"Can you grab me another glass of champagne?" Sarah asked, her voice barely audible over the DJ's bass-heavy remix of a pop song. She leaned back in her chair, her strapless emerald-green dress catching the light as she gestured toward the bar. Greg, in his slightly rumpled navy suit, nodded and stood, brushing a hand through his dark, slightly messy hair.

They’d been seated together at the wedding reception, two single friends of the bride who’d been paired off as a last-minute fix. Sarah was striking—her long auburn hair cascaded in loose waves, her lips painted a deep red that matched the roses on the table. Greg couldn’t help but notice how her dress hugged her figure as she shifted in her seat, her laugh lines deepening as she joked with the table.

As Greg returned with the champagne, Sarah tilted her head, her hazel eyes locking with his. "You know," she said, her voice low and teasing, "I think the bride might’ve set us up on purpose." Greg hesitated, the glass halfway to her hand, and she smirked. "What do you think?"