“Twenty-one years. Here we are.” Tall white paneled doors stood open on a pale blue ballroom. A hum of conversation spilled into the hall. I heard a burst of laughter and…was that piano music? “The Harris party,” Mr.Garcia said.
“Thanks.” I grinned. “I’d be lost without you.”
His eyes crinkled in a near smile. “Have a wonderful evening.”
“You bet. I mean, thank you.”
I took a deep breath. This evening wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. This weekend was about Chris. Celebrating the end of his residency, supporting him in the next stage of his career. Acknowledging everything he’d been through and all that we had meant to each other.
Maybe this setting was a little more fancy, a little less private, than I had imagined. I could deal. My senior prom had been at the Grand Hotel, for heaven’s sake. I taught the privileged children of entitled parents at a private school. I was used to waiting on yacht owners, serving the semi-celebrities who sometimes came into the shop. But I wasn’t expecting the seating plan on an easel by the door, like at a wedding reception. Not our wedding reception, obviously—Chris’s and mine. I always pictured us getting married on the island.Hadpictured, I corrected myself. He was moving to Atlanta.
Also…My gaze skimmed the seating chart once. Twice.
My name wasn’t on it.
I swallowed panic. It had to be an oversight, right? Amistake. Except…I’d never told him I was coming tonight. Because I wanted to surprise him.
Because I didn’t think things through.
The room glittered in kaleidoscope shards of color and light. The men were all in crisp collared shirts, the women in diamonds. I scanned the tall tiny tables, the larger round ones, and the circulating guests, searching for a familiar face. Nada.
I was still holding the fudge. Honestly, as long as they were going for a wedding vibe, they could have provided a table for gifts.
A server appeared with a silver tray. “Salmon rillette?”
I glanced from the little cones stuffed with fish to his face. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Thanks.”
Now both my hands were full. I popped the salmon thingy into my mouth to get rid of it.Gaah.Okay. Tasty enough, once you got past the texture.
“Anne!” That voice, warm and confident…
I choked. Crunched. Turned.Chris.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I swallowed. I hadn’t seen him—in person, not on a screen—since before I got sick. His hair looked shorter, sharper. His jaw was sharper, too, scraped clean of his resident’s scruff and framed in a pristine white shirt collar.
I smiled weakly. “Surprise!”
He engulfed me in a hug, his starched shoulder hard against my cheek. Tears pricked my eyes. He felt so good, solid and familiar—something steady to hold on to when my world had fallen apart. He smelled different. Less hospital, more cologne, but underneath, the same Chris. My heart squeezed.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said against the side of my head.
“I didn’t know I needed to RSVP,” I mumbled into his shirt.
Probably shouldn’t have said that. I braced for the usualyou-always-jump-into-thingsyada yada.
But when he pulled away, his beautiful hazel eyes were smiling. “It’s great to see you. How did you get here?”
“Um. Well, I got a ride. And then Mr.Garcia…Oh, this is Mr.Garcia.” But he had already vanished.
Chris’s gaze flicked to the hall behind me and back. “You need champagne,” he said finally, kindly. He took a flute from a passing tray. “Come say hi to my parents.”
He herded me across the room, fielding slaps on the back and pecks on the cheek from various adoring colleagues and relatives.
“Mom, you remember Anne.”
“Of course. What a surprise.” Not a nice one, her tone implied.
