A New York brunch can be just brunch—a get-together with friends to carb off a hangover or go through the Sunday papers. But today isn’t just brunch. I can tell by the way Leo—one of my five best friends—is nervously fingering his collar. And by the way his new fiancée, Jules, is shifting her weight from hip to hip.In fairness, the stakes are high today. We—Leo’s friends-slash-brothers in all but blood—will be meeting Jules’ best friend for the first time. It’s going to be fine. I’m sure of it. But the happy couple wants it to be more than fine.“What do you think, Worth?” Jules asks. “Is it too obvious to put Fisher next to Sophia?”

I glance between Jules and Efa, the only two women in the room. “Obvious how?” I ask, picking my words carefully. I’m not sure exactly what should be obvious.

“That we’re setting them up,” Efa says, thwacking me on the arm as she leans forward on the table.

“I think it’s fine with Worth on the other side of her,” Jules says, answering her own question. “Like, she’s not going to think we’re setting her up with Worth and Fisher.”

I push my hands through my hair, trying to think what to make of that statement, when there’s a rush of noise by the door.

I glance around to see… the top of a woman’s head. She has long blonde hair that reaches the floor as she bends over to pull off a heel and toss it on the ground.

“I have to take these shoes off. They’re not made for walking. I was trying to be ladylike and refined, but you can take the girl out of Cincinnati—”

She straightens and we lock eyes. She’s beautiful. Her blonde hair is lighter at the front, like she’s spent the entire summer outside. And I can’t tear my gaze from her mouth—dusky-pink lips that form an almost-perfect circle as she stares back at me. I trace a line around the edge of her lips in my mind. A smattering of freckles kiss the bridge of her nose, and her hair is long and loose. I have to fight a full-body shudder at the thought of how it would feel against my skin.

Jesus, I want to stalk right over to her, back her up against the wall, and kiss her into Wednesday of next week. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt such a visceral, primal urge to be close to a woman in my life.

In fact, visceral, primal urges aren’t the norm for me at all. That’s exactly what makes me good in a crisis. I’m a cool head. A logical thinker. I don’t make rash decisions.

I don’t get the sudden urge to possess a woman. Not until today.

I’m vaguely aware of chatter behind me as the woman and I stare at each other like we’re sharing the exact same thoughts. All of a sudden, Efa pulls the beauty into a hug, effectively breaking our eye contact and bringing me back to the moment.

“Worth!” Jules practically bellows. “Meet my best friend in the entire world, Sophia.” She turns to Sophia. “I’m sitting you next to Worth, because honestly, he’s the best man in the world after Leo—”

“Hey,” Efa calls from across the room. “What about Bennett?”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence. Whoever said the British are polite never met you!”

Efa and Jules dissolve into laughter, and Sophia’s eyes grow wide. She glances over at me, confused. I want to go to her, assure her that Efa and Jules are joking and there’s nothing to be concerned about, but before I put one foot in front of the other, she starts toward me.

“Hi,” she says, her smile blinding like I’m looking at the sun or something. She seems to be surrounded by lightness, like she’s glowing. I hear Bryan Ferry in the background, singing about being a slave to love—or am I imagining it? I need to snap the fuck out of whatever this is or I’m going to start seeing bluebirds lifting her napkin into her lap and squirrels pulling out her chair.

“Hey,” I say. Normally I’d hug anyone introduced to me by Efa or Jules, but I can’t risk touching Sophia. Instead, I hold out my hand, like I’m in a f*cking boardroom.

I’m an idiot.

A f*cking idiot.

Surprisingly, her smile widens, like offering to shake her hand is even better than scoring the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. We stare at each other for a beat, oblivious to what’s going on around us. I’m vaguely aware of more people at the door and the clinking of glasses, but I have no desire to move out of the bubble I find myself in—we’ve found ourselves in.

Sophia slides her hand into mine and a small gasp escapes her lips. A growl reverberates in my chest. Her hand feels so soft, so tiny, so… mine, it’s difficult to describe.

Jules breaks the moment by shouting, “Turn this music off, Leo. Put on something fun.” Then she takes Sophia’s free hand and pulls her away from me. Sophia glances back over her shoulder, and I can’t do anything but stare at her: the way her hair falls down her back, wavy and loose, like water running over stones; the way her jeans hug her ass in exactly the way I want to; the way I can feel her hand in mine, even now when she’s across the room.

“Bryan Ferry is fucking cool,” Leo replies.

He’s right. Bryan Ferry is f*cking cool. Although I never thought so until just now.

Everyone arrives except Byron, who’s rarely in New York. He’s messaged the group to say he’s in Acapulco. I’m probably the only one who knows that actually means he’s in Montana. Long story.

Jules guides us to our seats. We all have place cards. Now, I like the fact that our group of six is expanding to include the women who have fallen for my best friends. Things are bound to shift and change, and I’m okay with that too. I also really like Efa and Jules. But place cards? Next we’ll be wearing tuxedos for brunch.

I scan the place settings and find my name next to Sophia’s. Okay, so maybe place cards aren’t such a bad thing. Fisher sits down on her other side—which is when Jules and Efa’s excited chatter about setting up

Sophia with Fisher comes back to me.

Sophia is meant for Fisher. Not me.

A dull kernel of disappointment lodges in my gut, and I try to shake it off as everyone takes their seats around the table. How can I be disappointed? Fisher is a great guy. I love him like a brother. He’s the life and soul of the party, creative but with a business brain. In personality, he’s almost my exact opposite. Jules is Sophia’s best friend. If Jules thinks Fisher is a good fit for her, she must be right.

This is fine. This is how it’s meant to be. Fisher and Sophia. Perfect.