Oh, I am definitely going after him. I am going to tell him just where he can take his admonishment. If only I were wearing sensible shoes that wouldn't stab the ground, I would…What am I even talking about? I'll do nothing of the sort. I’ll swallow my anger and say not a word. I've already snapped at him once, and quite nearly a second time, saying precisely what I was thinking in the moment without caring what he thought. Something about this man, and my reaction to him, unsettles me.
"There are universal messages received through body language, you know," I yell after him. "Frowns are sad. Smiles are happy."
He doesn't turn around, not even to argue with me. This annoys me, because I know what I just said is flat out wrong. Frowns can mean a hell of a lot more than sadness. The same is true for smiles. How many times have I smiled, but felt everything except happy?
I watch Peter cross the yard, his walk confident, his strides long. He arrives at his truck, hopping in, and a dog leans into the front seat and nuzzles his face.
The guy is too handsome for mere words, and he has a dog. Why am I jealous of whoever dates him next?
Without a glance my way he starts the engine and spins the wheel. A moment after he's gone from sight, my fiancé rounds the building and spots me sitting in the near-dark.
"What are you doing?" Duke yells, waving me toward him. "Come on."
Sighing, I pick up the almost empty bottle and wince as I roughly bump my ankle against the chair, hitting the exact spot where an ugly bruise colors my leg. I'd been careless with a pry bar a few days ago, losing my grip on it when I tried towedge it behind my kitchen cabinets. I suppose that's what I get for attempting to remodel with zero personal experience. And without knowledge. And also, without a plan.
Ignoring the dull throb, I slip my heels on, choosing to walk the perimeter of the yard where the ground is harder packed.
Duke takes the bottle from me when I reach him, tossing it into the first trash can we see. He frowns at me, his hair perfectly coiffed. This man never, and I meannever,has a hair out of place. "I almost made a speech without you in attendance. That would've been embarrassing."
"Seriously," I mutter, brushing my hands through my hair and swiping under my eyes in case any makeup has accumulated there.
Duke halts outside the door to the event room. Turning to face me, he chucks my chin. "Big smiles, future Mrs. Hampton."
He waits patiently, watching me, and I spread my lips wide, revealing my pearly whites. A blankness settles over me, maybe it’s the same way an actress feels when they occupy a role. I’m stepping into this version of myself, slipping her back on.
I'm an old friend of Hugo's. You can take that rare low moment you're having and sink into it a little deeper if you want.
The opposite of what I’m doing now. I’m Daisy St. James soon-to-be Hampton, and my moments are nothing but high. I’m gracious and grateful, and I smile.
The stab of restlessness I’ve been squashing? It doesn’t exist.
Appeased, he takes my hand, pulls open the door, and leads me into a room filled with people thrilled to be celebrating our impending nuptials.
Duke's dad stands at the bar, drink raised while he says something to my dad. My dad catches my eye, smiles and waves. Duke's dad glances over at us, shows no indication he's clocked who we are, and turns back to my dad. It's not surprising. GlennHampton is the kind of man who pretends you don't exist until he needs something from you. Duke's mom sits at a table with two of her friends, hawkish and quiet. There's a reason why Duke's two younger sisters never moved back home after they left for college.
My mom holds court at a table filled with loving, chatty, and slightly inebriated women. It seems as though most of Olive Township has shown up, though that's wrong. Our small town has grown steadily over the years, bursting at the seams with newcomers. Those in attendance tonight are part of the old guard, the people who have lived here for decades, or generations.
They have all gathered to take part in the festivities, culminating in the wedding of a St. James to a Hampton.
It's been a long time coming, and everyone is counting on it.
Chapter 5
Penn
I've been backin town fewer than twenty-four hours and this is the third wedding invitation I've been subjected to.For the same damn wedding.
I force my gaze from the offensive paper, though it does little to quell the indignation rising up inside me. Why am I here? Why did I return? I could've hired a company to clean out my mother's home after her passing. I could've begged Hugo to do the job for me. At this moment, I'm deeply regretting my decision-making ability.
Had I thought I could sail into town, deal with the house, and move on like it was nothing? Yes, I did. Was that naïve, foolish, and downright idiotic? Apparently. Not only did I run into Daisy immediately, but here I am staring down her wedding invitation.
Mr. & Mrs. St. James request the honor of your company…
Ugh. Un-fucking-believable.
The worst part about it is that Daisy probably should marry Duke. The joining of the St. James and Hampton families has been in the works for decades. Their ancestors founded Olive Township approximately one hundred and sixteen years ago.Arizona, the state in which Olive Township resides, entered into statehood four years after. Royalty marries royalty, right?
The entirety of Olive Township appears to be in support of the union, including Sammich, the sandwich shop in which I'm currently standing, attempting to hide my disdain at the blown up wedding invitation pinned to the corkboard behind the counter. It's so large it outshines the all-caps casting call for the lead role in the upcoming town play. My petulant groan stays inside, but only barely. Is this sycophant level of celebration necessary?
