“Nope. It’s nonnegotiable, and I don’t appreciate your deceptive tactics.”
Hanry laughs. “All you have to do is follow my steps.”
Hmm. That’s probably why I’m not talented at dancing: the whole “following” bit. No surprise that when Hanry tries to push me into a waltzy thing, I end up lurching.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says, pulling me close. His eyes flick to the creatures swarming around us, decked out in peacock plumage and ostrich feathers and worse. “We were invited to this wedding. That puts us under Dave and Amanda’s protection. No matter how delicious-smelling our blood, we should be fine.”
“I’m not worried about that. I have a crap diet,” I say. “My blood smells mediocre, at best.”
“I have a feeling there isn’t anything mediocre about you,” says Hanry.
I rearrange my hand around Hanry’s bicep. He doesn’t seem to mind my giving it a subtle squeeze. In spite of how he’s befriended vampires and misjudged me as eccentric, I can’t help noticing that Hanry is kind and hot and maybe flirting with me: a potentially flammable combination.
“I didn’t have a chance to thank you earlier,” I say. “So, thanks. There’s no way I could’ve pulled off the florals without you.”
“You seemed like you were in a bind.” Hanry grins. Until I step on his foot. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“For what it’s worth, I thought your concept was solid. And in the end, the decorations got finished on time. The ceremony happened with minimal issues. I’d call that a win.”
“You pieced the arch together well.”
Hanry leads me in a swoopy, broccoli-armed move. “Why do you sound surprised? Ha. I have a thing for woodworking. And I like using foraged materials.”
Does he, now? Am I really supposed to believe he was collecting pine cones in the graveyard that night? Breathlessly, I say: “Salsa. Foraging. Woodworking. You have too many hobbies.”
“I do. But I don’t own my own wedding planning company,” he points out. Apparently, the next step in this broccoli dance entails me being dipped into ranch dressing. “That’s impressive.”
“Am I?” I ask the dark, mildew-stained ceiling. “Do I?”
“All right, Miss False Humility. Time for a loop-de-loop.”
“A what?”
Hanry smiles down at me right before leading me in yet another cruciferous contortion. Miraculously, I don’t smash into anyone. I’ve never lasted this long through a dance in my life. I failed PE in eighth grade because Coach Bradley thought I was intentionally trying to hurt people during our dance sessions. I bet that wouldn’t have happened toHanry. He may be built like a tree, but he’s more willow than oak. He wastrainedto dance from an early age; I’d bet someone else’s money on it.
“Have you thought of taking on an assistant?” he asks. “For your wedding business?”
I snort. “Absolutely not.”
“It could be a good idea. I might not be able to show up and save the day every time.”
Oh, please, like he saved the day by standing there, holding a hammer. Well. I mean fine, he sort of did. It was a onetime thing, though, just like this—my first and only foray into the wedding industry. I don’t belong here, in a haunted room full of extravagantly weird paranormal beings who might be tempted to eat me. But why does the otherwise wonderful Hanry?
“Question for you,” I say as the song winds down. “How long did it take before you figured out Dave and Amanda were vampires, and why didn’t it freak you out?”
“I, uh. Guess it didn’t come as a surprise. Dave’s pretty obvious. And unthreatening.”
“Like… a vegan?” I ask.
“Excuse me,” a voice wedges in from the side. It belongs to the officiant, carrying Bulan.
“We have a problem,” says Bulan.
I hadn’t realized how much Hanry had loosened me up. But looking at these two and their paired expressions of poorly reined-in worry, I feel like I’m smacking into a wall of bricks. If I were in a car, my airbags would have exploded, and I’d be batting the puff-bags vainly out of my face.
“What is it?” I ask.
