“No, no. Nothing like that. I was alone. Just, you know. Mid-undress. It was warm.”
My sister stares. “Men,” she mutters.
Right then, Tate walks over. He's the second oldest of us, but because he's nearer in age to Nat, they've always been close. He's got his characteristic outdoor tan — what happens when you spend half your life outdoors as part of your environmental work— and is carrying what looks like an extremely expensive bottle of Scotch.
“I agree. Men are insufferable,” he says to Nat while slapping me on the back.
“Thank you,” our sister says.
“Hello, counselor.” I nod at him. Tate's the kind of environmental attorney who actually wins cases, which has made him very popular with the local conservation groups and very unpopular with certain developers. When he graduated from the University of Florida law school, I encouraged him to apply to firms in New York. He looked at me like I'd suggested he move to the moon.
Natalia fiddles with a lock of hair. “Max was telling me how the desk gave some woman his key card and she walked in on him. In his boxers doing god-knows-what.”
Tate raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And nothing. She fled. Rightfully so.” I grin. “Though I did bring her a peace offering beer afterward.”
“How very civilized,” Tate says drily.
“So who is this mystery woman?” Nat cranes her neck, scanning the pool area. “She must be here for the wedding. Is it the mother of the bride? Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”
“No, she’s closer in age to us. She had long dark hair, curly. Wearing a blue and white striped dress. Gorgeous legs, gold sandals.”
Tate spots someone, hoists the bottle of Scotch in the air, then again thumps my back. “Good luck with the mystery woman, my man,” he says, and wanders away.
“Ok, let’s try to find the mystery woman,” Nat says, craning her neck. “Ooh. Over there, near the pool bar. Close to the guy with the firefighter tattoo on his forearm.”
I swivel and squint. The sun is low over the cypress trees and about an hour from setting. “Where? No, that's not her. Hair's not dark enough.”
I scan the clusters of people near the high-top tables.
“I feel like a tourist,” I admit. “I don't recognize half these people.”
Natalia stares at me. “Of course you don’t. You've been gone too long. Things have changed, Max.”
“No kidding.” A pang of unease goes through me. I used to know everyone in Cypress Grove.
“Aha.” My eyes find her near the pool bar, and my heart speeds up. “There she is.”
And she’s even more beautiful in the golden hour. Her curls are loose over her shoulders, and she's holding a bottle of water, standing next to a woman I don't recognize.
“Where?” Nat yelps.
“Shh. Near the bar. Brunette. Holding the water. Don't stare.” I raise my hand in a wave. She doesn't return it — either she can't see me or she's pretending she doesn’t.
“Ooh, she's pretty,” says Nat. “That's Lauren. Kate's best friend. The maid of honor.”
I guffaw. The maid of honor. Intriguing on all levels.
I wonder if Lauren knows how and why Kate and my brother fell for each other so fast. I also wonder if she's the kind of woman who'd consider a no-strings weekend — though the two thoughts are somewhat at odds, and she did seem fairly unimpressed with me this afternoon.
Cognitive dissonance is a predictor of intelligence, I've heard.
“Excuse me,” I say to Nat. “I've got to make proper acquaintance with the woman I'll be walking down the aisle with.”
I keep my eyes on Lauren as I make my way through the crowd. At one point she turns and catches my eye. I wink.
And then she slips smoothly into a cluster of people, as if she's avoiding me entirely.
