We arrive five minutes late, much to Fran’s annoyance.
She provides a clipped rundown of what we will do over the next few hours. Our first task is to escort the ladies to their assigned seats around the table. And judging by the number of place cards, many more females—family and close friends—have arrived.
Emma and Mema push through the flower-lined gate first.
But before I can offer my arm, Fran swoops in to ensure everyone knows she’s in charge. “Will, be a dear and escort your grandmother to her seat.” She snaps her fingers. “Matt, you take Emma.”
When Fran leaves us, I catch Emma’s eye, and we both make a face.
“Don’t speak ill of others,” Mema chides, trying to hide a smile.
Emma looks over her shoulder at us. “We didn’t say anything.”
“I know you two. You had a whole conversation with your eyes.”
Emma giggles as she takes Matt’s arm.
Once I’ve safely delivered Mema to her seat, I return to the entrance where Fran is greeting Ava’s great-grandma Thompson.
“Will, this is my husband’s grandmother, Glenda Thompson.”
I offer my arm to the tiny white-haired woman, and she squeezes it lightly.
“You look lovely today, Mrs. Thompson,” I say as we shuffle at turtle speed to the table.
Her cheeks lift, and her soft hand pats my wrist. “Thank you, dear. Such a nice young man.”
Smiling, I pull out her chair. Then Morgan’s at the entrance. Her hair shines golden in the morning sunlight. Soft curls flow over her shoulders and blue sleeveless sundress.
Is she watching me get Mrs. Thompson settled? As I make my way back, there’s something unreadable in her eyes.
“Morgan!” Fran descends. “How lovely to see you. I’m so glad you fixed your hair today.”
Morgan’s expression hardens, but Fran only snaps her fingers at me. “Will, dear, please take Morgan to her seat.”
“Morning.” I offer her my arm. I might have tried to avoid her, but there’s nothing for it now. “Sleep okay?” There, I’ll pretend everything is normal. But things aren’t normal, and when she takes my arm, I’m too aware of the light pressure of her fingers through my suit jacket. Her touch zings clear to my core. Stupid.
A wry smile twists her lips. “Not really.”
Was she up late talking to Lenny? Not that I care. “Long phone conversation?”
Her grip tightens, perhaps on reflex. “Longer than I would have liked. But, no. I had a lot on my mind.”
I shouldn’t zero in on the wordslonger than I would have liked.Still, I’d love to know what was on her mind.
I. Don’t. Care.
I don’twantto care. It’s none of my business.
Luckily, before I can blurt more questions, my sister, Sophia, rushes over and grabs my free hand, shoving my suit sleeve up my arm. “You’re still wearing it.”
I shake her off. “Of course. I told you I would.”
She runs off yelling, “Brooklyn, I told you he was wearing the bracelet I made.”
Morgan says nothing, but her gaze is soft. Her lips twitch like she wants to smile. I want her to smile.
No. I pull my sleeve over the bracelet.
