Page 103 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

And I mean it the way I mean everything.

Completely.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ruby

Something in the Air

“Beach wedding,” Liv says.

“No,” I say.

“Vineyard wedding.”

“We already did a vineyard. That’s where the fake dating happened. I’m not getting married at the scene of the crime.”

“Backyard wedding. Your mom’s backyard. Karen would lose her mind.”

“Karen would take over. There’s a difference.”

We’re at the bakery after hours—me, Liv, Gemma, Avery, and approximately three bottles of wine that Liv brought because Liv brings wine to everything.

Aiden is behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine. Biscuit is asleep under the register in her usual spot, paws twitching, dreaming about whatever dogs dream about. Probably biscuits.

“What about the bakery?” Avery says from her spot on the floor, back against the wall, wine glass balanced on her knee. “Get married right here. It’s where you met.”

“We met in the utility room. I’m not getting married next to a mop bucket.”

“It’s romantic in a gritty way.”

“It’s gritty in a gritty way.”

“What does Aiden want?” Gemma asks. She’s in the chair by the window, notebook in her lap—always the notebook—but tonight it’s closed. She’s actually relaxing, which for Gemma means she’s only thinking about three things instead of twelve.

We all look at Aiden. He’s stopped wiping the espresso machine and is standing behind the counter with the rag in his hand, looking at us with the expression of a man who has been listening to every word and has already formed a comprehensive opinion.

“I don’t have a preference for the venue,” he says. “I’d just like Ruby to be there. And the dog. Beyond that, the specifics don’t matter.”

Liv puts her hand over her heart. “I’m going to need everyone to stop talking so I can absorb that.”

“He’d marry her in a gas station,” Avery says.

“I would,” Aiden confirms. “Though the lighting would be suboptimal for photography.”

“What about the ceremony itself?” Liv asks, warming to the topic the way Liv warms to everything—aggressively and at full volume. “Traditional vows? Personal vows? Ruby, if you write your own vows, I will be in the front row sobbing. I need to prepare.”

“We haven’t gotten that far.”

“Aiden, would you write vows?”

He considers this. “I would like to. I have things I’d want to say to Ruby in front of people.” He pauses. “Though I’d prefer to say them without a word limit. Some of my observations about Ruby are extensive.”

“There’s going to be a word limit,” I say.

“I’d also like to include data,” he says. “Specific metrics about our relationship that I think the guests would find meaningful.”

“You are NOT putting metrics in your wedding vows.”