Retrieving the cupcakes, I set them on the baking rack to cool, swiped a finger through the ganache, and dropped back down at the kitchen table. I glared at the offending journal page and its few remaining survivors and underlined each of them with a short, sharp motion.

Then suddenly I remembered. My one-entry stint as a journaler had sprung from plans to attend a coworker’s wedding this weekend—tomorrow, in fact. And the reality that I’d been going alone.

Miss Nicola James, 1 will attend.

Tentatively at first, I let my mind play through some possibilities. I mouthed the words and tapped my pencil over the page, checking the spacing. Within seconds, I was feeling very déjà vu.

I’m going solo. As per The Plan. Sure it’d be kinda nice to have a date, but I’m not sure I’m ready for the complications just yet. Besides, I’ll do just fine on my own.

Dateless, I was a free agent. I didn’t have to stick close to anyone, entertain anyone, or worry about anyone—I could leave when I was ready. I actually loved weddings. And just like that, it all started coming back to me... .

A wedding is the perfect opportunity to dress up in frilly, feminine clothes and far-from-sensible shoes,

Not to impress anyone—just for me. Well, maybe one other person...

to mingle and indulge in a plate of fancy little hors d’ oeuvres, and enjoy the

 heady sense of romance without getting tangled up in any of it myself.

That last part was a little vague (not to mention over-the-top), but I’d remembered the general gist, and it fit the space, more or less, so I wasn’t going to worry about being too precise. And I suppose the rest of it really didn’t matter, as no words beyond “romance” had been deemed keepers. There’d been a vague mention of flirting, but that was it.