“Well, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but we’re doing Jillian a favor,” I said softly. “I wish I’d found out right away that Kurt was more interested in my maid of honor than in me.”
Matt looked at me, surprised. “Is that what happened?”
I nodded. “I caught them together.”
He shook his head. “You were married to an idiot.”
His indignation flattered me. “I’m the one who felt like an idiot, not seeing it sooner. It felt like a double whammy, being betrayed by my husband and my best friend.”
He gazed at me for a long moment, his eyes warm. “A lot of people would just shut down after something like that.”
“Oh, I did.”
“You seem fine now.”
I lifted my shoulders and grinned. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
He grinned back and reached for my hand. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like less of a jerk.”
“Anytime.”
We climbed out of the car and headed inside. I spotted Jillian the minute we walked under a bower of silk flowers into the dimly lit hall. So did Matt.
“Oh, man. She’s wearing Christine’s dress,” he murmured.
“Really?” It was a beige silk dress with rhinestone shoulder straps. “It looks great on her.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I’m the wrong person to consult. After all, I’m wearing my grandmother’s clothes.”
He laughed and my answer seemed to placate him, but, yeah, I thought it was a little odd—especially if Jillian had planned to wear that on a date with Matt.
We headed to the bar, then circulated around the room. I was delighted to see Kirsten—and even more delighted to learn Matt had invited her to join us at his table, along with Aimee and her husband. The five of us hung together as we made our rounds of the room.
When I spotted Jillian again, a tall, lanky man was earnestly talking to her.
“Who’s that?” I asked Kirsten.
“Phillip Mitchell, the new senior physics teacher at the high school. Looks like he’sver-yinterested in Jillian.”
“Let’s ask him to join us at the table,” I suggested to Matt.
“Good idea.”
Jillian polished off her drink and reached for a glass of wine from a passing waiter as we approached.
“Hello, Jillian,” I said, mustering my warmest smile. “You look beautiful.”
“Love your dress,” said Kirsten, not knowing its history.
“Thank you.” Jillian’s gaze traveled to Matt, who was making small talk with Aimee’s husband and Phillip. She drained half her glass in a single swallow.
“You smell wonderful,” Aimee said. “What scent are you wearing?”
