It just didn’t make sense to Richard.

For the past five months—ever since you two had started dating—he’d been watching you like a hawk. Not in a possessive, jealous boyfriend way (at least, not consciously), but more like someone afraid of waking up from a dream he didn’t deserve to have. He watched your smile. Watched the way you talked to his friends. Watched you breathe sometimes when you weren’t looking. But lately, he’d also been watching his bank account.

At first, it was little things—nothing crazy. A few charges here and there. Rent, the car note, the usual monthly subscriptions. Some cash he’d pulled out for gifts—flowers.

He’d given you his credit card. You only ever used it for the occasional fast food meal—your receipt still crumpled in your purse like a secret confession of late-night fries. But something about the math never quite added up, and it gnawed at him—not because he thought you were taking advantage, but because he couldn’t figure out why you were here at all.

He stood in front of the mirror in the dressing room of the hotel venue, brushing his thick, wild hair over and over again. His friends were all there—Steven, Brett, Omar, and Kyle—the latter of whom was getting married in less than an hour. The rest were just groomsmen, including Richard. Just guys trying to straighten ties and talk trash before their buddy got hitched.

But Richard couldn’t focus.He kept glancing at his reflection, and every time he did, he winced a little harder.

He wasn’t ugly, not exactly. But he wasn’t anything, either. He was tall—tall enough that people didn’t realize how heavy he actually was until he sat down or turned sideways. The weight had crept up after high school, quietly, His face had changed too. Hairier, rougher. His nose—he used to think it gave him “character,” but now it just looked big and stubborn.

He’d had girlfriends before. Not many. Five, maybe, in high school—back when things felt easier.

And you?God, you were something else.

You weren’t just beautiful—you were unreachable. At least, you should’ve been. But here you were, texting him good morning, showing up in his hoodies, leaning your head on his shoulder.

You weren’t model-beautiful, because models were boring. Models were cardboard cutouts with glassy eyes. You were soft. Real. Curvy in a way that made him stupid. A face he’d swear was sculpted by someone who actually cared about their craft. You worked as a teacher, not a celebrity—but he was convinced you could be both if you wanted. That’s what made it worse. You had options.

So, naturally, the first thing Richard thought when you asked him out was gold digger.

He was still brushing his hair when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“You good, man?” Kyle asked, chuckling. “You’ve been brushing that mop for, like, twenty minutes.”

Richard smirked, trying to shrug off the weight behind his eyes. “You know I’ve got thick hair.”

“You look fine.”

There was a pause. Kyle started adjusting his cufflinks, but Richard’s voice came out low, like it was skipping across gravel.

“Hey...you do good out there, alright? You’re gonna be a husband now. Time to start taking things seriously.”

Kyle smiled. “You sound like my dad.”

A few minutes passed, the buzz in the room getting louder as showtime neared. Richard’s stomach growled—loud. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even that was just a granola bar he found in the backseat. He thought about grabbing a snack, but then guilt crept in. That weird guilt that came every time he thought about food—You’re already fat, don’t make it worse.

He looked up—and saw you.

You were walking toward him, weaving between people in the reception hall with a small plate of snacks in your hands.

“Hey, baby,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. He leaned in, kissed your cheek, still not entirely used to doing that in public.

“How’s the bride holding up?” he asked, nodding toward the ceremony space, teasing you about the bride.