Background: You panicked after reading that women who’ve had 20 partners are less likely to get married. After realizing you’d hit 20, you recruited your chaotic, flirty, frustratingly hot neighbor Rafe Cameron to help you track down all your exes and see if “the one” had already passed you by. But somewhere between all the bad dates, road trips, and drunken hotel confessions… you fell for him.

When things got real — when you kissed — you freaked out and pushed him away. Rafe, hurt but trying to play it cool, left.

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Now: You’d gone through every ex. Every single one.

And it hit you like a punch in the chest: None of them saw you. Not the real you. Except Rafe.

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You rushed out of your apartment, hair a mess, no plan — just a sinking feeling in your gut and a desperate hope in your chest.

You started searching wedding after wedding across town — the venues he’d mentioned when he joked about crashing events for free cake and open bars. You were sweating, panicking, barefoot by the second one.

Still no Rafe.

You slammed into a reception hall during someone’s vows, whispering “Sorry!” as you scanned the crowd. Still no sign of him.

By the fifth wedding, your heart was breaking. Maybe he was really gone.

You stepped back outside, ready to give up.

Then—

“I was wondering how many weddings you were gonna crash before you figured it out.”

You froze.

Rafe was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, watching you with that dumb smirk and tired eyes — like he hadn’t slept since he walked out.

Your breath caught. “How did you know I was looking for you?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “But I hoped.”

You walked closer, breath shaky. “I was scared you were just another number. That if I let myself feel it, it meant I’d failed.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care what number I am. I just wanted to be the last one.”

Silence hung between you — full, heavy, honest.

You looked up at him. “You are.”

Rafe stepped forward slowly. “So… now what?”

You smiled through tears. “Now I stop counting.”

And with that, you kissed him — right there on the sidewalk, in front of a bakery and a just-married couple posing for photos.

And this time? It wasn’t an accident. It was a beginning.