emily gasps, clutching her chest like she’s been personally wounded. “Betrayal!”
Brock doesn’t even pretend to look ashamed. He’s sprawled out on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table and remote in hand. “It’s only Aftersun,” He reasons, as if that somehow absolves him from stabbing Emily in the back.
She ignores him entirely. “I brought you ice cream!”
His eyes light up, but suspicion creeps in quickly. “What kind?”
“Peanut butter, obviously.” She drops the to-go bag on the coffee table unceremoniously. “And this is how you repay me!”
“An egregious error,” Brock agrees, making grabby-hands for the ice cream. “Won’t do it again.”
“I should’ve brought you vanilla,” Emily grumbles, though there’s really no heat behind it, as she finally passes him the pint she’d picked up for him.
Brock gasps, mid-bite, as if she’s said the most offensive thing imaginable. “Never.”
Emily grins, basking in the dramatics as she settles in on the couch, leg brushing against him comfortably. “That’ll teach you to start watching without me.”
-----
Three- the oven timer
Brock barely makes it through the front door before he’s hit-ambushed, really-by the most incredible, mouthwatering smell he’s ever encountered. Warm, rich, and unmistakably sweet, it floods his senses the second he walks in and he stops a minute, closes his eyes and just enjoys it, before going to track it down.
Following the scent, he pads quietly down the hallway. He finds her in the kitchen, bent over and peering through the oven window.
Brock pauses in the doorway, smiling to himself. He lets his eyes roam- messy bun barely holding on, her cozy oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, and those worn leggings he likes way too much. He soaks it all in for a beat longer than necessary before finally announcing his presence.
“Hi.”
Emily spins around eagerly and breaks into a grin. “Hi!” she says, bouncing a little on her toes. “You’re back!”
“I’m back,” Brock echoes with a smile to match hers, stepping forward to loop his arms around her waist and pull her in close. He tips his head toward the oven. “Whatcha making?”
“Cookies,”
He perks up. “Protein cookies?”
Emily bursts out laughing, leaning further into him. “Chocolate caramel crunch.”
Brock groans, burying his face into the curve of her neck. “That’s definitely not on my diet plan.”
“The occasional something sweet won’t kill you.” Emily murmurs against his lips and then leans in for a kiss.
Brock tightens his arms around her. “Mmm, you might be right about that.”
He’s not even mad the timer stops him from taking it any further. Those cookies are fucking delicious.
-----
Four - “I was just thinking of you”
Emily’s already having a rough day when the crowd of people crossing the street alongside her pushes past her roughly enough to spill her iced latte all over her.
If she weren’t in the middle of the crosswalk, she’d sit down and just…cry. As it is, she picks up the cup, fumes about it until she reaches the nearest trashcan, and fights back tears of frustration for the next two blocks- leaving her just enough time before she gets to her office to barely pull herself together and greet her coworkers with about half her usual level of enthusiasm.
But then she sees it.
A cup.
On her desk.
She blinks once, then twice, unsure if she’s imagining it. But no—there it is. An iced latte, perfectly made, condensation gathering on the sides, a tiny sun drawn on the lid.
Her favorite.
Emily turns around suspiciously, and then looks back at her desk. That’s the logo from her favorite coffee shop, the one across town that she hardly ever gets to go to anymore, since her office moved.
She turns around again, but no one’s even looking at her, and she steps closer, inspecting the cup more closely.
Her phone buzzes in her hand. The screen lights up with Brock’s name.
She answers it slowly, eyes still on the mysterious latte. “Hi…”
“Hi,” He says, and she can hear the grin in his voice. “Did you get it?”
Emily frowns. “Get what?” Her brow furrows, and then it hits her. Her eyes go wide. “Wait…you?”
“Me,” Brock confirms, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.
“But…” She trails off, struggling to form a full thought. “How did you even get this?”
“Mmm,” Brock teases. “Can’t go around revealing all my secrets.”
Emily sinks into her chair and puts him on speakerphone. “How did you know?” She reaches for the latte greedily, savoring that perfect first sip.
There’s a pause on the other end, just a beat.
“I was just thinking of you,” Brock says gently. “You sounded like you were having a rough day.”
Was she?
She closes her eyes, swallows another sip, and smiles.
She can’t even remember anymore.
-----
Five- champagne popping
Pop.
Fizz.
Fizz.
“You idiot!” Someone hisses from behind them. Petey, maybe? His whisper is never as quiet as he thinks it is. “She hasn’t even said yes yet!”
“Of course she’s going to say yes!” Quinn fires back, not even bothering to try and whisper.
Emily’s standing in front of him, still frozen, hands pressed lightly over her mouth, eyes wide. The look of pure shock on her face when Brock had first dropped to one knee and pulled out the little velvet box has begun to morph- slowly, beautifully- into a grin, one she’s trying to hide because these fools he calls friends fucked up their one job.
This is so not how Brock pictured this moment going down.
“Guys?” he calls back over his shoulder, his tone even and painfully patient. “Do you mind?”
There’s a brief, shuffling pause.
“Oh.”
“Right.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Emily’s eyes are shining now, and her lips are pressed together, trembling- not from nerves, not from uncertainty, but from the absurdity of it all. Her laughter is practically vibrating out of her, and Brock can’t help but smile, despite the very obvious derailment of his perfectly planned proposal.
He exhales slowly, adjusts the little box in his hand, and clears his throat, determined to get this back on track. “Right,” he mutters under his breath, trying to collect himself. Then, more clearly, “Back to it.”
“Em,” he begins again, trying to remember where he left off before. “I love you more and more every day. You’re my best friend, my favorite person, and there is no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with.” His voice cracks just slightly on the last word, but he powers through. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” Emily nods, and the tears are back, she’s crying as he slips the ring on her finger and then-
Pop!
“Nailed it!”
-----
(+1 a moment of silence)
Brock knows crowds.
He’s played in front of tens of thousands- screaming fans packed into stadiums and arenas, all eyes on him in the biggest moments. He knows pressure, the way it settles on your shoulders, tightens your chest, narrows your focus until it’s just you and the play and the noise roaring around you like a storm. He knows the feeling of all eyes on him, in the clutch moments.
But this?
This is different.
There’s not a single eye on him.
Every single person is turned around, facing the end of the aisle, waiting patiently.
Except Brock.
Brock is not waiting patiently.
He stands at the other end of the aisle, heart pounding harder and faster than it ever has in a game, hands flexing slightly at his sides. He’s watched the bridal party come down one by one, the slowest countdown to set the stage for the big moment.
And then, finally, finally—
There’s a pause.
A beat of silence so loud it nearly knocks the wind out of him.
The music shifts, and the doors at the end of the aisle open.
And there she is.
Emily.
Time stops.
Brock forgets to breathe.
She’s radiant. Utterly, breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in white that just glows in the soft light, long veil trailing behind her. Her dress fits like it was made for her—simple and elegant, catching the light in all the right ways, a timeless beauty.
She’s holding onto her father’s arm, but her eyes are locked on Brock, glowing with a joy that’s too bright to be contained. Her smile is wide, beautiful, and slightly teary, but she’s steady—like she’s been walking toward this moment her whole life.
Brock’s throat tightens. His vision blurs. All the sound in the room- the music, the shuffling feet, the quiet sniffles of someone crying in the second row- fades until all he can hear is his own heartbeat.
He thinks of all the arenas he’s stood in, all the cheers and pressure and adrenaline he’s ever felt.
