“I was thinking that I’ve never seen my sister as happy as she’s been the past two months being with Liam.” He paused, trying to articulate his feelings as succinctly as possible, continuing after about fifteen seconds. “But it’s more than that.I’ve never seen her so…her. It’s not even just the best version of her, it’s like being in love with Liam, being lovedbyLiam has brought out every side of her, making her fully herself."
When Poppy didn’t respond, he realized he may have said something wrong. He tended to do that without realizing. He looked back at her only to discover her eyes were filled with tears.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick again? I can take you home.”
“No.” She sniffed as she quickly brushed away a single teardrop that slipped down her cheek with the back of her hand. “That was just such a beautiful way to describe love.”
“Oh.” Was that what he’d done? Had he described love? He just thought he was talking about his sister and Liam. He’d thought the same thing about Liam being around Frankie when they were younger in the ER waiting room when Dr. Sterling was in surgery. Maybe they were the personification of true love.
Inside the tent, the music changed, shifting from frenetic to slow. The DJ queued up Van Morrison, and the first notes of “Crazy Love” drifted out into the yard.
“Dance?” He held out his hand.
Her eyes sliced toward the white canopied area filled with people swaying to slow music. Hesitation flickered across her face, and he immediately felt guilty for putting her on the spot. This was her brother’s wedding, and she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t need someone pressuring her.
“Never mind, enjoy your night.” He turned and took two steps.
“AJ.”
Hearing his name, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
She stared at him for a moment, as if the jury was still out, before taking a deep breath and exhaling, “Fuck it.”
It wasn’t the most romantic way to fill his dance card, but he’d take it. They crossed the lawn together. The whole walk, Poppy didn’t look at him, but he could feel the tension between them, the energy simmering just beneath the surface.
The only illumination in the tent came from the string lights above the dance floor, casting everyone’s faces in a golden, mythic haze. AJ placed his hands on her hips and tugged her close to him. He could feel the heat from her palms where they landed, gentle but secure, at the nape of his neck. She was careful not to press her body against his, and he tried to be respectful of her space, but the urge to pull her flush to him was overwhelming, like two magnets on the verge of remembering their purpose.
They fell into step with the music, swaying side to side. Poppy rested her cheek against his chest. He inhaled the sweet, clean citrus scent of her shampoo. For a few minutes, they spoke in low, tentative voices. At first, the conversation was pure surface, the ceremony, the food, and how pretty the tent looked. Then, without warning, out of the blue, Poppy stated, “If I ever get married, I’m eloping.”
He was briefly stunned by the statement, not because it was outrageous, but because he realized he agreed with her so completely he’d never even considered another option.
“You don’t want a big wedding?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Suddenly he pictured Poppy in a white sundress and an old denim jacket, hair windblown, hands trembling with excited nerves. He imagined himself gripping her fingers, both of them shocked and relieved to be alone together in a courthouse signing papers.
“Absolutely not,” she reiterated, her voice softer now. “I just think that kind of moment should be... private. Like, so private it feels like a secret. I don’t want anyone else’s noise in it.” She hesitated, gaze flicking over his shoulder as if she were watchingthe ghost of her own hypothetical wedding. “I know that’s weird.”
“No. it’s not,” he assured her and meant it.
He’d always found the performative nature of social rituals exhausting, especially when he was the one forced to perform. He’d rather get his taint tattooed than stand in front of a room full of people and recite vows to the woman he loved while people watched and judged.
They drifted in silence for a while, the music swirling around them, the crowd thinning as folks retreated to the periphery. AJ found himself hyper-aware of all the points where their bodies almost touched—their legs, their hips, her hair grazing his jaw, and the warm slip of her exhale just below his ear. It was like a real-life game of Operation and each time they would accidentally touch, he would get a zap of awareness. It was intoxicating and dangerous. He tried to tell his body that this wasn’t foreplay, that this was just a dance, but it wasn’t paying any attention.
Poppy seemed to sense the tension as well. When the song faded and the next one started—a slow, swoony ballad—she didn’t let go. Her eyes met his, wide and honest in a way that made him want to confess every thought he’d ever had about her.
She spoke instead. “You know, you’re not a bad dancer.”
“That’s subjective.”
“You don’t do well with compliments, do you?”
“If they are logical, I can accept them.”
Her lips split in a smile so wide it filled her entire face, and the sight caused AJ’s heart to feel heavy in his chest. She once again rested her head against his shoulder and as their bodies moved in time to the music, AJ’s brain was stuck on a loop of himself and Poppy at the county clerk’s office signing theirmarriage certificate and being pronounced man and wife by a judge and two strangers to witness the occasion.
When the song faded into silence, she stepped back and grinned, “Thank you, that was fun.”
In the muted light, AJ noticed, for the first time, the smudged half-moons beneath her eyes and the way her lids drooped between blinks. Poppy stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. A primitive instinct in him flared. He wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, take her to bed, and stand watch over her until she woke up refreshed and rejuvenated.
