I loosened my grip, realizing she was right. "It was good, okay? Really good. But it's over."
"If you say so." Zoe sipped her mimosa, studying me over the rim. "Though I wouldn't mind bumping into Mr. Silver Fox myself. He was hot."
My head snapped up. "You saw him?"
"Briefly. When he was talking to you at the ceremony." She smirked. "Older, distinguished, looked like he could buy and sell everyone at that wedding. Totally your type."
"He is not my type," I protested automatically.
“Powerful men who keep their hearts locked up? That used to be your type.” Her voice softened.
“But he’s not like the others, is he?”
Before I could respond, her phone chimed.
She checked it, then grinned. "Cami says the bride's table has the best food. Let's head over."
The main dining room was already bustling when we arrived.
Round tables dotted with floral centerpieces filled the space, each hosting a mix of wedding guests in various states of hangover recovery.
Cami waved us over to a table near the windows, where she sat with the bride's cousin and two others I vaguely recognized from the ceremony.
"Savannah! Zoe!" Cami greeted us with air kisses. "Amanda was just telling us about the honeymoon plans. Two weeks in Bali!"
I smiled and nodded, half-listening to the conversation as I scanned the room.
Was he here?
Would I recognize him in daylight, away from the magical garden setting where we'd met?
A familiar laugh caught my attention—not his, but one I knew all too well.
My stomach dropped as I spotted Miles across the room, holding court at a table of business associates.
Of course, he'd be here.
John Parker worked with my marketing firm many times.
He was one of our biggest clients.
"You okay?" Zoe murmured, following my gaze. "We can sit somewhere else."
I shook my head. "It's fine. I knew he might be here."
I just hadn't cared last night, too caught up in my garden stranger to worry about running into my ex.
"He's been watching the door," Cami commented, nodding toward Miles. "Probably hoped you wouldn't show."
"Or hoped I would," I muttered, remembering how our breakup had gone.
Miles didn't like losing things he considered his, even when he was the one who'd done most of the damage.
I deliberately turned my back on his table, focusing on my friends.
The buffet was impressive—everything from eggs benedict to fresh pastries to a carving station with prime rib.
I filled my plate modestly, my appetite diminished by the knowledge of Miles's presence.
