Jane looked at me, frustration and disappointment flickering across her face. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, like she had braced herself for a conversation that now had nowhere to go.
“I was going to talk to you,” she said quietly.
“I know. I was going to talk to you,” I mentioned.
For a moment it felt like the rest of the lobby faded away.
“We can talk later,” she decided with a sigh.
“Yes,” I said. “Later.”
The word lodged in my chest like a splinter.
By the time I had my coat on, William had joined us, looking calm in the way of a man who had spent decades navigating family emergencies with a steady hand. The groom hovered nearby, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes wide as if he had only just realized he was being taken somewhere.
“Do we need a plan?” Dex wondered.
William considered this thoughtfully. “I once attended a bachelor party in 1987. We went bowling.”
Dex glanced at me. “This is how disasters begin.”
“There is a pub in town that has billiards,” William suggested.
The groom brightened immediately. “I like playing pool.”
“To the pub we go,” I encouraged. It was better than standing here and staring at each other.
We bundled everyone into my rental car and headed toward the local pub, which glowed warmly against the dark snow like it had been waiting for us. The groom apologized the entire drive.
“I am sorry about the timing.”
“I am sorry if this is inconvenient.”
“I am sorry if I’m not a very exciting person.”
“It’s fine,” I said for the fourth time.
“Why are you on the James Elman show?” William suddenly asked. “You don’t seem the type of person who would want their life televised.”
“Oh, my fiancee suggested it. They said they would pay for the wedding so I thought that was a fair deal and my darling is getting everything she wants so that makes her happy,” he told us.
“Smart move,” Dex remarked.
We pulled up outside of a small brick building on main street. Inside, the pub smelled like fried food, spilled beer, and pine cleaner. Christmas lights blinked cheerfully along the walls. A chalkboard near the bar announced DART TOURNAMENT — SIGN UP NOW in uneven handwriting, complete with a poorly drawn dart.
The groom stopped dead.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh what?” Dex asked.
“I love darts,” the groom said earnestly, like he had just found his calling.
William squinted at the board. “There is a tournament.”
Dex raised an eyebrow. “How competitive.”
A voice from the bar called out, “Winners get bragging rights and a trophy.”
