“Next Saturday at the couple’s shower,” Reese supplied. She thought she did a great job of hiding the grimace in her voice.
“A celebration of love and joy in honor of the happy couple,” Sydney teased.
Reese let out a deep breath. “The theme is ‘Love you a brunch.’’’
Sydney made a fake gagging sound before dissolving into a fit of laughter.
It felt good to see her so light. Reese hadn’t known, as they’d gotten deeper into the bowels of wedding-related events, how Sydney would react. Maybe Sydney herself didn’t even know, but Reese wanted her to have an ongoing opt-out clause in case anything became too much.
“And you’re still okay with everything?” she asked. “I don’t want to put you in any difficult situations.”
Sydney waved her off readily. “Exposure therapy at its best. I figure by the time the wedding comes, I’ll be in tip-top performance shape.”
“To do what?” Reese asked, apprehension that she tried to bite back edging into her voice.
She didn’treallythink that Sydney would do anything, but with everything going on with her mom, she had to ask.
“Dance with my beautiful girlfriend and have an amazing time,” Sydney said, her soft eyes giving no hint of teasing this time.
Reese’s stomach swooped low, and she knew that she was blushing. “Kill ‘em with kindness,” she said when she recovered.
Before she lost her resolve, she pushed forward, speaking again. “I want to thank you again. For everything you’re doing for me. For everything you did this weekend. It meant a lot, having you there.”
Sydney stood up a little straighter, a tender smile on her face. “I’m glad I could be there.”
Reese cleared her throat, intent on not getting lost in the moment or reading too much into it. Sydney had already done so much for her, and the one thing she had to offer was not blurring any lines.
Well—any more lines.
“Me too,” Reese settled on, hoping she’d effectively conveyed her gratitude.
Sydney gave Reese’s hand a squeeze, which she’d been holding for the last five minutes, and it sent another flutter of butterflies flapping through Reese’s stomach. “I need to get going. I’m meeting Brian at the tennis center.”
Reese nodded and pulled her hand away first, missing the contact immediately. “You’ll have to let me know how that’s going soon.”
“I will,” Sydney said softly as she hoisted her bag more tightly against her shoulder.
Reese watched her walk out of the inn, begging herself to keep it together for the next few months.
Reese was sweaty. Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. That implied that shehad beensweating. The reality was, shewassweating, little beads of heat running continually running down her back. She hadn’t stopped moving in almost three hours as she’d worked to get everything together ahead of the fireworks show.
But now, there was nothing else to check on, no last-minute emergencies that required her attention. She stood, waiting, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down.
Dozens of people milled around the outdoor patio space as the sun began to set, splashes of light reflecting off the waves in the gloombelow.
The fireworks would be set off on a barge about a quarter-mile out to sea. Reese could already see dotting the horizon, and though it looked unimpressive right now, she knew it would elicit oohs and aahs in a few short hours.
Her mom had come early, and Reese had set her up in one of the dozen adirondack chairs that were always available for guests to relax on during their stay.
With her plan to open the inn to the public for the show, she’d worked with Hallie to secure a myriad of other seating options, along with encouraging guests to bring blankets and their own chairs.
The Stone’s Throw Inn boasted one of the most beautiful, unencumbered views of the coastline, and she wanted to make sure that people knew it.
Kids of varying ages ran around on the grass, some with sparklers that they twirled with glee.
It was exactly what she’d hoped it would be.
She wiped her sweaty brow and glanced over to where her mom sat, unobtrusively checking in. Her lips tipped into a smile when she noticed Hallie sitting on the arm of her mother’s chair, talking animatedly. God knows what Hallie was telling her, or vice versa.
