Franklin gives his speech, something about knowing Esme was it from the first moment and how he’d been waiting his whole life for someone who got him.
Then it’s my turn.
I stand, letting go of Claire’s hand only because I have to. I roll my shoulders under the jacket. The thing’s too tight across my back, tailored for a guy who sits at a desk, not one who hauls logs. My left arm twinges when I reach for the mic. It’s still healing. I ignore it.
“I’ve known this guy since we were kids.” I look at Franklin. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “And watched him go through a lot of women—”
The room erupts with laughter as Franklin flips me off.
“—but never saw him like this.” I pause to take a deep breath, the cool evening air centering me. “He’s never looked at someone the way he looks at Esme.”
My eyes find Claire’s. Shit. This is harder than I thought.
“When you find someone who…” I pause, my throat tight, old memories of Jenna flitting through my mind mixing with new memories of Claire. “Someone who makes you want more than just tonight and who sees your rough edges and doesn’t run. You hold on and don’t let go. You choose them.”
The next words scrape out. “Every single day.”
And I mean them for Franklin and Esme. I do. But I’m also talking to myself, which hits me hard.
I raise my glass. “Cheers to Franklin and Esme. And to anyone else in this room that makes the same choice each and every day.”
As I sit, Claire grabs my hand under the table again and holds on tight.
When the DJ calls up the wedding party, I’m already standing, hand out. Claire takes it, and I lead her to the dance floor, the polished laminate sitting atop limestone pavers. The evening sun sits right at the water’s edge, its blues and pinks and oranges vivid as I pull her close.
The wedding party dances to some slow song I don’t know, but as my hand spans Claire’s lower back, it might as well be my favorite because her arms slide around my neck, and our bodies touch from chest to thigh.
Claire and I sway together more than dance. She’s barely five-six in heels; without them she’d fit under my chin easy. I’m probably holding her too tight, but she’s not complaining.
“That speech,” she says quietly.
“What about it?”
“It was impressive.” Her fingers find the scar on my neck, trace it without thinking.
I pull her closer, and she fits perfectly, soft curves against hard muscle. She smells like vanilla and citrus and something underneath that’s just her.
“Thanks.”
We don’t talk after that. We just move to the music’s rhythm, her hair tickling my jaw in the best way.
The sun dips below the horizon, and the string lights overhead turn everything soft and gold, the candles still flickering on the tables. Ocean waves roll in, rhythmic and constant. Beneath our feet, the wooden planks are smoothed by years of dancing couples. The air’s cooled but still warm enough Claire’s bare shoulders don’t need my jacket.
Her is head tucked against my shoulder, my hand on her waist, and when the song ends, another starts, and we keep going amid the steel drums and waves. Laughter carries from the tables, punctuated by the crash of waves on rocks below. The music’s bass vibrates through the floorboards, into my chest.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been dancing, but someone whistles from the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it’s some old high school friends of mine plus the groomsmen grinning at us. I flip them off without breaking rhythm.
Claire laughs against my chest. “Your friends are staring.”
“They can stare.”
“We’re not exactly subtle.”
I tip her chin up. “Good. I’m done being subtle.”
Her eyes search mine, the ocean breeze billowing around us. “What are you being?”
“Honest.”
