Another step. Unease flips in my stomach.

One more step. She’s so close that I actually stop breathing. Maybe, just maybe, if I don’t make a move, I’ll disappear.

But it doesn’t work. Before I can even consider turning to flee, she tears the hat off my head and removes my glasses.

“Alec.” She practically spits out my name.

“Chris, actually. My name is Chris,” I say, still using the preposterous fake voice, only to realize that that probably wasn’t a smart move, given my fake IG handle.

“What the hell are you—?” She sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you copying me? Are you—” Her hand flies to her forehead, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, are you ChrisEcrafts? Chris Evans crafts?”

Pretty sure I can’t be beamed up by Scotty at this point, so instead, I act . . . ignorant. “Luna, is that you? Wow, wasn’t expecting to see you here. Yeah, just picking up my weekly allotment of macadamia nuts. Can’t get enough of these guys.” I toss the cans into my basket and grip the handle. “What a coincidence seeing you here! Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing, and I’ll be on my way.”

I move to push away, but she grips my cart and holds me in place. For such a small lady, she’s pretty damn strong. Through clenched teeth, she asks, “Are you ChrisEcrafts?”

“What? Psshh, I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to get my ingredients, lady.” I have one thing left on my list; I decide to push my luck. “Just wondering, if you were to get a certain kind of powdered sugar, what would you get?”

She tosses her hands in the air. “Unbelievable. You’re copying me.”

“You know, that’s a pretty heavy accusation to make without any evidence.”

She shoves the nuts to the side and points from my cart to hers.

“Your point?” I ask.

“Hand me your list.”

“No, that’s private.” I back away.

But she does some crazy spin move I feel like I’ve only seen on the football field, and before I can figure out what the hell she’s doing, my list is out of my back pocket and in her hand. Her eyes fly over the paper. I try to grab it back, but she’s too quick for me.

When she’s done reading it, her eyes bore a hole in me. “You’re copying me.”

“You don’t have proof.”

She points to the paper. “Right here it says, with an asterisk next to it, Don’t stray from the list, get what Luna gets.”

Huh, I forgot I wrote that.

“I had a few drinks last night. I can’t be held accountable for what I write.”

She holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.” And before she can pull another spin move on me, I back up to the shelf behind me, careful not to knock anything over this time. “None of that tricky spinning shit.”

“Let me see your phone.”

“No.”

“Alec, let me see it.”

“Luna . . . no.”

“Because I’m right—you’re ChrisEcrafts.”

“Or you’re insane and—”

“Fine,” she says, pulling her phone from her bag and quickly typing away on it.

“What are you doing? Calling the police? Just so you know, I know people at the precinct. I’m a friend of the men and women in blue, and I’ve done nothing—”

Bling.

Smirking, Luna lifts her phone, showing me the message she just sent ChrisEcrafts. The message that just sounded off on my phone.

Fuck.

“Coincidence.”

She rolls her eyes and starts lighting up my phone with blings as she sends message after message.

“Okay, fine. Stop.” I push her hands down. “It’s me.”

“I knew it,” she says, as if she just solved New York’s most infamous crime. “I freaking knew it. Last night when I saw the name come across, it seemed too coincidental. But then you sounded so girly in the message that it threw me for a loop.” Ha, maybe I still have a little bit of stealth left in me. “But I was right,” she continues. “You’re trying to steal my ideas. Wow, Alec, I knew you were desperate, but not desperate enough to troll me on—” She pauses, as if she remembers something. “Oh my God, your profile . . . were you catfishing me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. “I am not a catfisher.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“So you’re telling me all those things you posted, you created?”

“You looked through my profile?” I ask with a smile. “I’m flattered.”

Her eyes narrow. “You seriously have a screw loose. I can’t believe you would stoop this low. Well, actually, I probably should believe it, given your losing record. It’s pathetic, Alec, really pathetic.”

As I stare at her contemptuous face, I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse. It is pathetic. It’s pathetic that I’m creating a fake profile to stalk a competitor on a wedding show, all so I can feel like I’m repairing my relationship with my brother.

It’s pathetic that I’ve taken so long to realize our relationship even needs repairing.

And it’s pathetic that the only way I know how to fix it is by stalking a competitor.

She starts to walk away.

“I am reaching,” I blurt out, honestly, bringing our conversation full circle. She pauses and looks over her shoulder. “I’m reaching because my relationship with Thad is practically extinct. I barely know him, I barely know his wife, and if I don’t fix the broken communication between us, I know I won’t have a relationship with my soon-to-be niece or nephew.” Since she hasn’t left, I keep talking, one hand gripping the back of my neck. “This is important to him, and I’m failing him. He came to me because I’m his hero, the guy he’s depended on to protect him his entire life, and weekend after weekend, I’ve failed him.” Gripping even tighter, I look Luna dead in the eyes. “I don’t want to fail him anymore.”

I watch the indecisiveness in her eyes—the war between staying and going. Her body is telling her to flee, with one foot in the right direction, while her mind or maybe her heart—who knows?—is keeping her firmly in place.

“I know this isn’t your problem and I’m sorry for coming here, for setting up that fake profile. I know it wasn’t right, but like you pointed out, I’m pathetic, and when you’re this desperate, you’ll do pretty much anything.”

She still doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at me, as if she can’t quite understand what’s going on. Hell, I don’t understand what’s going on either, Luna.

But as the store’s employees come to clean up the vanilla, the silence between us stretches and awkwardness takes over, until I sigh, grip my basket, and start to walk away.

I’m about to turn the corner when she calls out, “Wait.”

I look over my shoulder. “Any type of powdered sugar should be fine,” she says. “Just be sure to sift it so there are no chunks when you whip it into icing.”

As if she’s shot an arrow at me full of fresh air, I feel my lungs expand in relief. I look over my shoulder and smile. “Thank you.”

Then I turn the corner, grab some powdered sugar, and wheel my basket to the checkout counter, macadamia nuts and all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LUNA

The door slams shut and Farrah’s voice rings through the apartment. “God, I swear choosing to live with you was one of the best decisions I ever made, despite the glitter I find on my Q-tips after cleaning my ears.” She sets her bag down. “What is that heavenly smell?”

“Cake,” I say in a monotone voice, staring off at the basket of dicks needlepoint in the entryway.

“Oh, Mama likes herself some cake. What kind?” Farrah steps into the kitchen and picks up a fork.

“Vanilla bean with a berry and buttercream filling.” I don’t mention that I had to make the cake batter twice because I messed up the first round. I blame it on being distracted, not the fact that I never seem to make a cake right the first time. Hence the practicing.

“Smack my ass, that sounds delish. Where is it?”

“Cooling.” I’m still staring at the needlepoint when Farrah pokes me in the shoulder with her fork.

“Hey, what’s with you? Were you shot by a tranquilizer? If you were, tell me where, because I could use some tranquilizer after the kind of day I had.”

I keep staring, the look in Alec’s eyes burned in my memory.

Embarrassment.

Desperation.

Regret.

Hope.

They all collided and reached out to me when he admitted to his and Thad’s less-than-great relationship. I had an inkling that was the case, given the bickering I kept hearing from their workbench, and the way his apathy clashed with Thad’s general drama and intensity.

But to see the pure sorrow in Alec’s eyes over admitting to it . . . hell, it cut through me. I couldn’t imagine feeling estranged from Cohen—the thought of it just about knocks the wind out of me. My relationship with my brother, and with my whole family, really, is everything. I rely on them for moral support, for good times, for encouragement, and to be my cheerleaders. And it seems like Alec doesn’t have any of that.