“Kevin from Moss and Stone called before you arrived and let us know that you’re on your honeymoon. Congratulations.”
“Ah,” George says. “Thank you.”
“I’m actually getting married in the fall,” she says. “Can I ask what your wedding was like?”
“Of course,” I say.
George glances at me, and I smile at him sweetly. “You tell her,honey.”
His eyes glint, and I know I’m going to pay for this later. “Start with how you proposed,” I suggest. I look at the server. “It was so romantic.”
She stares at him moon-eyed, and I nudge his knee under the table. He nudges me back, but he doesn’t move his leg away after.
“She was my best friend,” George tells our server, his eyes on me. “And then I fell in love with her.”
My smile fades, and my chest squeezes.
“One day, when she was very mad at me, which happens more than you can imagine, I wrote her a letter, asking her to meet me so I could prove to her how much she meant to me.”
I blink, because I know this story.
The cupboard in the library. A dress made from a curtain. Violets with twine wrapped around their stems. Sharing vows beneath the apple tree.
I listen as George tells our server a new version of the tale. Inthis one, we’re thirty, not ten. He proposes not in the cupboard but in the gap of the cedar hedge, the place where we first met. We have a small wedding shortly after with our family gathered beneath the apple tree.
His gaze never leaves mine, and I can’t seem to look anywhere but at him, either. His knee is barely resting against mine, light enough that he may not even realize it’s there, but my leg feels like it’s on fire.
“Awww. I love that,” she says when he’s finished, her hands clasped under her chin. “Well, I won’t intrude on your evening any longer. Enjoy the amaro, and the rest of your honeymoon.”
When she leaves, George is no longer touching me.
I look out the window, my heart a solid, relentless thud against my rib cage.
“Frankie?”
I hum and turn my gaze to George. He’s watching me with a mischievous little smirk. This should be good.
He leans in, his eyes dancing. “Before we were interrupted, I believe you were describing how I make you feel. I believe the word you used wasinvincible.”
“I’m going to regret telling you that, aren’t I?”
“You called me an unstoppable force.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not teasing,” he says. “I’m savoring the moment, making sure I get all the details correct. You’re not often so—”
“Sentimental?”
“I was going to say ardent.”
“Hmm.” I take the last sip of amaro. “I think we’ve learned an important lesson about our friendship tonight.”
His finger circles the rim of his glass. “Oh?”
“We’re both bad at paying each other compliments.”
“I told you that you look good in the dress.”
