It wasn’t like I’d never been to a wedding before, but this was hitting harder than it should have.
She was my cousin, so of course I was happy for her, but this felt like more. Maybe it was because this was the first time I’d seen Grant smile and he hadn’t stopped since he laid eyes on Kara in her white dress.
Maybe it was the single tear that slid down her cheek during the vows.
Or maybe it was the realization that some people—people I knew and cared about—didn’t treat relationships like a riskthat wasn’t worth taking.
I needed a beer.
My eyes drifted back to Wren. Not that they had left her much during the ceremony. She looked stunning all dressed up. The dark green dress made her blonde hair seem brighter, strands falling loose around her face. Even a professional stylist couldn’t quite tame the firefighter out of her.
A few people brushed past me, congratulating the couple, patting shoulders, drifting toward the tables set up near the cabin.
Instead of moving along with the crowd, I stayed where I was for a beat longer.
Wren looked up and caught me staring. Not for the first time.
The corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile, before she and the rest of the bridal party were hustled away by the photographer.
I finally made my way toward the reception area.
Long tables had been set up under string lights already glowing despite the afternoon sun. The music shifted from soft instrumental to something more upbeat.
Grabbing a beer from the cooler, I cracked it open. There was no way to dress up for a wedding and not end up sweating, but I needed a drink for more reasons than just the heat.
Rolling up my sleeves only did so much, so I took a long pull from my drink.
I scanned the space and realized I was looking for her again.
This was an annoying new habit.
“Hey.”
The sound of her voice drew me and I turned towards it.
Wren stood a few feet away, hands loosely clasped in front of her.
“Hey… drink?”
She nodded. “Hot as hell out here.”
I held up the options—beer in one hand, water in the other—and she grabbed the beer and popped the top.
She took a drink, the long line of her throat working as she swallowed.
“Rough ceremony?” I teased, nodding toward the bottle.
“Something like that. I feel like a kid playing dress-up.” She adjusted the skirt of her dress.
“Well, you make it look good.”
Her eyes met mine. “Thanks. You could almost pass for civilized yourself.”
I snorted. “Almost.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” She mimed zipping her lips and we both took another drink.
Why did the conversation feel strained when it hadn’t before?
