Riley

Being in art class with Marina is almost like an exercise in self-degradation. It's not that she's unpleasant, because I honestly don't think that's possible for her. It's just because... well... I'm not a terrible artist. My drawings are alright when I put effort in, and sometimes I'm actually proud of what I do—but when comparing my "artwork" to Marina's, an average art piece suddenly turns into the work of an ambitious three-year-old. Marina is also the sole reason I barely get the bare minimum done in this class, too busy watching her put a masterpiece on paper to care one bit about my own work. But then, I get distracted pretty easily anyway.

Right now she's working on a watercolour painting of a flower, and, of course, it's turning out unfairly awesome. The bell has only just rung, and she's already focused on her work with more intent than I could ever hope to focus on anything in my entire life. My small canvas is in front of me, barely touched but already looking like a mess. I don't care to continue it.

From the corner of my eye I see Maren walk in, characteristically late as she is to every class except for phys-ed. She may not have been late this morning if she walked to class with Marina and me, but she disappeared mysteriously without giving a reason. Coincidentally, I didn't see John on the way to class either.

She looks down at Marina's small canvas as she passes, letting out a huff. "Jeez, Mar. At least try to put some effort into it." Marina only rolls her eyes at the sarcastic comment.

Maren doesn't grab her own canvas before taking a seat next me, having finished it the first class we worked on it. She tries to get everything done as fast as she can so she has more time afterwards to do... nothing I guess. It's a strange goal in my opinion, but I don't question her on it.

"Hey." She greets flatly when she sits next to me.

I shift my focus to her, pushing back my seat a little and crossing my arms. "Hello..." I'm hoping she'll take the movement and the imploring tone as the question, 'what happened on your date last night?' But Maren either doesn't pick up on it, or, more likely, doesn't care enough to start talking. "So..." I nudge the leg of her chair with my foot, not willing to let her out of the discussion. "How'd it go?"

"Fine." She says. Her tone is final.

"Oh, Marina. Did you hear that?" I feign excitement and turn to Marina, who is already shaking her head at the act as she half-pays-attention. "That date that we spent an entire day out of our lives preparing her for went, and I quote... fine!"

Maren makes some indignant noise and I turn back to her. "What else do you want me to say?" She asks.

"I don't know, tell me what you did, where you went, what you ate."

She contemplates this for a moment, twisting her lips at my absurdly empty canvas, and then twists her chair so she can face me. "Well, at first he planned to go mini-golfing."

"Cute..."

"But then we got a flat tire."

"Cool..."

"We got lost."

"Okay..."

"The mini-golf placed was closed."

"Um..."

"And then we got poutines."

"Thank god, I was running low on hope. That's good!" She nods with eyes that are too wide, clearly mocking my interest. "So what else?"

Her eyebrows furrow. "What else? I just told you everything."

"Psh, that was not everything. I could tell you so much more about my first date with Trey, and that was more than two years ago and a lot less interesting than yours. So start again, and this time with feeling. Go!"

She sighs tiredly and looks past me to Marina, who's actually paying attention to us now. "Mar...?" She's clearly asking her to translate.

Dragged into this now, Marina has no choice but to put down her paintbrush and turn to us. She glances at me for a moment before reluctantly gesturing at Maren. "Technically she answered what you asked."

Maren smiles smugly at me and I squint at her in annoyance. "Fine." I say after a moment, but hold up a finger. "Answer me this: did you hold hands?"

Maren rolls her eyes and lets out a muttered 'fuck' that's loud enough to make Miss Harrison, our art teacher, glance over from her desk. Marina chuckles at the juvenile question, but I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer. "What are we, in grade two?" Maren asks, though noticeably uncomfortable. Excellent.

"That's not an answer." I say.

She grunts and leans her elbow on the table beside her, looking away. I feel only a little bad that I find her reluctance to talk about anything romantic pretty freaking funny. I mean, come on, the human embodiment of a brick wall getting flustered over holding hands? Priceless.

When she sees I'm still not moving on, she rolls her eyes. "Fine." Huffing and making some gesture that only communicates her struggle, she continues. "Yes, we did."

"Ooh... Steamy." I waggle my eyebrows at her, grinning when she closes her eyes in mortification. Marina kicks the leg of my chair and whispers my name chidingly, but she's failing at stifling a smile so I don't pay much mind to it. "So what else?" I prod.

Maren, who is actually red because of hand-holding (unbelievable), glares at me in a way that promises death in three to five business days. "You're not getting anything else. I'm done talking about—"

"Did you kiss?"

"Oh my god." She groans.

"What?" I ask, struggling not to laugh while she looks everywhere but me. If I thought she was red before, I was wrong, because now she's red. "It's a simple question. If you can't remember, he probably said something like 'oh fair maiden, may I please seek the pleasure of your lips?' or–"

"He did not say that!" Her voice comes out as a terse whisper, eyes wide as she looks around like I've spoken through a megaphone. I can't keep from laughing anymore. "What is wrong with you?"

I don't feel that bad for teasing her about this, even if she is a little bit... overly sensitive about the whole 'opening up about your feelings' thing. It's actually kind of comforting to see her freak out over something like this; it makes me feel like some of the stuff I'm scared of isn't so ridiculous.

"You know, I wouldn't be saying any of this if you would just give me a proper answer." I say.

All Maren does is huff, distracting herself by looking at my painting, which is barely more than a few brush strokes. "Are you ever going to finish that?" She changes the subject, and taking pity on her, I go with it.

"Maybe." I reply airily. "Maybe it's already done. It's abstract, ever heard of it?"

She looks unimpressed. "For something to be abstract, there needs to be something."

"Plus it's supposed to be a flower." Marina points out.

"Whatever."

Considering Marina is working and Maren is being about as responsive as a corpse, I pick up my own paintbrush as we fall silent. Trying for a sunflower, I start painting some long yellow strokes in a circle. It doesn't look nearly as good as Marina's pink lily, but it'll have to do. We sit in focused silence for a while, the background noise of everyone talking and the musty smell of art supplies filling the classroom. I'm just contemplating putting in my earbuds when Maren sighs.

"We didn't." She says vaguely. I glance at her with a raised eyebrows. She has her arms crossed, leaned back in her chair, and she rolls her eyes in exasperation at my blank look, as though I was supposed to catch onto the random comment. "We didn't... you know."

"Kiss?" I ask. She nods stiffly. It's hard to tell if she thinks it's a good thing or a bad thing, but she's brought it up, so the most likely option is that she's waiting for us to decide for her. "Looks like you've found yourself a gentleman." I tell her. "Not kissing on the first date is a classy move."

"Wait," Marina interjects, "Me and Joseph kissed on the first date. What does that mean?"

They both look at me, Maren in curiosity, and Marina in slight offence. I try to be careful, tiptoeing around not panicking Maren, and not offending Marina. "It means that people can kiss when they feel ready. And if that happens to be the first date, or second, or before the date, that's cool too. It's whatever you want." I wave a hand in the air in an effort to communicate the fluidity of the subject. Thankfully they both seem pleased.

"Who would kiss before the date?" Marina asks after a moment. Maren nods, agreeing, while I shrug and look away. Marina narrows her eyes. "You and Trey?"

"Bingo."

"Gross."

"You asked."

She sighs reluctantly. "That's true."

I turn back to Maren, although do a quick scan around the classroom before getting too distracted. Miss Harrison is looking at something on her computer, so for now I'm safe.

"It was a good date though?" I ask her. I'm serious now, and I think she knows because she nods and answers without complaint.

"Yeah. I think the fact that almost everything went wrong made it better." She stops and frowns at her own answer. "If that makes any sense."

"It actually makes a lot of sense. People bond better when they have to work together to solve an issue." I supply. I think about it for a second and then decide to clarify. "Granted, it has to be an easily solvable issue. If it's not then it's kind of a make-or-break thing, but it can still work out if the right people are involved."

Maren makes a 'hm' noise of interest while Marina glances at me. "New psychology book?"

"Got it for Christmas."

"Ah."

"Anyway," I continue, "I forgot to ask you the most important question..." Maren gets a look of fear in her eyes and sends a wary glance at Marina. "Did you leave anything in the car?"

Relief flashes across her face at the innocent question, but it's quickly replaced with an exasperation that only comes when the answer is an obvious 'no'. "No." I guessed it. "That's weird. Nobody does that."

"It's not weird." I argue, tapping Marina on the arm. "Come on, Mar. tell her it's not weird."

"It's kind of weird."

"It's totally not! I can't believe you've never heard of it." I put down my brush and cross my arms, although hurriedly undo the motion only moments later when Miss Harrison turns around, as though she has an alarm in her head that knows when I'm not doing work.

"What would I even leave in the car?" Maren continues. "I mean, all I had on me was my phone and some cash."

"Simple, you just take something specifically to leave." I say. Maren looks lost, and Marina looks doubtful. I continue. "Something that they should find, but you won't be too upset if they don't. Like a cardigan, or a scarf, or... oh! A cheap lipstick. That's a good one."

"Okay, fine. Say they find it." Marina muses. "What benefit comes from that?"

"Well first off, they have to see you again to return it. Second, it makes guys feel good. Like a knight in shining armour or something. It's simple math really."

I think I've gotten through to them. Maren raises her eyebrows and looks around me at Marina, who has the same expression. I wait for a moment or two until they finally give a reaction.

"I don't buy it." Maren says.

"Me neither."

Giving up, I wave a hand and mumble a dismissive 'forget it' before starting to work once more on my painting. By the time the end of the class rolls around, I've finished enough of my painting to get a decent grade. I'm sure Marina might add more if she had an opinion, but I don't have her patience, so I decide it's as good as it'll get.

The hallway is crowded, as usual, but despite everyone around I do manage to spot a familiar face standing by my locker. Stanley leans on my locker as I approach, grinning when he sees me. I smile back without thinking, and notice—with a fair bit of self-annoyance—that the traffic in the hall is suddenly moving unbearably slow.

I finally manage to nudge my way through the crowd to my locker, where Stanley moves over to make room. "Riley Grace Pierce." He greets. "Just the lady I wanted to see."

I laugh a little, starting my combination. "I am?"

"Always." He replies easily. I internally sigh as my stomach flips, but do admit that it was kind of sweet.

When he continues to stay silent, I look up at him with raised eyebrows. He's already looking down at me with that charming smile, hazel eyes lit up in some type of teasing expression that seems to be present more often than not. And now, like almost every time I talk to him, I'm struck with a certain giddy feeling. It's not uncontrollable; it's not like every time I see him I just go stupid and blank and giggle at everything he says. Honestly, I've had far too many crushes in my life to not know how to deal with the 'symptoms' of liking someone, so this isn't anything new. What is new is that I'm getting these feelings around him... again. It's kind of a bummer because I really thought I had been over it, but in all honestly, I should have seen this coming. I've always been a sucker for flirty guys, and it's for that same quality that I can never act on anything I'm feeling; flirty guys, are just that. They flirt. With everyone. It's almost a curse that those are the one I like.

Instead of doing anything stupid, I manage to keep my expression down to an expectant smile. "Why are you here?"

Predictably, he doesn't waste anymore time. "I'm here to offer you a proposition."

"Oh, big word. Must be serious."

"I learned it just for you." He winks at me, and I swear I hear a cartoonish ding sound-effect from somewhere in the distance. "So, you, me, food, and a bunch of lawyers. You in?"

It takes me a moment to contemplate all the words, and then even longer to figure out how they fit together. "Are we getting divorced or something?" I ask.

All he does is grin. "I'll pick you up at six."

Oh, those words should definitely not get me as excited as they do. But wait... pick me up at six? For what? Before I have time to think about it any further, he leaves my locker and starts to push his way to the traffic in the hallway.

"Wait! Six as in, tonight at six?"

"You got it, Pierce." He says. Just as he's about to enter the moving line of students, he looks over his shoulder. "Oh, and wear something pretty."

And then he's gone. No explanation, no reasoning, no specifics. And I'm left wondering how I messed up my locker combination three consecutive times.

. . .

I find out later that the event he's taking me to is a fancy lawyer gala thing, courtesy of his dad's law firm. He doesn't give me many more details over text, but in the end I know two things: there'll be food, and it's a formal occasion.

I get home from school at 3:30, which gives me only two and a half hours to pick out an outfit, do my hair, and put on some makeup. Logically, I start with step one: what to wear. I don't have many dresses because I've never worn a dress to anything but a wedding before, so I take the grand total of three from my closet and lay them on the bed side-by-side, scrutinizing them from a distance. One is burgundy, one is blue, and one is a weird brown colour that I never really liked. There's really no distinguishing features on either that would sway my decision, so I find myself struggling. But then my mind finds what should have been an obvious solution: Steph.

I leave my room and head for hers. When I enter I see she's in the en-suite, leaning over the sink, her face dangerously close to the mirror as she applies mascara. "What do you want?" She demands without so much as glancing at me.

"I need your help with something." I say hopefully. She stays silent, so take it as a sign to continue. "I'm having trouble picking out..." my eyes catch on the hairbrush on her bathroom counter, and I have another idea.

"I don't have all day, Ri." She calls.

I change my question. "Can you do my hair?"

Her eyebrows shoot up and she actually glances behind her. She's a hairdresser for a living, for the simple reason that she actually loves doing hair. It was terrible when we were younger, since I was often the test subject for her questionable up-do's, but now it's pretty convenient, and a lot less painful.

"Duh." She says, quickly finishing up her mascara. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"I did."

Without her needing to tell me, I sit in the chair in front of her "hair table" (which just includes a mirror and a bunch of products organized in a precariously balanced heap) and start taking down my hair. She comes out only a moment later, standing behind me and transforming into hairstylist mode (although grouchy-sister mode never truly leaves).

"So what do we want done?" She narrows her eyes at me in the mirror, holding my hair up at different angles. "Do we want 'night on the town'? 'Casual date'? 'Cute and dainty but also ready to get drunk and pass out'? What are we thinking here?"

"I was actually thinking more 'super formal and mature while being surrounded by a bunch of successful adults'."

She hums, nodding slowly and pulling my hair away from my face, twisting it distractedly behind my head. I let her take her time, honestly happy to just sit here while she plays with my hair. "Okay... so where are you going?"

I arch a dramatic eyebrow at her in the mirror. "A gala."

She raises her eyebrows, looking impressed. "Fancy." She smirks a little and eyes me. "Are you, by any chance, going with... Stanley?"

"Maybe..."

"Ah-ha!" I wince as she tugs on my hair in her excitement. "I knew something was going on. What did I tell–"

"It's not a date." I interrupt.

She snorts, taking a brush from her table. "Please. Fancy hair, fancy gala? It's a date." She gives me a look that I previously labeled as her 'don't fight me on this I know I'm right' face. I decide to ignore it.

"It's not." I insist. She raises an eyebrow doubtfully at me in the mirror. "It's true. He... doesn't like me like that."

She doesn't respond right away, running the brush through my hair. I see her triumph disappearing, pride from her correct guess transforming to an almost calculating gaze. "Do you like him like that?"

"No." I answer quickly. She rolls her eyes knowingly. We're both terrible liars. "I don't know."

"And how are you so sure he's not into you?"

"Because I am." I shrug, not finding it hard to explain. "He's a flirt. He flirts with everyone. I'm nothing special." I say.

She's silent for a long time, combing through my hair slowly, thinking. Eventually she sighs and puts the brush back on the table. "Well in that case..." she brings some of my hair to rest over my shoulders, giving it a tug so I catch her eyes in the mirror. She smirks and quirks an eyebrow. "I think we should show him what he's missing."

. . .

Stephanie ended up doing my makeup too, which was for the best since she has much more experience and countless YouTube tutorials under her belt. When it's all said and done, I stand looking in the mirror in my room with the burgundy dress on. She recommended it.

Steph did a good job overall. My hair is put up in some intricate braid/bun thing on the back of my head (still not sure exactly what she did with it, but it required an obscene amount of bobby pins), some curled strands left in front to frame my face. The makeup she did is also awesome: not too much to look caked-on, but just enough to cover anything that doesn't need to be seen. She also did what she called a "warm smokey eye", and even if I only kind of know what that means, it looks good too.

Most of all, I look older. I'm not usually one to complain about my body, but I do know I generally look young. I'm short, my nose is sort of round, my chest isn't big, and my smile is a little too wide to be completely mature. Even the way I walk is far from 'grown up'; with my clumsy steps, I'm pretty sure I take on the likeness of a toddler taking its first steps in most situations. I'm normally not bothered by any of this, but this isn't a normal situation.

Some of it was fixed. The makeup makes my features sharper, and the fitted dress hugs the curves I do have. We even tried high heels to make me taller, but when that turned out to be as much of a disaster as anyone could have predicted, I decided to go with a shorter wedge shoe. I'm still a little taller, but only by an inch.

I leave the room at 5:53, hoping he'll be right on time so I don't have to sit around the house in this for any longer than needed. It only occurs to me when I look at the coats hanging on the rack that my orange winter jacket really won't go well with this outfit.

"Um... Steph?" I call, furrowing my eyebrows at my options.

She doesn't answer, but there's a sigh and a rustling of clothes hangers. In a moment she comes out of her room, holding a long black coat, already knowing what I was struggling with. "I was gonna wear it, but your thing is more important." She says.

"Where are you going?" I glance at her own hair and makeup job, wondering how she did it so fast after finishing with me about ten minutes ago.

"Same as you." She replies, heading back to her room for the finishing touches. "A date."

"I'm not going on a date!" I call back.

The lock of the front door clicks behind me, and I back up to make room for who could only be Jack, Stephanie's boyfriend. I put on the coat as he opens the door, entering in a full-out suit, a tie in his hand. Jack is handsome, with short, ginger hair and a clean-cut beard to match. He's easy-going and always has a smile, which serves as a good contrast to my sister. They've been dating since high school.

"Well, you look dapper." I say. It's true. The guy knows how to work a suit, even if he doesn't wear one often— which makes me wonder why he's wearing one now. They must be going to a really fancy restaurant or something.

Usually he'd grin at the comment and rattle off some line about the power of a sports jacket, but right now he just looks surprised to see me, or rather, surprised to see me in something different than jeans. "So do you. Is Prince Charming coming to take you to the ball?"

I nod, making a show of gazing out the window of the door. "Indeed. My carriage should arrive any minute now."

"Well you'll be the prettiest one there." He says sweetly.

I laugh a little and look down at the black tie in his hand. He doesn't know how to tie them himself, so he usually gets Steph or me to do it. "Need some help with that?"

"If you could be so kind, my fair lady."

I take his tie and reach up to put it around his neck. He's only half an inch taller than Steph so it's not too much of a stretch to get it in the right spot, especially with the extra inch from my shoes.

Steph is coming out of the room as I finish, now dressed in her own formal attire that compliments Jack's dark suit. Though her dress is noticeably shorter than mine. Ignoring the long whistle of approval from her boyfriend, she hands me a purse with a pointed look. "Can you remember anything on your own?"

I just smile innocently with a quick 'thank you' as I put it over my shoulder. A clutch would probably go better with the dress, but I can't be trusted not to lose it.

As Steph is putting on a coat that's a slightly lighter shade than mine (seriously, how many does she have? I don't even have one) a horn honks from outside. I glance outside to see Stanley's truck, and then at the clock to see he's four minutes early.

"That would be him." I say. Jack dramatically steps from the doorway and gestures widely to the open space.

"No motorcycle today?" Steph jokes.

"No way, he drives a motorcycle?" Excited, and apparently forgetting all about the space he made for my exit only a second ago, Jack jumps back in front of me and peers through the window as though expecting the bike to be sitting there in the middle of winter.

Stephanie rolls her eyes, ignoring him. "Have a good time."

Some nerves are starting to flutter in my stomach now, but I smile as I head out. "You too."

I close the door behind me and make my way to Stanley's silver truck parked on the curb, the street behind dark and empty. My shoes click on the driveway, and I'd be lying if I said that small sound wasn't a little bit of a confidence-booster in itself. I find out quickly that the coat Steph lent me is more for style purposes than actual heat. The cold air seeps in quickly through the sleeves, and having nothing to cover my legs only makes it worse. I'm relieved when I make it to the vehicle, and hope we don't have to walk far to get to the actual event when we park.

I open the passenger door and climb into the tall truck, thankful I decided on the short shoes. The task would have been near impossible for me in heels. Stanley is looking down at his phone even as I settle into the seat, his furrowed eyebrows telling me he's frustrated by something.

"Hey," he greets anyway, glancing up for only a moment before looking down again. "I never even saw you–" He stops, blinks at his phone, and slowly turns his head to me again. And this time he doesn't look away. "Um... you– I mean..." he clears his throat, mouth a little slack. "You look... different."

My eyebrows shoot up. I know I should have some level of pride about the situation; Stanley Worthington, self-proclaimed ladies man and member of the official badass council, just stumbled for words upon seeing me. And fine, I'll admit, that felt good. But different? Different could mean anything. Saying I look different could mean I showed up in pyjamas or a track suit, in a tux of my own or even in nothing at all. After two and a half hours of deliberation and makeup and hair, different wasn't word I was hoping to hear.

But then again, I think, this isn't a date. He has no reason to say anything else, especially since what he said wasn't even a little incorrect. I guess different is what I signed up for when I agreed to this thing.

"You do too." I say, even though he doesn't really. I mean, he's wearing a suit but I've seen him in one of those before. So besides the neat hair and the way he's still staring at me like he's shocked into a temporary state of paralysis, not much has changed. I nod to his phone. "Having trouble with something?"

The question seems to snap him out of it. "Hm? Oh, yeah. I am actually." He shakes his head and looks back at his phone. He has the maps app opened. "You wouldn't happen to know where the new hotel downtown is, would you? I forget what it's called..."

"The Rosewood?" I offer.

"Yeah!"

I nod. "Yeah, I know how to get there." He grins and puts the car in drive, saying that he knew there was a reason he brought me. I secretly wonder what the actual reason is, but decide not to ask.

I've never actually been to the Rosewood. While it's referred to as 'new' it's actually been finished for two years now, but because we don't have other any super nice luxury hotels like the Rosewood around here, everyone still calls it "the new one". As far as I know it's high-end and expensive, with its own spa, five-star restaurant, and huge event hall that is a fortune to rent and— wait... exactly how fancy is this gala?

"So, how many people are gonna be at this thing?" I ask.

Stanley chuckles. "Oh, a lot. All the lawyers in the firm get to go, and a lot bring their families. Dad's been bringing me since I was fourteen."

"Cool, cool." I nod along, looking out the windshield as the road goes by, trying not to think about the actual status of everyone there. Surely there'll be some people that aren't used to going to fancy galas, right? I shouldn't be the only one. "So, all of these people... they're like, regular people? Or are they like..."

"Rich and stuffy?" He offers. I nod and he smirks, thankfully unoffended. "Definitely rich and stuffy. The kids are stuck-up too. You know, they grew up going to stuff like this so they talk all big and stuff. Kind of weird."

"Oh."

He glances over at my short response, and he must notice something because his smile drops a little. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Plus, you're good at talking to people. You'll fit right in."

I almost laugh, looking at him in disbelief in the dark of the truck. I'll fit right in? How many galas does he think I've been to in my life? I can barely even walk properly with my one inch wedges, and know nothing about what 'stuffy rich people' talk about.

Whatever. Maybe it's not as bad as he's making it out to be. Maybe he's over-exaggerating.

. . .

"Awesome, the valet is right at the entrance this year."

I shouldn't even be shocked as we pull into the entrance of the hotel, going through the circular drive-through part near the doors that's usually for dropping people off, but tonight, apparently, it serves as the valet station. I don't even have to question if this event is too fancy for me anymore, because anything that's valet-level fancy is already too much.

A man in a clean, black coat with shiny buttons (I thought those only existed in movies) stands outside when we stop, waiting to take the truck once Stanley gets out. I wait for Stanley to move before I even try to figure out what to do. I watch him get out and take a piece of paper out of his pocket, showing it to the man. It must be a ticket or something,

I almost jump as my own door is opened, and look to see another employee in identical attire, holding open my door. I hurriedly undo my seatbelt and turn to jump down, noticing the white-gloved hand being offered. For what? I think stupidly, but then hastily take it as it clicks in. To help me down.

"Thank you." I think I smile in appreciation, but it's hard to tell. I'm a little distracted.

He nods to me. "Have a good evening, Ma'm."

Ma'm. Oh my god.

I'm saved from just standing there stupidly when Stanley comes around the vehicle, putting a hand in my back and gently guiding me in through the sliding glass doors. God knows, I need all the guidance I can get.

"So, um, you said this was fancy but I didn't think it would be this fancy." I'm not sure why my voice is hushed.

He chuckles. "I didn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" I repeat. I look over my shoulder quickly, accidentally stumbling into Stanley's side and righting myself while he grins down at me. "I just got called ma'm, Stanley!"

He feigns a dramatic gasp as we enter. "The horror. It's not like you're a woman or anything."

I might respond if the words didn't get stuck in my throat upon entering the lobby.

The first thing that catches my eye are the staircases on each side of the large lobby that extend to the second level, a chandelier that I'm sure is bigger than my van hanging in the space between them. The tile floor beneath my feet has intricate designs and is shined so cleanly that I swear I can see my reflection in it. There's a few ruby-coloured couches and chairs around, a glass table with an absurdly huge assortment of flowers on it, and are those marble pillars? Probably not completely marble, but holy sh–

"Looks like the party is this way." Stanley interrupts my thoughts, and I quickly work on picking my jaw up off the floor. It's not like I've never stayed in a hotel before. I've gone on vacations and I thought the places we stayed were pretty good, but... wow.

Stanley nods in the direction of a large set of open doors at the far end of the room, where a line of people done up in dresses and suits filter in. As we follow their lead, I look up at Stanley to see how he's dealing with all of this. He doesn't look surprised. If anything he looks as though he thinks this whole event is average, glancing around casually as though he comes here for every year for summer camp. And as we walk in behind the glittering dresses and black suits, I realize that he fits right in. Him and his suit, his neat hair, his casual gaze, his crooked tie–

Startled, I focus on the bottom of his neck, where his tie is visible through his unzipped jacket. It's askew, and hardly looks like it's done right at all.

"Um, hey." I tug his arm and he looks down with an expectant hum. I point in a random direction. "Can we just go over there for a minute?"

"Um, yeah. No problem."

He seems confused but follows me anyway without question. A number of people loiter around the lobby, checking watches or their phones, probably waiting for people to arrive. I lead him to a place by the wall where the only immediate witness is another threateningly heavy chandelier that hangs above us.

We stop and he raises an eyebrow at me. "I just wanted to tell you that you're tie isn't right." I explain, then chuckle. "You know probably don't want to tie a tie as you're entering the thing."

He's already looking down, pressing his lips together. "Yeah, I don't know how to tie a tie." He's completely unconcerned, shrugging. "Tried to watch a video, got confused..." he gestures at the mangled knot, "voila."

I blink at the poor tie hanging off his neck, wondering how I never noticed it before. "Couldn't your dad do it for you or something?"

"He left early. I had to do it myself."

I try not to smile as my eyes dart to his. "Well, actually you didn't do it."

His face goes flat. "Shut up."

An actual giggle leaves my mouth, and I would hate him for bringing it out of me if he wasn't smiling at me like that and making me feel so... warm.

I shake my head, clearing it. "Just– can I...?" I gesture to the tie and he looks dubious for a moment. Taking his silence as acceptance, I reach up and start untying the messy work.

He laughs. "Why do you know how to tie a tie?"

"I think we've established by now that I know a lot of weird things." I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "Seriously."

I shrug and look down at his tie as I tug it apart. "All pierce women know how to tie a tie."

I think he's done. He's usually not one to delve too deep into explanations, either interrupting in the middle of sentences or moving onto a different topic easily after getting a vague answer. But when I glance up, his eyes haven't moved away. I feel implored to elaborate.

"When I was younger," I continue, "my mom told me that one day a man would need me to tie it for him." I get the tie straight on either side of his neck, then begin looping and folding.

There's a silence as he looks down at his tie, and then at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Smart woman."

I laugh a little. "You have no idea." He raises an eyebrow, a silent question. I continue. "She was an English professor at the university, and she sat on the board of directors. Being smart was literally her job."

"The board of directors of... the English department?"

"Of the university."

He blinks at me, and then leans back, looking like she's studying me. I tug him back by his tie. "Your mom ran the whole university?"

"Her and many other people." I correct.

"Still impressive." He says. I can't argue with him there. "I guess you got your brains from her then."

I snort and send him a look. "I got a 60% on my last English essay. She's probably rolling in her grave."

For a moment, I regret delving into the not-so-light subject area in fear he won't know how to react. I don't want condolences or anything. She died a while ago, and words won't do much now. But I look up, and despite everything, his eyes are filled with amusement. Just that expression alone makes me fight to keep a grin down, looking back down at his tie to hide a smile.

"A 60% on schoolwork?" He asks with feigned incredulity. I shake my head, trying to focus of looping the fabric. "Who are you?"

I try to roll my eyes and leave it at that, I really do. But I finish tying the tie, and pull it snug, and look up, and he's just grinning at me. And then the crush symptoms are back, and my head goes a little foggy and my stomach feel funny, and my only response is to laugh, because it him.

In a moment his hand is on my back again, guiding me back to the line of people entering the event hall. "So..." I start. "you've already neglected to tell me about how fancy this is and that you can't tie a tie. Anything else I should know about before we go in?"

He thinks about it for a moment, letting out a hum of thought. I wasn't actually serious. Whatever lies beyond those doors is something I'm not going to be prepared for anyway, so there's really not much else he could tell me that will–

"My dad thinks we're dating."

My mind grinds to halt— screeching tires, squealing train tracks. Apparently my body follows suit, because he's soon walked ahead of me and looks back at my frozen form. He even has the nerve to look confused. Did he even hear what just came out of his mouth?

"Um... what? Why would he think that?"

Stanley shrugs. "Because I told him we were."

I raise my eyebrows at him, refusing to move, even when he gestures for me to come. After a moment he finally admits to the weirdness of it and gives up with the casual act, leading me back to the semi-secluded area we were just in.

"Look, I'm sorry to throw this on you. It's just..." he seems to struggle. Eventually he sighs, apparently not liking that he needs to say his explanation out loud. "My dad has been a little worried about me since Maddy. He thinks I'm just dating a bunch of people to try and get over her, or something stupid like that." He rolls his eyes, clearly not believing his dad's diagnosis, but I secretly wonder if his dad should be a psychologist instead of a lawyer. That's some Marina-level detection there. "Anyway, I just thought if I brought a proper date to this thing, he'd stop bugging me about it. So... can you please be my pretend girlfriend? Just for tonight."

I sigh, looking over my shoulder at the doors. "Just so you can hear it for yourself, you're asking me to lie... in a room full of lawyers."

"Well Technically the population of actual lawyers in that room is like, a third."

Oh, so now he knows how fractions work. Convenient. "It doesn't matter! Have you met me? I can't lie, like, at all. To anyone."

"Well... don't lie." He says. "I'll do the talking, you won't even have to say anything, trust me." I shoot him a doubtful look. "Please?"

I shake my head, hardly believing what's happening. I just spent the last two hours convincing Steph that this wasn't a date, and now I need to pretend it is? Would I be able to? Absolutely yes. Would I want to? Well actually, still yes. But should I? It would probably only make this stupid crush even worse, and that's something I should really think about, because I kind of have a track record of–

"Fine."

–answering questions before I've fully had a chance to think it through—oh my god. What have I done?

But it's too late. He's already grinning and squeezing my arm with a sincere 'thank you', and I'm already forgetting all about my inner-turmoil because it's him, and just like that, I'm Stanley's girlfriend. Does anything else really matter?

We go back to the line of people, hopefully to enter for real this time, and he holds out his arm. "Shall we, my Lady?" He asks grandly.

As I try to figure out what I've gotten myself into, a tuck my hand in the crook of his elbow and walk in by his side.

The event hall is just as luxurious as the lobby, although there are considerably more tables in here, draped in white tablecloths with little triangles of paper at each seat with a name on it. We pass a seating plan on the way in, but there's so many people that I can't even hope to find my name in the seconds it takes for it to disappear from sight. And then I'm back to focusing on the room, the tile floor with different, but equally as intricate patterning, the stage, the chandeliers, the small classical band, the tables lining the edge of the room, filled with food and– oh my god, is that a chocolate fountain? I make a mental note to visit that area later.

I wonder for a moment how this is all possible. I mean, I knew the law firm was a highly-esteemed and recognizable business throughout the province, but I didn't think they had this many employees, or made enough revenue to host something this extravagant. I know lawyers are usually payed well, but damn. But then I remember that Stanley's father had a client all the way in the United States, and I start to think the law firm might be a little more prestigious than I think.

I notice the presentation stand up on the stage, and lean closer to Stanley. "Is this just a party, or is there something else?"

"They have a little bit of an awards ceremony afterwards." He explains. "It's the longest part about this thing, but we'll be gone way before that."

I nod, wondering where we're going since he seems like he's just leading me aimlessly in a random direction. But he's looking around, eyes roaming over the hundreds of faces. Clearly he's looking for someone, but it'll be a miracle if he manages to find them in a room with this many–

"There he is. Come on."

I should be surprised, but I'm not. I'm really just expecting anything at this point.

He leads me smoothly through the throngs of people, looking every bit like the respectful lawyer's son he's supposed to be as he excuses himself and smiles politely. Everyone is clustered in groups, either all-men, all-women, or a mixture of couples, each in the same position as Stanley and me: hands hooked in arms, side-by-side. At least I'm fitting in. For now.

I see that he's leading us to one of the smaller groups of men, all in suits and various coloured ties, holding drinks and laughing about something one of them said. One of them notices Stanley first and he grins, clapping him on the shoulder and tapping a man next to him.

"Sandor, your boy is here." He says.

I notice, with a hint of anxiousness, that the whole group stops to look at us, each supplying their own loud and overly-excited greeting upon seeing who it is.

"About time!"

"We were about to send a search party for you!"

"How've you been?"

"Who's the pretty lady?"

My eyebrows shoot up at the last one, and I really hope he handles the conversation. Thankfully he seems like he knows what he's doing. He grins, the smile looking just as manufactured as the rest of them. "Come on, you know I'm always fashionably late." Satisfied with his response, a few laugh. Slowly, all their eyes drift to me. It's kind of a weird feeling to have ten pairs of middle-aged man eyes on you all at once. It doesn't make me feel awkward at all. Stanley glances down at me too, but then back up, clearing his throat. "Anyway, we were just on our way to the coat check. I'll catch up with you guys later."

A few mutter complaints about him leaving so fast, and a few let out long, teasing whistles as we split from the group, eyeing our attached arms.

"I'll walk you there." One of the men split from the group with us. It's Sandor, Stanley's father. Oddly, he chooses to walk next to me instead of with Stanley. "Sorry about them, Riley." He apologizes, looking back at the group with an eye roll. I find it a little strange that he already knows my name since we've only just met, but I don't comment on it. I know his name too, after all. He leans closer and lowers his voice. "Most of them are divorced. Bet you can't guess why."

I laugh and he grins. He's handsome and... younger than I thought, especially considering how successful he is. I realize that him and Stanley share a striking resemblance, save for a difference in height and a clean-cut beard.

He offers his hand. "I'm Sandor, Stanley's dad."

"Riley." I supply, even though he already seems to know who I am. He squeezes my hand lightly with a nod before letting it go again.

"I must say, I was shocked when Stanley said he was bringing you. He's never brought any of his girlfriends to this."

I laugh a little. "I was shocked too."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stanley send me a look. I raise my eyebrows innocently and he huffs, shaking his head slightly. He told me to be honest.

Sandor smiles, hands in his pockets as he strolls along with us. I'm not sure where the coat check is, so hopefully Stanley knows where he's going. "How are you finding it so far?" Sandor asks me.

"Oh, well I've only just got here, but so far it's..." I shake my head, not quite knowing how to describe everything I've seen so far. I've barely had time to think about it, so I latch onto the one thing I'm certain of. "There's a chocolate fountain. Did you know there's a chocolate fountain?"

"Really?" He asks, although he glances in the direction of the thing directly after, so I'm certain he already knew it was there. "I'll have to stop by there later, right after the cheese fountain."

"What?" I hurriedly look in the direction of all the tables again, only managing not to stumble because I'm holding onto Stanley. When I don't immediately spot it, I look back at Sandor with narrowed eyes. "You're joking, there's no such thing as a cheese fountain. Those are only in movies."

Stanley snorts and I see Sandor send him a smile. I worry for a moment that I'm not acting 'rich and stuffy' enough, but then he looks down at me with a smirk. "I'll bet you twenty dollars that there is one."

"Don't take it." Stanley advises.

Sandor just grins at Stanley. We stop walking and I realize we're at the coat check, there's a few people in front of us, but Stanley takes his off as we wait in line.

"I have to apologize." Sandor says. At first I think it's for the cheese fountain thing, and I'm about to rush to assure him that I wasn't actually going to take the bet, but he thankfully continues before I can say anything. "I would have gotten Stanley to have you over for supper had he actually told me you were dating before yesterday." He sends a look at his son, who avoids eye contact with both of us.

I wave a hand. "No, it's fine. It's not like we've been dating long or–"

"Only a month." Stanley cuts in.

A month!? I cover my shock with a cough, glancing at him with what I hope is a perfectly casual expression that still portrays the exact phrase 'I hope you're happy with what you've done to me'. I clear my throat, continuing. "Has it been that long? Wow." He nods and folds his coat over his arm as I look back to Sandor. I hope my smile doesn't look as uneasy as I feel. "It does not feel like it's been that long."

"Well," Stanley says, moving behind me. I stuff in a noise of surprise when he pulls on my coat, helping me get my arms out of the sleeves. "Time flies. Right, Riles?"

I hum and nod my head, finding I might just blow the whole thing if I speak anymore. I've had a lot of nicknames before— R, Ri, and, embarrassingly, 'Smiley Riley' when I was younger— but nobody's ever called me "Riles." It's oddly flattering, but then, I guess calling your significant other by their last name like some strict hockey coach isn't exactly romantic.

"Anyway, I better go." Sandor nods to me. "Lovely meeting you, Riley. I hope I'll see you again soon. And Stanley–" he points to his son, who's in the process of handing our coats over, but looks back anyway. "Get this woman to the chocolate fountain. ASAP."

He winks at me as he walks away, and I'm left feeling oddly cheerful about the interaction. He's certainly not 'rich and stuffy'.

Stanley comes back, stuffing a couple small slips of paper in his pants pocket. He looks in the direction his father left in. "Do you think he knows somethings up?" He asks.

Even though I'm not sure, I wave a dismissive hand for his sake. "Psh, no. We rocked that. We're almost a better couple than Monica and Chandler."

"Who's that?"

"Never mind."

He just shrugs, leaving it. Then he holds out his arm again, and like the obedient girlfriend role I'm playing, I tuck my hand in his arm and let him lead me away again. "Where are we going now?" I ask. "Do you have some more borderline-creepy men to talk to?"

"Oh, not at all." He looks down at me, a smile coming across his face that makes his eyes look a little lighter. "I believe we have a date with a chocolate fountain."

I laugh and let him lead me across the room.

We spend the next hour going around to the various food tables. There's really only little finger foods around. Stanley told me they have a full dinner for the employees after, but we'll be gone by the time that comes around. He tries almost everything we come across, and calls me picky when I wrinkle my nose at one too many complexly named hors d'oeuvres.

Of course, we're not left to ourselves the whole time. Random couples come up to us every few minutes, and after exchanging some hollow-feeling pleasantries, Stanley and whichever man he's talking to follow the same script over and over again.

"So, I see you've got yourself a girlfriend. How long have you been dating?"

"Only a month."

"Ah, young love."

Stanley does most, if not all, of the talking. In fact, the men that come up barely even look at me, asking my 'boyfriend' about me instead of ever addressing me directly. It's a strange feeling: having someone else talk for you.

We end up meeting with a few of the "kids" Stanley referred to in the truck. They're all around our age, and thankfully they actually talk to me. The girls in particular seem quite interested in our relationship.

"So... Stanley?" One of them asks me at one point, after the girls and guys have split into two separate groups. The guys are only a few feet away, but somehow I ended up being trapped in this group, and Stanley in the other. He keeps glancing over, like he's checking on me.

"What about him?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't know." She sips on a flute of something light and bubbly. Probably champagne. She must be old enough to get something from the bar. "He just doesn't seem like your type."

I try not to laugh. I've gotten along well with the other girls— we've complimented each other's dresses, talked about the food, and some even shared my complaints about how early twentieth-century the whole event seems. Abigail, however, has clearly had her eye on Stanley for a while. To say the least, she's not taking kindly to me.

"Not my type?" I question, glancing over at him. It's at that moment that he looks my way to do one of his 'checks'. He winks and blows me a kiss when he sees me looking. I stifle a laugh as I focus back on Abigail. "How so?"

By now, most of the other girls are paying attention, looking back and forth between myself and Abigail. I feel strangely like they're keeping score of something.

"You guys are just so different." She says.

I chuckle a little, acting like I don't know what she's getting at. "Well, you know what they say about opposites."

She smiles tightly. "Yes, I suppose." I drink out my own glass, filled with sparkling water instead of champagne. Its taste reminds me of tv static, but I feel that voicing that opinion would be improper, so I keep it to myself. Her eyes dart down to the drink. "But aren't you a little young?"

"For him?" I ask. How old does she think he is? She has to be at least nineteen if she can get champagne. "We're both in grade twelve."

"Oh, you're in his grade?" She asks innocently. I feel my smile falter slightly. "I apologize, I just assumed you were younger. My mistake."

Her red lips gain an apologetic slant, although her eyes look anything but sorry. I know she's just saying it because she's jealous, and it's almost funny because, come on, a grown woman jealous of a high-schooler for dating another high-schooler? Hilarious. But still, she's clearly an adult (I could tell even without the champagne) and having that one little insecurity acknowledged out loud stings, even if it's just by little bit.

"Oh it's fine." I wave a hand dismissively before pointing at the clutch she's carrying. "I've been meaning to ask you, where'd you get that bag? It's gorgeous."

Eventually the guys join back into the conversation, coming over almost one-by-one by introducing themselves with some lame joke about us having too much fun without them. Yup, I think, watching one bring Abigail another drink. Fun.

I nearly spill my own drink when one of them puts his arm around me, hand coming to rest on my waist. I've never been someone to jump at physical contact. I'll admit, I'm kind of a touchy person myself, but even I have a weird feeling about this. Or maybe that's just the way he's smirking at me.

"Hey, I'm Mark. I was hoping you'd join me for a–"

"Hey, babe! I was looking for you." I didn't even notice that Stanley had come over, looking the same as before, except he might as well be wearing a suit of armour in my eyes. He's grinning, but when his eyes land on Mark, it looks more like barred teeth. The hand on my waist mysteriously disappears. "Join me for a dance?" He asks me.

I've never been so eager to take his hand.

He leads me to the designated space for the dance floor, where, as it turn out, nobody is actually dancing. Instead they stand around in groups, talking to each other over the music. Stanley doesn't seem to mind. His hand finds my waist and mine finds his shoulder, our free hands joining together on the other side as he leads me into a sway that's a little too slow for the upbeat music.

"Sorry about Mark. He's a dick." He mutters.

"What?" I feign shock. "I never got that impression at all."

He snorts and I grin. After an hour of polite conversation, talking to him, no matter how strange the circumstances, is like finally being able to breathe again.

Suddenly the music stops, and we send each other a confused glance, but as soon as it ended, it starts up again. This time it's a slower piece, the beats matching exactly to our movement. In sync, both our eyebrows shoot up and we look at the band, where a man playing the cello nods to us. My jaw drops and I turn back to Stanley, who winks and shoots him a 'subtle' thumbs-up. I can't help but grin, letting my head fall to his chest. We're the only ones dancing.

"Alright, you actually need to tell me..." Stanley starts. His serious tone makes me look up, meeting his eyes. "Who's Monica and Chandler?"

I snort. Formality be damned. "Just the best couple in sit-com history."

He takes the information in with a hum. After a second, he nods to himself. "Well, we're better." He decides. For the first time in a hour, my laugh is real. "What?" He asks, chuckling himself. "Clearly the band thinks so."

"The band is happy because somebody is finally dancing." I correct, looking around. People are actually sending us judgemental glances. Jeez. "Does nobody here like dancing or something?" I ask.

"Oh, you don't know? These people wouldn't know a real party if it punched them in the face."

My eyebrows shoot up, a surprised laugh surfacing. He smirks, and I have a feeling I'm not the only one who's sick of the formality.

I realize I was wrong earlier. He doesn't fit in. Yes, he looks the part; with his shiny shoes and tailored suit (and man, can that guy rock a suit), he almost looks like he came right out of a magazine. But even with all that, there's something different. There's a genuineness to his smile that I haven't seen in anyone else's here, and his eyes are on mine when I'm talking, not somewhere else. He's easy-going and funny and charming, and I like him. I really like him.

"What do you want to be?" I ask.

He frowns at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when we're out in the real world." I shrug, glancing around at the lights, the tables, the suits. If there was ever a time to think about some idealistic, ambitious version of the future, this would be it. "What do you want to be?"

He looks at me for a moment, and it's an expression of contemplation. Somehow I know he's not wondering about the question, but about whether or not he should tell me his answer. "A cop." He says finally.

I tilt my head, not expecting the response, but secretly glad he didn't say 'lawyer'. "Why?"

"Because... they stand up for people." He shrugs. "And I know, the police aren't always perfect at standing up for all the people who need it, but I like to think I'd be doing some good."

I smile, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I think you would make a very badass cop."

The corner of his mouth pulls up. "Thanks." There's a few moments of silence, but the music fills it, and stepping in our slow rhythm seems to be enough. He speaks again after a minute. "Sorry I dragged you out this thing."

"What? No, it's–"

"No, I'm sorry." He says again. My eyebrows pinch in as he shakes his head. "I just wanted someone here that I could talk to like a normal person instead of like I'm in a job interview, and the first person I thought of was you."

I press my lips together, unsure of what to say. I can handle the flirting from him, it doesn't bother me, and I thought that if there was one thing I could count on tonight, it would be that. But of course, on a night when everything is unexpected, he just had to go and say something sweet like that.

"And here I thought you just wanted someone to dance with." I joke lamely.

He smirks and winks at me. See? That was a predictable response. "That is a plus." He lifts his arm, and while I manage to spin under it successfully, it's definitely not the most graceful thing I've ever done.

I wrinkle my nose when our hands join again. "I think I dance better when I'm drunk."

Stanley smiles and shrugs. His eyes drift to my feet and then back up, and the way his expression turns into a sly grin tells me that sweet, heartfelt Stanley is gone, replaced with his flirty counterpart. "Yeah, but I like you better sober. The whole 'Bambi on ice' thing you've going on is pretty cute."

I try to glare at him, but I know it's useless. Of course, he grins at me and I crack only a moment later. "I'll have you know, I've only tripped once tonight. Which is a huge success." He nods animatedly in an exaggerated agreement. I raise my eyebrows. "I could've worn sneakers, if you'd prefer."

"Maybe next time." He says casually.

It takes a lot of concentration to continue dancing after that sentence clicks in. "Next time?" I ask. He nods. "As in a year from now?"

"Too short notice?"

"Yeah, I'm actually busy that day."

His hand leaves mine and joins his other at my waist. "Really?"

"Mmhm." I nod, loosely joining my fingers on the back of his neck. I sigh airily and glance toward the door. "I've got two galas to hit that night."

He hums but I can't keep up the casual act anymore, giggling at his contemplative expression. "I guess I'll just have to talk to Abigail then." Embarrassingly, something sinks in me at his words. He frowns at me, throwing away the nonchalant facade. I didn't even realize my smile fell. "Woah, bad blood?" He asks. There's no amusement in his tone.

I roll my eyes, shooting him a smile. "No. She's... lovely."

He studies me, furrowing his eyebrows. "What'd she say to you?" He demands finally.

"Nothing."

"I'm serious. If she said–"

"Hey," I try to get his attention as his head starts swivelling, looking for her. People are already looking at us weird for dancing, we don't need them thinking he's out for blood. I tug the collar of his shirt and he turns back at me. I raise my eyebrows. "Seriously. It's nothing. Leave it alone."

He looks doubtful, but relents, reluctantly focusing on me again. "For the record, Abigail is terrible." He shudders dramatically when he says her name, and I shake my head. A little bit of guilt pricks my insides for agreeing with him, but not enough to stop the small smile that surfaces. "Seriously, I wouldn't rather be here with anyone else but you."

I look down and breathe out a chuckle, my fingers anxiously fiddling with the collar of his suit. Again with the sweet stuff. That's two times tonight alone, and it's not even the first time it's happened. It takes me by surprise every time. The words always come when I'm convinced I was right about him— that he is a flirt, and I'm just an outlet for his pick-up lines; but then he'll say something else, something real and so shockingly open, honest eyes making my thoughts turn to static, and I wish I found it annoying and could chalk it down to the stupid crush. But I can't, and it's getting harder for my mind to write it off as nothing.

"Oh, we've gotta go." Stanley suddenly says. I look up to see him looking over my head, and I turn to see a couple people making their way onto the stage. "They're about to announce that the second half of the gala is starting, and then most of these people are gonna want to leave."

Before I even have time to comprehend anything, he takes my hand, quickly thanks the band, and starts walking toward the coat check. I'm practically jogging behind him as we make our way through the crowd. He seems to forget that his legs are much longer than mine.

There's only a couple people at the coat check when we get there, Stanley digging out the slips of paper from his pocket that I'm guessing match with the coats. It only takes a moment for us to move up in line, and Stanley swears when there's a microphone tapped on onstage.

He rushes to get our coats in order as he glances around as though waiting for an attack. I'm about to tell him that the coats can wait until we get to the lobby, but then he suddenly freezes. It's only for a moment, but the way his eyes lock on something in the line of people forming behind us makes the words stick in my throat.

As quickly as he stopped, he gets moving again, although now his pace has slowed down considerably. I watch him, confused as he sorts out the coats, takes mine, and holds it up to help me put it on. I turn and put my arms through the sleeves with his help and spin around to face him again, ready to ask him what's up.

"Why are you suddenly–"

He kisses me.

It's not much of a kiss— really just a peck on the lips that's finished as soon as it began, but I get a feeling in my gut like I'm falling. He pulls back while I'm left stunned, blinking ahead at nothing.

He folds his own coat over his arm. "Ready to go, Riles?" He asks casually.

I can only nod.

As we walk away, I see that Abigail was a few spots behind us in line, and she does not look happy. I look up at Stanley to see him with a small, smug grin.

I'm only aware as we approach the open double doors of the event hall that my face is warm. Hot actually. And for a moment I wonder what's happening. A heart attack? A flu? Did I just run a mile? But none of that's right. I'm blushing—a full-out, cheeks-burning, mind-numbing, embarrassing, red, blush. This doesn't happen to me. I mean, sure, sometimes I might get a little uncomfortable in situations, and maybe I'll even find my face a little warm, but this does not happen. And because of what? A kiss that was barely even a kiss? I've kissed plenty of people—Trey, a couple summer boyfriends (that Marina and Maren don't need to know about), guys on a dare, girls on a dare—and this has never happened once. Why in the name of anything is it happening now?

I hope my makeup covers at least some of the colour as we enter the lobby, people behind us starting to trickle out at a faster rate as a voice is heard over the microphone inside. Thankfully Stanley doesn't have the chance to notice anything amiss. When we get to the doors there's a small line outside for the valet, and he tells me to wait inside while he goes out. I'm all too glad to oblige.

"I figured I'd catch you out here." I turn to my left to find Sandor approaching, smiling. I return the expression and hope I don't still resemble some insultingly red fruit.

"You're not staying? I thought the second half was for the employees." I say.

He shakes his head. I notice his smile looks a little less excited. "No, I'm staying. I just know that Stanley always goes early and wanted to see you both out." He glances behind at the mass of people emerging from the room we were just in. "Although usually he likes to get out a little before this."

I chuckle. "Yeah, he seemed like he was in a bit of a panic to leave when he realized the time."

Sandor laughs too, putting his hands in his pockets as a cold breeze blows through the sliding doors. I don't bother tightening my jacket around me, still a little warm. "He likes you, you know." Sandor says. The statement would be a little random, but somehow he makes it sound like he's continuing from what we were talking about.

I smile and glance through the glass doors, where Stanley is shoving on his coat as he stands in line. "He likes a lot of people."

"Ah, but you're different." Sandor says. I'm immediately doubtful, but he continues before I can say anything. "Since Maddy, you're the only girlfriend he's let me meet."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I can't help but glance up at him. He nods. I should probably be thrilled, but a guilty feeling works its way in instead. He has so much hope for the relationship, and it's not even real.

"You're good for him." He continues.

"Oh, I don't know. You've only just met me." I chuckle.

He shakes his head, his voice certain. "No, you are." I press my lips together, at a loss for what to say. He nods, as though he's deciding something. "I like you, Riley."

I laugh a little. "I like you too."

He chuckles, glancing out the doors. "Oh, and thanks for tying his tie by the way. It must have looked terrible."

I shouldn't be surprised that he figured that out. He is a lawyer after all. "It did look pretty bad." I agree.

"Well, I'm glad you came then." Like when I spoke to him first, he takes my hand, squeezes it and nods to me. "It was very nice meeting you, Riley. I hope you'll come over to the house for supper sometime."

"Wouldn't miss it." I reply.

With a last smile, he leaves, heading back in the direction of the event hall, where people are now pouring out by the dozen. He doesn't seem to mind that he never got to talk to his son.

Stanley comes back inside soon after, and the truck pulls up a couple minutes after that. The valet is hectic now, the workers rushing around, attempting to find sets of keys as fast as possible before taking off in the direction of the parking garage. The job must be hard on the cardio.

We leave "just under the wire" as Stanley puts it, glancing back and smirking at the enormous line formed outside. I just feel bad for the workers.

We pull up by the curb outside my house twenty minutes later. The lights inside are on, which means Steph and Jack must be back from their date.

I undo my seatbelt and turn to Stanley with a smile. "Thanks for inviting me. It was fun."

"Thank you for coming." He replies.

I move to open my door, but stop as he puts a hand on my arm. I turn back to him, raising my eyebrows expectantly. He stays silent for a moment, jaw working. Then he clears his throat. "You looked really good tonight." He says finally. "I mean, you still look good, and you look good anyway, but... I just forgot to tell you earlier that you, um..." he pauses again, searching for words. Then he nods and meets my eyes with a crooked smile. "You look beautiful."

I bite my lip, but break into a grin anyway. "Thank you."

He nods and squeezes my arm before letting go. I step out of the truck, and wave to him before walking up the driveway. When I open the door to the house (unlocked. Steph really needs to work on that) Steph and Jack are in the living room, sitting on the couch with a movie turned on.

Steph looks over her shoulder as I shut the door, a grin quickly spreading across her face. My first thought is that she must be drunk, but when she speaks, her voice is clear.

"Hey! How was your date?" She asks, and I don't even bother correcting her on it.

"Good, actually." I reply, slipping my shoes off. "How was yours?"

"Oh, it was decent." Her and Jack share a smile that makes me feel like I'm on the outside of a joke.

"You seem oddly happy."

Immediately Jack looks at me with an mock offended "Hey!" but I just roll my eyes at him. He knows I was talking about Stephanie.

"This is just a really good movie." She replies innocently.

I hum as I walk over to stand behind the couch, watching the screen. I only need to watch for a few seconds to realize it's a western, which is weird because those are Jack's favourite movies, and Stephanie only watches them with him if she's in a really good mood.

"What's it about?" I ask, leaning on the back of the couch.

"Oh, you know," she sighs, waving her hand in an uncharacteristically wide gesture. "Typical western stuff. Horses, saloons, guns..."

Wait...

My hand shoots forward to grab hers, stilling the movement and eyeing what I thought I did. There's a ring on the wedding finger of her left hand.

"Oh my god." I glance at them both, frozen. "Is this for real?"

Jack shrugs through his grin. "I mean, I hope so."

After that there's some screaming, some laughing, and some hugging. Jack dramatically re-tells the story of him getting down on one knee in front of the whole restaurant, although he frequently adds in details that Steph needs to correct as he goes along. It's cute and funny and, if I'm being honest, about freaking time. The pair dated on and off since grade ten, but have been steady ever since they graduated. I've been expecting it for years, so it's almost a relief for it to finally happen.

Eventually I leave them to have their own little movie night (plus seeing Steph so happy is kind of unsettling). I take off the dress immediately when I get to my room and replace it with pyjamas, already starting to take some bobby pins out since that process will take a while. Removing pins with one hand and digging through my purse with the other, I pull out my phone and notice a text. It's from Stanley.

You left a tube of lipstick in the truck. I'll have it back to you by tomorrow.

Okay, so maybe leaving something in the vehicle wasn't my smartest move considering I'm supposed to be getting over this stupid thing. But i have to admit that it was a good date, even if it was just pretend.

Thx so much! :)

It's only a moment before I get another text back.

Not a problem ;)

– Your knight in shining armour

I shake my head, not even bothering to fight a smile.

Like I told Marina and Maren: Simple math.

Hey guys!

I'm as surprised as you are with my update speed. Thankfully it hasn't been very long since last chapter, and I think this is the quickest I've updated... probably ever. Still not sure what happened, but here it is. Now, this is not to say I will have the following chapters up just as quickly, but I will try to have them up as soon as possible.

Reviews:

liverlife7— Hey! Thanks for the review. Your very first question was answered in this chapter, but to make it more clear, Maren did enjoy the date, but feared John wouldn't know about the 'leaving something in the car' thing so she didn't bother. Also, love the list format for the questions, it seriously makes my day :) Here we go... 1) Yes, John will meet Kat soon, and yes, Maren will be less than pleased lol. 2) Pretty sure this chapter answered that question, but yes. Definitely more Ranley content coming up. 3) Will definitely be focusing more on everybody's families in the coming chapters, John's included. 4) Taking out the One/Adam plot was a hard decision, especially because I had already planned out how it would all go down, plus I had told you guys it was going to happen, so I feel really bad about not being able to do it. That being said, this story has to come to an end sometime, and would be absurdly long if I included it, so I had to scrap it in the end. I'm a little upset about the decision myself, but I'm happy you agree with it :) 5) thanks so much for your input! Means a lot that people think I'm heading in the right direction with this thing. 6) Yeah, the Covid-19 stuff is absolutely crazy. It's starting to escalate here too (seriously had a health minister publicly advise people to not let their kids lick the handles of grocery store carts... I didn't think that was something that people needed to be reminded about, but that's where we are apparently, lol), and I can only hope that everyone reading this is healthy and safe. Glad the chapter alleviated some of the boredom :) Thanks so much for the review, and glad you're enjoying the story!

Guest (March 30th)— Hi! Having everything planned out seems to be helping for sure. The quicker update speed of this chapter was mostly due to the extra time I have staying at home (of course I still have online school, but everything is much more lenient), but I'd like to think the plan will help me stay on track with the chapters to come as well. Thanks for reviewing!

As a general note, please stay safe everyone. Covid is causing a lot of uncertainty and craziness, but I hope you all stay positive, safe, and, most importantly, healthy.

Anyway, that's it from me. As always, thank you to everyone who read/ reviewed, it seriously means a ton! Let me know what you thought of the chapter in the reviews! See you next time :)