thinking maybe it’s Matt putting on a disguised inflection, but when I spin around, it’s my older sister, Becca, doing her best “fancy-pants rich lady” impression. “You’re out of champagne and the goat cheese spread is running dangerously low.” She points at the appetizer table with a raised pinkie, which looks both uncomfortable and ridiculous.
I smack her arm with a napkin, smiling. “Stop eating all the food!”
“Uh, no way. You promised me all-I-can-eat cheese, and trust me, I can eat a lot more.” She rubs her belly for emphasis.
I roll my eyes as I stifle a laugh. “You’re gross, and I’m trying to host a sophisticated event here.” I turn but bump directly into Sam, Becca’s boyfriend, who is pantomiming smoking a pipe.
“Hear, hear! ’Tis the event of the century!” he cheers in an over-the-top British accent, raising a monocle that he is definitely not wearing. Becca laughs, and I feel my face turning red.
“Did you guys just get out of improv class or something?” I whisper. Becca and Sam are both actors, a profession I generally respect but am currently finding annoying. “I mean, can you be more embarrassing right now?”
They look at each other, like I just gave them a challenge. “Yeah, we can totally take it up a notch.”
I groan and try to walk away, but Becca hooks my arm. “Sorry, sorry, we’ll tone it down. We’re leaving soon anyway, for said improv class. But I wanted to tell you, all joking aside, that tonight was really great. You know this isn’t one hundred percent my scene, but it was actually really cool.” She pulls me in for a hug, her long brunette hair covering my face. “I’m proud of you, even if that jerk you’re dating isn’t here to say it,” she whispers in my ear. My heart aches at her words as she lets go, reaching out to ruffle my hair like I’m a child, but I weave out of arm’s reach before she can catch me. She and Sam both blow me kisses goodbye, and I check the clock: five minutes until the event ends.
Still no Matt.
I step into the back office to make sure all the caprese skewers went out, doing a quick mirror check. Luckily, the glittering shadow I chose to complement the green flecks in my eyes has stayed mostly in place despite my running around, with only a few golden specks resting on my ivory cheeks. But, ugh, my shorter-than-short brown hair is curling up weirdly on the right side. I can’t wait for this horrendously choppy disaster to grow out. I comb through my micro bangs and adjust my nose ring, ready to give a final thank-you to everyone for attending.
The second I turn around and lift a champagne flute to start a toast, the front window shatters into a million pieces. I scream along with everyone else as a body comes flying into the center of the gallery.
What the—
I drop to my knees as my guests crouch down and cover their faces all around me. Heart racing, I look up and assess the destruction. Years of dating a superhero have taught me to be hyperalert in these situations, suppressing my panic so as not to do something stupid and get myself hurt. The stranger on the floor moves, groaning as he twists his body. Grabbing a nearby cheese knife, I tuck myself into a ball on my feet, glass crunching under my heels. Classmates quiver around me as I inch closer, only to discover the intruder isn’t a suicide bomber or random victim: It’s Matt, brushing broken glass off his tattered shirt and tie.
“Oh my god!” I kneel at his side, dropping my knife to check his body for signs of injury. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
He stands tall, instantly drawing sighs of relief and excitement from the gallery, and runs back to the broken window, peering up and down the street for signs of his attacker. When the coast is clear, he turns back to the room and asks, “Is everyone okay?” A few shocked faces nod as people’s heart rates drop back to normal. “Apologies for the dramatic entrance, but it looks like I was able to ward off danger before it arrived at your door.” Applause and thankful cheers begin to fill the space, which Matt receives with a dashing “oh, it was nothing” smile.
“Great party, babe,” he whispers to me, shaking debris from his wild mocha hair. “Really…smashing.” He raises his eyebrows, proud