3 Months Later...
The music had shifted again—soft jazz now, floating like mist above the trimmed hedges and glinting lights.
Sarah found Chloe near the refreshments table, half-twisting a napkin into a sad spiral and mouthing lyrics she didn't quite know. Her sage gown was slightly wrinkled, her lipstick perfectly chaotic.
"Chloe—" Sarah's voice came out in a hush, sharp with nerves.
Chloe perked up. "Oh my God, finally. You talked to him, didn't you?"
She grabbed Sarah's arm, eyes shining. "Did he say anything? Was he mean? Or like... sexy-mean?"
Sarah looked like she was about to faint into a vat of citrus punch.
"He asked why I was here."
"Oh no."
"And why Zoe didn't mention me."
"Oh no."
Sarah glanced around anxiously. "Chloe. What if Zoe does mention me?"
Chloe blinked, confused. "Wait—why would that be bad?"
Sarah stared at her. "Because she knows I'm not you, Chloe."
"Oh."
(beat)
"Ohhhhh."
Chloe's face went through all five stages of Oops in less than three seconds.
"Okay okay okay—" she grabbed Sarah's shoulders like she was steadying a kite in a storm—"let's not panic."
"I'm not panicking," Sarah lied, blinking too fast. "I'm just pre-panicking. It's like... internal buffering."
Chloe groaned. "Alright. Worst-case scenario: Zoe casually tells him you're not me, he finds out about the café thing, realizes we bamboozled him like two morally flexible Disney villains... and he never speaks to either of us again. Cool cool."
Sarah stared.
Chloe winced. "Sorry. That wasn't helpful."
"No, I feel so much better now." Deadpanned.
Chloe paused, then offered a dramatic gasp. "Wait—maybe he already knows!"
Sarah's eyes widened. "Don't say that."
"I'm just saying! He looked like he was staring at you with this weird, tortured intensity. Like Mr. Darcy if he ran a Michelin-starred bakery."
Sarah covered her face. "Chloe—this is humiliating."
"No. You know what's humiliating? I once broke up with a guy via group chat. This? This is barely a misdemeanor."
Sarah dropped her hands, whispering, "What if Zoe says something? What if she already told him and he's just... waiting to make a scene?"
Chloe squinted across the lawn. "He doesn't look murdery."
"Chloe!"
"I mean... emotionally murdery."
Sarah exhaled. "You're not helping."
Chloe grabbed both her hands, surprisingly sincere now.
"Listen. I don't think Zoe's that petty. And I really don't think Eric is. You should've seen the way he looked at you."
Sarah frowned. "How?"
"Like he remembered every word you ever said. Even the fake name."
Sarah went quiet.
Then. "That's... terrifying."
Chloe grinned. "Or romantic."
Sarah looked at her.
Chloe shrugged. "Same thing."
.....
Laughter bubbled across the garden. Guests sipped their drinks, the jazz band picked up a breezier tune, and Eric finally found a quiet moment to corner Zoe near the dessert table.
"Nice dress," Eric said, plucking a grape off her plate without asking.
Zoe swatted his hand with practiced irritation. "Nice manners. You're lucky I didn't stab you with my cake fork."
"You always get violent when you're hungry."
"And you always pretend to be charming when you're about to ask something."
Eric smirked. "Fair."
Zoe narrowed her eyes at him. "So?"
"Verdict on the cake? Should I start handing out autographs, or am I still just 'that guy who bakes stuff'?"
Zoe rolled her eyes, smiling.
"Autographs? Please. But yeah, it's really good — don't let it get to your head, Harrison."
He laughed, shaking his head.
"Too late for that."
Then.
He gestured subtly toward the bridesmaids' area, where Sarah stood laughing awkwardly at something Chloe said.
"That girl. One of your bridesmaids. Who is she?"
Zoe followed his gaze. "Which one?"
"The one who came in late. Sage dress. Hair like…" He paused, then just said, "That one."
"Oh—Sarah." Zoe popped a macaron into her mouth. "She's my best friend. I've told you about her."
Sarah.
Not Chloe.
Zoe didn't notice the stillness in his face.
"She was supposed to come earlier but had something with work. I thought she might not make it. But she wouldn't miss this," she added, a little softer.
Eric kept his tone light. "Sarah, huh?"
Zoe raised a brow. "Wait a second."
"You're asking about Sarah," Zoe said slowly, her lips curling upward. "My Sarah?"
"Just curious."
"Ohhh, no no no," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's not a 'just curious' face. That's a 'she's cute, should I talk to her?' face."
He lifted one brow. "Is it?"
"Definitely," she said. "Don't lie to me, Eric. I've seen that face since you were, like, twelve and obsessed with the neighbor's babysitter."
Eric didn't say anything but didn't deny it.
Zoe gasped, delighted. "Oh my God, you do like her! That's why you asked!"
"I didn't say that,"
"I can introduce you."
Eric shook his head. "No need. Thanks."
And with that, he walked away—leaving Zoe staring after him with a half-suspicious, half-amused look.
...
Back near the bridesmaids' area, the ceremony had drifted into soft conversation and scattered laughter. Guests mingled beneath the willow arches, champagne flutes beginning to clink.
Sarah stood just to the side, trying to steady her breath—her eyes trailing across the garden.
Then she saw it.
Eric.
Standing next to Zoe.
Talking.
Casually.
Like they knew each other.
Her stomach twisted.
"Chloe." she whispered sharply, grabbing her friend's wrist.
Chloe turned, halfway through adjusting her curls. "What?"
Sarah didn't take her eyes off the pair. "He's talking to Zoe."
Chloe blinked. "Who?"
"Eric. That Eric." Sarah motioned subtly, heart thudding. "He's with her right now."
Chloe followed her gaze—then cursed under her breath. "Crap."
"Chloe," Sarah hissed, voice tight. "She doesn't know. About the whole… you and me... switch. What if she says something? What if she just—just says my name, and he realizes—"
"Okay. Okay. Stay calm. Maybe he won't even ask—"
"He already looked at me like he knew," Sarah cut in, voice low but urgent. "And if she says I'm Sarah—which I am—he'll figure it out. He'll know that day at the café wasn't you."
Chloe frowned, chewing her lip.
Sarah ran a hand down the front of her dress, trying to smooth the fabric—but really just fidgeting. "What if he confronts me? What do I even say? 'Hi, remember how I pretended to be my friend on a date?"
"Okay. That would… not sound great."
"Exactly!"
Chloe hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. "Maybe you should tell him first? Like... controlthenarrative?"
Sarah stared at her like she'd suggested stripping down and diving into the fountain.
"I'm not confessing at Zoe'swedding!"
Chloe held up her hands. "Okay, okay! Just—breathe. Let's not panic until we know what Zoe says."
Sarah swallowed hard, turning her eyes back toward the pair.
Zoe was laughing.
Eric was smirking.
And Sarah… was seconds from a full emotional collapse in chiffon.
Eric had finished talking to Zoe and then his eyes flicked toward the bridesmaids' area.
Toward her.
Sarah's stomach dropped.
And then, just like that, he started walking.
Straight. Toward. Her.
Her heart stuttered. She barely breathed. She turned back.
Beside her, Chloe was still watching.
"He's coming," Sarah whispered, her voice tight with panic. "Oh my god, he's coming this way."
Chloe's eyes widened. "Okay. Um."
Then—classic Chloe—she immediately turned to flee the scene.
"I just remembered I have to… check on Zoe's veil. It looked kind of crooked earlier," she blurted, already backing away.
"Chloe—"
"Love you, you got this, you're glowing—bye!"
And with a spin and a very unconvincing smile, Chloe slipped away behind a group of laughing relatives like she'd been planning her exit for hours.
Traitor.
Sarah stood frozen.
Alone.
The soft hum of conversation buzzed around her. Guests strolled past holding flutes of champagne, trailing ribbons and laughter. Somewhere, the string quartet picked up a light, meandering tune.
But Sarah didn't hear any of it.
All she heard was the rush of her own heartbeat and the sound of approaching footsteps over the gravel path.
Her hands clenched around the folds of her chiffon dress, breath shallow, lips parted in quiet horror.
And then—
"Chloe."
His voice. Right behind her.
She turned slowly.
And there he was—Eric. Tall, composed, unreadable. Holding two glasses of champagne, offering her one like this was just another conversation. Like he didn't just walk out of the lie she'd been hiding in.
Her fingers barely curled around the glass he offered.
"Thanks," she murmured, pulse pounding.
She lifted the glass to her lips, needing a second. "I didn't expect to see you here," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You know Zoe?"
"Cousin," he replied simply, with a casual sip.
Sarah almost choked on the champagne.
Eric glanced sideways at her. Amused. Just a little.
Cold sweat broke under her dress's neckline.
"Got those boxes back." he said finally, his voice smooth but quiet. "With a note."
Her heart clenched.
Of course she did. She opened her mouth, fumbling for some apology or explanation, but he wasn't done.
"Funny thing, though," he added, his tone light — too light — like he was talking about weather.
"There were a couple of pastries in the box that weren't from me."
Sarah froze.
Her breath caught like thread snagged on glass.
"I remember what I made," he said, gaze holding hers. "Every batch. Every filling. Every detail."
A pause.
"And I didn't make those."
There it was.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Her mind scrambled, heart hammering so loud it nearly drowned out her voice. She forced a laugh — brittle and too high.
"I—I didn't even open the box."
He raised a brow, just slightly. "No?"
"I just... I saw who it was from, and I panicked. I didn't think it was right to keep it. So I sent it back—untouched."
Lie.
Another one, hastily stitched over the first.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Then maybe someone else added their own flavor to it."
She looked away, fingers clutching her glass tighter than necessary.
"There was a note, though. About a cat?"
A beat.
"Said it ruined the flowers."
Her spine straightened just slightly. Crap.
"Oh—um, yes." She forced a light tone. "My neighbor's cat. It—it's always climbing up things. Total menace."
Another sip. Another moment.
And then, with a tone so casual it burned, he asked, "Did Chloe help you write the note too? Or was that all you?"
Her heart stopped.
So he did know.
He wasn't playing anymore.
But still, he hadn't confronted her — hadn't called her a liar, hadn't raised his voice.
Instead, he stood there in front of her, cool as ice and just as cutting, letting the weight of her choices crush her.
And somehow, that was worse than yelling.
Worse than anything.
She clutched the stem of her champagne glass like it could ground her.
"It was me."
She didn't look at him when she said it. Shame blooming up her neck like heat.
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
"I didn't mean to lie to you. Chloe was supposed to meet you. But she didn't want to go. So she—"
Her voice faltered.
"She made me."
His expression didn't shift. Just that same unreadable calm. The kind of calm that made Sarah feel like she was being quietly dissected.
She rushed on. "Just for coffee. That's all it was meant to be. She said you'd never know. That you were just—some guy from an app. But then you—"
She broke off again, breath shaking.
Eric finally looked away, but only for a beat. Then his eyes were back on hers, sharp and unreadable.
"So, you were never Chloe."
She shook her head, barely.
"I'm Sarah."
"And the pastries?" he said after a moment. "You didn't open the box?"
She looked away. "I—no. I sent it back. I didn't open."
Technically, true. Chloe opened those.
He didn't press.
That expression again. That maddening stillness. She hated how much it made her nervous.
Then came a Question.
"And if you were Chloe… what would your reaction have been to that date?"
Sarah's breath caught.
She blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"
His tone was deceptively light, but there was an unmistakable sharpness underneath. A quiet kind of blade.
"If you were really her," he said, voice low, "and a man showed up with a reservation at your favorite place, remembered what you liked, gave you a gift you once mentioned… would you have returned it all? Without a word?"
The silence between them thickened.
And just like that, the air turned tight.
Her mind raced.
But not back to the date. Not even to Chloe.
It raced to the echo of slammed doors. Raised voices. Her mother's glassy eyes. Her father's cold detachment. The way love had always come wrapped in disappointment and silence in her home.
She had learned early: affection was unpredictable. Attention could turn cruel. And vulnerability? A trap.
So she had run from anything that looked like warmth, even when it came in the form of a quiet man offering pastries and a gift box with her name on it.
Sarah swallowed.
Then, carefully, honestly:
"If I were Chloe… I think I would've gone. I would've smiled, flirted, maybe even kissed you goodnight. And I wouldn't have returned the box. She's brave like that. Open. Quick to say yes to things that feel good. She doesn't question everything the way I do."
A pause.
"But I'm not her. I hesitate. I overthink. I pull away when I should probably lean in. Even if I wanted to go… I probably would've still talked myself out of it. So… if I were Chloe, maybe it all would've gone differently."
For a beat, Eric said nothing.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"I wasn't asking about your psychology." his tone light but pointed. "Just your name."
Her eyes snapped to his.
"I meant — if you were Chloe… meaning if you were in place of her."
He let the words settle, then added.
"Though I guess I got my answer either way."
Sarah's heart jumped. Her mouth opened, then closed again. And for the first time since this entire mess began, she couldn't tell if he was amused… or something else entirely.
"See you around, Sarah."
And just like that, he turned and walked off.
No questions. No accusations.
Just that one sentence, tucked neatly into the space between them like a ribbon tied to a box she never wanted to open.
Sarah stood there, stomach knotted, trying to make sense of what he hadn't said.
....