I laugh. "It goes a long way."
She shakes her head, smiling. "You're the worst."
"So what's the event?"
"A wedding."
"Okay. I can work with that."
We start walking again. She bumps my shoulder with hers.
"Have you ever been to a wedding? Like, as a guest?"
I think. "No. I've shot weddings. Never attended one as someone's date."
"Really?"
"Really. You?"
"I've been to plenty. But never with someone I actually wanted to be there with."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I usually spend the whole night avoiding the 'When are you getting married?' questions."
I grin. "And now?"
"Now I'm hoping that showing up with you prevents those."
I stop walking. Mock offense.
"So you're using me as a shield?"
She smiles. "Well, that and someone to slow dance with."
I don't say anything. I just swing her around gently—right there on the sidewalk—and pull her into a slow dance hold.
One hand at her waist. The other holding hers. I pull her in close.
"Tom—"
But I don't let go. I lean in, my voice low near her ear.
"Other than taking that picture of you at the ocean, dancing with you at the gala was my other favorite moment from that scouting trip."
She goes still. Her fingers curl tighter around mine.
We're not moving anymore. Just standing there on the quiet corner. I feel the rise and fall of her breathing against my chest.
She tilts her head back slightly to look at me. Our faces are close.
"Tom..."
My hand shifts at her waist—just slightly—pulling her a fraction closer.
"I think about that night a lot."
My eyes drop to her mouth.
