“It’s complicated,” I finally answer. “And just got a whole lot more complicated.” I roll my head to the side, trying to ease the stress headache that’s creeping up on me. “Thad’s fiancée, Naomi, is pregnant. Thad wants me to be a part of the baby’s life.”

“Ah.” Lucas nods. “Thad thinks participating in The Wedding Game could help you mend things, start a new chapter in your relationship.”

“That and other reasons as well.” Reasons I don’t need to get into with Lucas.

“Seems like enough of a reason to say yes.”

“I know.” I drag my hand over my face. “I really don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”

Lucas shakes his head just as our plates arrive. The burger I ordered isn’t looking at all appetizing anymore.

I tap my foot, hands in my pants pockets, waiting for the door in front of me to open. After a long lunch with Lucas, I tried to convince myself I didn’t have to say yes to Thad, that I could figure out another way to repair our relationship, but I just kept picturing Thad’s desperate face. He wants this so much, and at the end of the day, I’ve always tried to make my brother happy.

Which has led me here.

The door opens, and I see Naomi’s bright-red hair on the other side, followed by her shocked eyes, a lighter shade of green than Thad’s and mine. More beautiful.

“Alec.” She opens the door wider. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Come in.”

I step into their one-bedroom Bronx apartment, and Naomi gives me a brief hug. I remember when Thad and Naomi moved in. I brought them a housewarming gift—a new smart TV—but wasn’t considering their limited space when I purchased the seventy-inch screen. It takes up almost an entire wall.

I can see why Thad wants a bigger place. I know they already pay over $2,000 for rent, and for what, really? The kitchen, dining area, and family room are squeezed into one long room. Off to the right is their bedroom and bathroom, with an additional coat closet near the front door—that’s about it. Far cry from the Park Avenue apartment we grew up in, the one my dad took in the divorce, despite my mom taking custody of the kids.

“It’s so great to see you.” Turning toward their bedroom, Naomi calls out, “Thad, it’s your brother!”

Instantaneously, Thad’s head pops past the doorframe. “What?” When he sees me, his mouth falls open for a second before he snaps it shut and walks out into the living room, wearing sweats and my old high school baseball shirt that I gave him before I left for college. How does it even still fit him? Granted, we wore them big back then, but still . . .

“Hey, Thad,” I say, rocking back on my heels, feeling really fucking weird and wishing I’d just done this over the phone.

But in usual Thad fashion, he pulls me into a warm hug and says, “I got some carrot cake from the bakery around the corner. We were just about to have some. Want a piece?”

“I’d like that.”

Naomi retrieves an extra plate while Thad gives me another hug. His arms feel familiar . . . like home.

I return the embrace with a quick pat to the back and then pull away, done with the lovefest.

“Too much too soon?” Thad asks, clearly sensing my need to flee the scene of the crime, where I hugged my brother twice in a row just for showing up at his apartment.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Fair enough. Baby steps.”

Naomi brings over cake, and we all sit down on the sofa in their living/dining/kitchen area. While they pick up their forks, I just stare down at my piece. They’re acting so normal, as if we do this every Sunday night. This might be a lot harder than I thought.

Wanting to get to the point and then get the hell out of here, I say, “Uh, I’ll do the thing.”

Thad picks up my fork and forces me to take it. “Eat up, bro.”

I glance between the two of them and then repeat myself. “Did you hear me? I said I’ll do the thing.”

“I know,” Thad responds, mouth full of cake. “I knew you would. You always come through when I need you.” He smiles and continues to dig into his cake.

Well . . . hell.

Mr. Reliable: apparently that’s me.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUNA

“What’s wrong? You love my biscuits and gravy. Just like I can’t get enough of your hearty goulash, and—I’m going to be frank—I’m peeved you only saved me one bowl,” Farrah says as we sit at the counter in our dim apartment, Grey’s Anatomy playing in the background.

“You weren’t home.” I sigh, poking one of the biscuits with my fork. “Cohen claimed the sibling card and took the rest home with him. Sorry. He was irritated with me, so I didn’t put up a fight. I’ll make you some this weekend.”

“Cohen? Irritated at you? I don’t believe it. Cohen is never irritated at you.”

“Well, he is right now. He’s been texting me one-worded answers. I know he’s busy and all with some new renovations his company took on, but one-worded answers aren’t like him.”

Farrah takes a big bite of a biscuit. “Okay, tell me what happened. Clearly it took place when he was here the other night.”

I nod as I lean back in my chair and then just stare at my food. “Have you ever seen The Wedding Game?”

“That budget wedding show? It’s like a crossover of Top Chef and America’s Got Talent, but with crafts?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ve caught a few episodes here and there. The Nashville season, I believe.”

“Well, they’re coming to New York, and I suggested Cohen and Declan fill out an application. They would be perfect for it.”

“Uh, yeah, they would be. New Yorker lumberjack and sexy Asian schoolteacher? The show was made for them. America would vote for them in a heartbeat.”

“That’s what I said. And I’d be helping them put together everything, so they would win. I just know it. I can feel it. And the prize is a penthouse in Manhattan. They could finally be close.”

“And let me guess—Cohen wants nothing to do with it,” Farrah says.

“You could not be more right.” I wad up my napkin and toss it on the counter. “I hate how . . . uptight he is sometimes. Loosen up, man. This could be a fun opportunity, but it was an immediate no.”

“I can’t believe you even expected him to think about it. This is Cohen. He hates the spotlight. He’s not the type of guy who wants to parade his life around on a reality show.”

“He could be. I’ve seen him loosen up.”

“When he’s drunk,” Farrah counters. “Which is rare. Face it, Luna, there’s no chance you could ever get him to fill out that application.”

“Maybe Declan?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

“Declan is almost too honorable.” Farrah shakes her head. “Cohen said no, then no it is.”

I hate that she’s right.

“God, why do they have to be so annoyingly perfect?” I rest my head on the edge of the table and flail my arms above me. “Don’t they understand how amazing this could be? A free wedding—a beautiful, free wedding. I could make it their dream. They don’t have to settle. And when they win, because we know they would win, they could live so much closer to us, which would mean more goulash.” I lift my head just enough that Farrah can see me wiggle my eyebrows.

“I’m not the one who needs convincing.” She takes another big bite of biscuit.

“He wants more,” I say quietly, looking away.

“What do you mean?” Farrah asks.

Gnawing on the side of my lip, I take a deep breath and push at my biscuit again. “As you know, Cohen doesn’t flaunt his love. He keeps it quiet because he doesn’t want to make other people uncomfortable.” I roll my eyes. “Ridiculous, I know. But before Declan came along, when gay marriage was just legalized in New York State, Cohen and I were watching it all unfold live on CNN, holding hands the whole time. When the law passed, Cohen let out this heavy exhale, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. I can still hear it in my head, how utterly relieved he was. Relieved over a basic human right.”

“I remember all the rainbow flags we texted each other that day.” Farrah smiles thoughtfully.

“Once I’d stopped humping the air in victory, Cohen pulled me back down on the couch and told me he was done suppressing his love, and when he met the right guy, he wanted to make it a day to remember. It didn’t have to be costly or fancy, but he wanted a celebration, a moment to bask in the love he knew he would share with someone one day.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I want him to have that day. This show could be it for them, but he shot it down before even giving it any thought.”

Farrah pops the rest of her biscuit in her mouth and says, “You know, if it was my brother, I would just fill out the application without him knowing. What’s that saying? ‘Act now, beg for forgiveness later’? That’s what I would do.”

Fill out the application myself?

Why didn’t I think about that?

As if her suggestion has given me life again, I stand up from the counter and raise my fist, declaring, “I shall fill out the application myself.”

Farrah freezes, fork midway to her mouth. “Wait, I didn’t mean for you to do that.”

“It’s so simple. I’ll just fill it out, and then when they’re accepted, they can’t be mad because, hello, free wedding.”