“Or,” I continued, “it could save couples money. No need for those spinny mirror-ball things. They could just put you in the middle of the room and call it a day. Instant lighting.” I snorted at myself, shoulders shaking.
Mark huffed, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “Wow. I can’t believe you’d mock me like this.”
I dropped my arms and smiled at him. “You’ll recover.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You feeling better now?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, laughter fading. “I am. I think I just needed to get out of my own head.”
“Good.”
He leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to my temple, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I froze for half a second after he pulled back, then realized my fingers had lifted on their own, rubbing absentmindedly at the spot.
“Trust me,” Mark added, voice low and sure. “It’ll look good at night.”
I hummed. “Further proof that darker lighting is essential.”
He laughed. “For the record, I drove past the festival grounds earlier. They’re going heavy on the silver and gold. This jacket might actually fit right in.”
I raised a brow. “Is that all you brought, or are there other options?”
“Well,” he said slowly, then sighed, “fine. I’ll show you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “But I’m not putting it on. I’m just showing it to you.”
I crossed my arms, amused. “How bad could it be?”
He grabbed the second garment bag and slowly tugged the zipper down. Halfway through, he paused and shot me a look.
“Don’t laugh,” he said. “I wore this to a themed wedding.”
I leaned back against the table, grinning now. “Mark. Just get on with it.”
He groaned, but finished unzipping the bag.
At first, all I could register was gold. Or maybe white, but heavily embroidered with gold sequins and beads, flecked with hints of green and blue that caught the light when he removed it from the bag.
I stared at it for a second. Then another. “Is that,” I asked carefully, “a tablecloth?”
Mark dragged a hand down his face and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” I asked.
He sighed. “It’s not a tablecloth. It’s—” He hesitated, then tried again. “It’s like a wrap. A long skirt. You wear it around your waist, and you can drape part of it over your shoulder.”
I frowned and reached for it, taking the fabric from his hands. It was heavier than I expected, cool and smooth under my fingers.
I unfolded it and held it up against him, trying to picture what he was describing.
“I’m not seeing it,” I admitted. “Do you have a picture or something?”
Mark groaned softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, his thumb moving slower the longer he went.
How long had it been since he’d last worn whatever this was?
