But when I glance at Kenzie, she doesn’t seem alarmed by myveryforward question. She’s watching the littles with a quirk of her lips. “More slow dances.”
I’m two seconds from excusing myself to bribe the DJ when Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” blends with the remnants of the last techno song before the music slows down. Couples pair off as the kids flee the dance floor, some of them groaning and coveringtheir eyes like adults slow-dancing is worse than watching a frog dissection.
I extend my hand. “Looks like they heard your request.”
“That was fortuitous,” she says, sliding her palm into mine with a lifted eyebrow. “Or did you orchestrate that too?”
A laugh bubbles up my chest. “I’m not that good.”
Her unconvinced hum resonates as she slides her palm up my arm. My hand slips low on her back, pulling her snug against me. Kenzie was right. This wedding definitely needed more slow songs. We sway in time to the music, the crown of her head tucked beneath my chin.
“I couldn’t have picked a better song.”
“I thought you said you didn’t pick it,” she says, tilting her face back to grin at me.
“Semantics… You really do look perfect tonight.”
Perfectly beautiful. The silk of her dress contours perfectly to my hands. The soft way she’s looking at me is more perfect than all the times I dreamed of this moment.
“You keep saying that.”
I’d like to say a lot more.
A pressure builds in my lungs at my reflexive thought. I spent so much of the last year using all the deflection techniques I learned in media training to hide my true feelings from Kenzie, but now, it feels like they’re expanding beyond the limits of my body. I don’t know if I can keep the way I feel about her caged much longer. We’ve only been “going slow” for a month, andwe’ve only decided to officially label our relationship this afternoon, but with knowing each other so long, this relationshipfeelsmore serious already. It feels like an effervescent beginning and a foregone conclusion all at once. Being with Kenzie shimmers with potential while simultaneously feeling like my most comfortable t-shirt, worn and well-loved.
But ultimately, it’s unfair to Kenzie to tell her I love her when this is all so new for her.
“Why was attending a wedding on your list?” I ask to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t—not yet, anyway.
Kenzie ducks her chin for a few beats before straightening her spine and meeting my gaze. “I told myself it was because I’d never been to one, but really”—she pauses, releasing a long, slow exhale—“I thought if I went to a wedding, it would help me get over the fact that I wasn’t going to be a bride anymore.”
When I open my mouth, Kenzie shakes her head.
“Just let me…let me get all of this out. My whole life I assumed I’d never get married. I figured I’d be the crazy cat lady, and I wasokaywith that. I loved cats and understood them. I never felt like I was boring them, or missing a social cue, or somehow lacking in their presence.”
The helpless way Kenzie shrugs rips me to shreds, but I hold my tongue.
“Then I got swept up in Aaron’s showy attention and started asking myself,what if?I started imagining a bigger future for myself. And when things ended, I wrote this task on my list,not realizing that I didn’t need to attend a wedding as some sort of misguided immersion therapy. The more things I crossed off my list—thatyouhelped me cross off—the more I realized that I could attend a wedding just for fun.” She rolls her lips, her gaze searing into my soul. “Because even if we’re relaxing at home or having our date hijacked by my immune system, I always have fun with you.”
“Kenz,” I breathe, my hand framing her face. “I—”
The piercing scream ricocheting between the barns interrupts me from telling Kenzie that nothing makes me happier than spending time with her. Several other shouts follow, and we separate enough to see a hoard of large goats ripping through the reception area, knocking over chairs and bumping tables. Seeing the direction of the galloping goats, Kenzie bolts toward the cake table. I’m right behind her until one of the older women from earlier gets pushed sideways by another guest. I stoop, catching her inches before she breaks a hip on the parquet dance floor.
“Thank you,” she gasps, clinging to me.
When I glance up, Kenzie stands in front of the cake table, brandishing her heels like weapons.
“No,” she says in a firm, low voice, arms outstretched. “No. Keep going.”
Each goat who veers toward her rounds the table instead. A few brave guests follow Kenzie’s lead, creating a human barrier for the delicate confection. I settle the older woman on a nearbychair, ensuring that she’s steady before jogging toward Kenzie. The last goat prances past her with an annoyed bleat.
“Never underestimate the farm girl,” she tells me, a twinkle in her eye.
I can’t help the laugh bursting from my belly. Before I can wrap Kenzie in my arms again, the grateful bride hugs her.
“You saved it. You wonderful, wonderful woman. Thank you!”
Kenzie hands me her heels so she can hug the bride back without marring her dress. “You’re welcome. Would you like me to round them up?”
