“What was that for?” Henry asked.
I thought about giving him some kind of nonanswer or busting his balls again about that terrible toast, but I said, “I love when they play this song at weddings. It’s always perfect.”
He blinked at me like he didn’t completely buy that response, but then he said, “All right.”
He held me close, moving more deliberately with the music now, and when the bridge hit, he spun me away and back. I couldn’t have held in the surprised laugh even if I’d wanted to. “That was unexpected.”
He banded both arms around my waist. It felt like I was enclosed in steel. “If you love it, you should let yourself love every second of it. No reason to hold back.”
“Kind of like how you love a star chart reading?”
He dropped his head to my shoulder with a groan that felt glorious against my neck. “My god. I didn’t think I was going to make it out of there alive.”
“Is it weddings in general? You’re just not a fan? Or is itthiswedding?”
A snarly sound rumbled up from his chest. “That’s a story for another day.”
He spun me away again and then we sang along as the song ended, and though the next one was a faster Taylor Swift song that had everyone mobbing the dance floor, we went on swaying.
He asked, “What’s your name?”
“That’s a story for another day.”
He tossed back his head with a laugh. “I might not have many days here, but I’ll work with what I have. Let’s go.”
He pulled me into the bouncing crush of Swifties, yell-singing along to “Cruel Summer” with them. And make no mistake about it, he knewallthe words. He kept those huge hands on my waist or my hips the whole time, holding me so tight against him that I could feel his shirt studs pressing into my skin and his beard scraping my neck.
I did not mind.
One song bled into another, and then another, and so many more. The band transitioned into all the loud, fun wedding songs, the kind that had the guys rolling up their shirtsleeves and the gals kicking off their heels. This was when receptions turned into parties, all concern for the precision and pretense forgotten because it was time to celebrate. It was when everyone was a little tipsy and a lot silly, and nothing else really mattered.
We were hot now, the air inside the tent warm and close as the band kept everyone hopping for hours. My skin was flushed and humid, and the back of Henry’s shirt was damp when I circled my arms around his waist. It was too loud for talking but the language of touch and movement filled in all the gaps.
His hands on my hips, his fingers sliding over my belly, up my ribs, along the side of my breasts. My palms on his chest, his shoulders, the back of his neck. The press of his torso against my back, his arm locked around my waist as I rocked against him. The burn of his beard on the slope of my shoulder. The vibration that hummed inside him when I raked my fingers through his hair.
As the song ended, I pushed up onto my toes to speak into his ear. “What do you think about?—”
“The food trucks are here!”
We turned our attention to the stage where Mason and Florrie stood at the microphone. The music cut out, but we were still swaying, his hands clasped low on my back. It was like we’d started moving together and now we didn’t know how to stop.
Mason said, “We’ve been waiting for this part all night.”
“I’ve been waiting longer,” Florrie added.
“Okay, babe.” Mason laughed. “We’ve got tacos, In-N-Out, hot donuts, Chicago-style dogs, churros, ice cream?—”
Henry leaned down, his lips on my neck. “Please tell me you’re not nearly as obsessed with ice cream as you are with cupcakes.”
“I don’t eat ice cream,” I breathed. That wasn’t fully accurate but I wasn’t going to see this guy again after tonight and he didn’t need to know the details of my dessert hierarchy.
“Yeah, that’s not true for a second, but we don’t have the time, my little heart-stopper, to get to the bottom of anything more than your name and whether you want to leave with me right now.”
Again, I wasthisclose to telling him my name was Olivia, but I held back. “Yeah. I do.”
The words had barely passed over my lips before Henry grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. “Come on,” he yelled as we cut around the swarm of people headed for the trucks. The crisp mountain air bit at my skin when we stepped out of the tent. “If you don’t keep up, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder. I’m just warning you now.”
“I am wearing heels,” I yelled back, my shoes clacking against the stone patio. “And you have at least six inches on me.”
