The room hums with conversation the moment we enter.
Twinkling lights are strung across the exposed beams above us, casting a soft glow over everything—polished wine glasses catching the light, fresh flowers arranged at the center of every table, the scent of roses and eucalyptus mixing with oak barrels and red wine. Servers weave through the crowd, balancing trays with appetizers, laughter rising and blending into the soft music playing somewhere near the back.
Somehow, in less than five minutes, Finn introduces me to what feels like half the room.
Hands shake mine. Names blur together. Smiles come easily enough, even if I feel slightly untethered inside my own skin.
Finally, we make our way to our table.
Relief washes over me when I spot two name cards waiting beside each other. Mine sits neatly beside his, printed in elegant script.
Finn pulls out my chair, and just as I lower myself into it, someone approaches.
“García,” Finn exclaims with a grin, standing to shake the man’s hand.
“O’Donoghue,” the man answers warmly. “How are you?”
He’s handsome with dark hair, strong brows, warm brown eyes, and like Finn, he’s wearing dress blues that fit him with the same effortless precision.
“Sergeant García, this is May,” Finn says, turning toward me.
The man offers his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, miss.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile politely as we shake.
Before the conversation can go any further, a striking woman joins us, slipping easily into the space beside him.
“This is my wife, Natalia,” García adds.
She’s beautiful—every movement effortless, commanding attention. A deep red halter dress hugs her figure, dark curls spilling over her shoulders, and her smile is warm enough to soften the edge of my nerves.
“Hi, I’m Natalia.” She offers her hand.
“May,” I reply.
She turns to Finn with familiarity. “O’Donoghue. Good to see you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. García.”
“It looks like we’re sitting next to you tonight,” she adds, already pulling out the chair beside mine.
As everyone settles, Finn and Sergeant García fall quickly into conversation, catching up with an ease that tells me this isn’t their first event like this.
Natalia, thankfully, turns her attention to me.
She’s extroverted in the best way, the kind of person who fills silence without making it feel forced. Within minutes, she’s telling me who’s who, quietly giving context every time someone walks by.
“That’s Commander so-and-so,” she whispers at one point. “And that’s the mayor’s husband—he organizes half these events.”
I laugh softly, instantly grateful for her.
Conversation becomes easier. Breathing becomes easier.
People keep coming by the table to greet Finn—high-ranking officers, officials, and people offering congratulations to him for being chosen to drop the wreath during the Fleet of Flowers ceremony. Each time, he stands, shakes hands, and introduces me with a quiet confidence that makes me feel a little bit more comfortable about being here.
I smile. I answer questions. I survive.
And then the wine starts flowing.
