A long silence fills the room. I just watch him get ready, trying to pour cold water on the flames licking the back of my neck. This is argument three-thousand-eighty over our bank account. I took over finances when I moved in, because I’m anal about these things and it’ll be good for us—his words, not mine. And every few weeks it’s the same thing. He needs something, asks if we have the money. I say no, and he spends it anyway. In his defense, I’m frugal. I like a nice savings balance and a strict budget. But in my defense, we’re poor and we need a strict budget.

Not to mention I always talk about my purchases with him before I make them. I want the same courtesy.

Landon sighs and slips on his Beetlejuice cap. He turns around with a smile and kisses my nose.

“I’m sorry. I’ll work overtime. Make it up.”

I shake my head. “When? If you’re not at work you’re working on set.” I tuck my phone back in my pocket. “Maybe I can pick up some shifts.”

“I’ll do it.” He reaches out, rubs my arms, and even though I don’t believe him, I let him think I do. “I gotta run. I love you. We can fight about this when I get home.”

I roll my eyes, but a small laugh falls out. “Fine. But this conversation is not over.”

Sweet mother, I sound like my sweet mother.

He squeezes my arms and I hug him. We made a deal after our first argument that even if we’re mad, if the other person has somewhere to be, we put it on hold, say we love each other, and if the anger is still there when we’re together again, we deal with it. It’s hard sometimes, but my imagination always runs wild and I wonder what if he gets in an accident and I didn’t say I loved him?

He cups my face and pulls me in for a kiss I’m not sure I want, but after a hard press of his lips, a gentle stroke of his tongue, I don’t want it to end. A surprise kiss…wow. Haven’t had one of these in a while. It’s nice, and for a second I forget I’m mad. Well played, Mr. Wangford.

After he leaves, I pull out the laptop and start rearranging money in my budget plan folder. We have just over $1,500 in savings after I dropped a buttload on the venue, and if we keep spending money like we do it’s going to be long gone by January.

O-town plays in the background as I look at all the negative numbers. Four twenty-dollar overdraft fees in the past three months. Way too much money being spent at the gas station, but I have no idea how to avoid that. Maybe I can ask Alec to drive me to work so Landon doesn’t have to take more trips picking me up and dropping me off. I’m not exactly on the way, but he might be up for it.

And we eat out too much. Gotta break the habit.

I open up a new Excel spreadsheet and label it “To Get the Perfect Wedding.” Time to figure out how the heck we can afford everything I have on my Pinterest board.

A knock comes at my door, and I shout a “Come in, Alec!” because he’s the only one of our friends who knocks. He caught Landon and me in a pretty compromising position once. Walked in and walked right back out.

He’s in his Bed Bath & Beyond polo, dirty blond hair totally flat from the day’s work. He gives me a small grin and hands me an envelope. Ah! Answer to my prayers.

“Payday!” I shout, ripping into the check. Alec goes to close the door, but a foot stops him.

“Hey, Beth Ann,” Jace says, letting himself in. He’s covered in bloody makeup and shredded clothing and heads straight for my fridge.

“I don’t have any more hot dogs,” I tell him, my heart dropping a little at the very small amount on my paycheck. I forgot about taking a few sick days when I thought there was a bun in the oven. Damn it. I don’t think I can put anything into savings this time.

“Don’t need ’em,” Jace says, pulling out a carton of eggs. I sigh because I know he’s on a mission for gross products to pass off as body parts in Landon’s movie, but there goes my breakfast for the next week.

“Tell him thanks for not using the card, I guess.”

Jace nods and heads back out, nearly knocking over Theresa in the doorway. I’d wonder if I sent out party invitations, if this wasn’t a normal thing.

They share a really bizarre look and scoot around each other. When Jace is gone, Theresa’s smile spreads wide and she wiggles a case of wine coolers at me. “Is Alec going to help?”

“Huh?”

“Dress browsing, silly girl. You called me this morning…”

Oh right! Where is my brain? “Yes…sorry. Been…” cleaning all day, worried about money, stressed to the max, and Landon isn’t home. “I’ve been distracted.” I turn to Alec. “You can stay if you want.”

He wrinkles his nose. “And plan wedding stuff?”

“We’ll order pizza,” Theresa says. Man, I really hope she’s paying.

He shrugs and pulls his work polo over his head so he’s in just his white undershirt. I notice Theresa’s eyes linger on Alec’s stomach, but she shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

“Okay, someone turn on music from this decade and I’ll get the food.”

Chapter 8

The Hurdles of Getting Married

7. Find a song for you and Landon (because you just realized you don’t have one.)

8. Write your vows.

I tap on my keyboard and click out of my Hurdle List. Dress browsing was a bust. I don’t know what colors I want, so it’s pointless to look at bridesmaids’ dresses right now. Every gown I want is a billion dollars, and I ended up sipping on my cherry wine cooler and forcing back snotty tears. Alec is so bored he’s lying on his back, tossing a rubber ball into the air and singing, “If I were a rich man” under his breath. After he’s done I’ll start making requests. Alec is Broadway material. While Landon works backstage, he takes front and center.

Theresa’s on her fourth cooler, and her eyes are getting that droopy look. I shake my head and nudge her back into the couch cushions. Pass out, my friend.

Alec hits the last note, and I close my laptop and slump on the floor next to him. We take turns bouncing the ball off the wall to each other.

“I get a kick out of you.”

He grins, showing off his one dimple. “You always want that one.”

I toss the ball, nearly hitting the clock that says it’s 11:28. “I miss him.”

Alec elbows my arm after catching my toss. Then he starts singing, nearly putting Frank Sinatra to shame. I stop tossing the ball so I can hear the song without the thunk every two seconds. Three years ago, our theater class put on a production of Anything Goes, and as a requirement every guy had to sing “I Get a Kick Out of You,” no matter what part they wanted. Landon didn’t want a part, he wanted assistant director, but he auditioned anyway.

He was so nervous. He kept opening his mouth, making some sort of croaking noise, then slamming his lips back together. It was pin-droppingly quiet in the room, and all I wanted was to jump up and save him.

So I did. I stood on my chair in the back of the room and belted out the first line of the song. I wasn’t good. I was completely off key, tried to do a manly voice, and effed up the lyrics. But a smile broke out on his delicious face. He sang with me, then louder than me, then on his own while the class clapped and whooped. He was awful. He missed lines and notes and made up words, but he owned it.

And I fell in love all over again.

“It’s not going to be like this forever, you know,” Alec says, breaking into my thoughts. I don’t even know if he finished the song. Theresa shifts on the couch but doesn’t wake up.