“I’d ruin you, man, and you know it.”
We both laugh under our breath.
Noah looks at the altar. I follow his gaze. Ezra is already up there, flanked by his groomsmen, all of them in matching charcoal suits.
He’s also checking his watch.
“Where’s Piper?” I ask.
Noah keeps his eyes on Ezra when he answers, “On her way. She’ll be here.”
I watch the pews fill with people.
Twenty-five minutes past the hour.
Then thirty.
The string quartet has now looped back through its repertoire.
Ezra straightens his cuffs.
A groomsman leans over from Ezra’s left and says something low.
People are starting to whisper.
I lean back and look at the ceiling. It has Gothic ribbed vaulting. Probably fourteenth century, if I had to guess—definitely restored sometime in the last fifty years. The stonework in parts is newer than the rest.
“Noah?” That’s the groomsman, suddenly in the aisle beside our pew. “Have you heard from your sister?”
Noah’s voice is smooth when he answers, “Nope.”
The groomsman shifts his weight. “Can you call her?”
Noah pats his jacket. “Left my phone in the car.”
The groomsman stares at him for a second before he nods and walks away.
I wait until he’s out of earshot. “You were on your phone five minutes ago.”
“I was.” He looks at the stained glass behind the altar like he’s having a private moment of spiritual reflection. “Beautiful window.”
“Noah?”
“Mmm.”
“You’re hoping she doesn’t show up.”
“She’ll show up,” he says.
Ezra is no longer just straightening his cuffs. The poor bastard is starting to sweat.
The whispers have reached a higher pitch.
An older woman two rows ahead leans sideways and says something to her companion behind a cupped hand.
“I’ll go outside,” I offer. “See if there’s any sign.”
Noah says nothing, which is its own kind of answer.
