She unlocks herself from him and turns. “Oh my God, Lauren!”
We crash into each other the way we always do, both of us squealing, and she smells like jasmine with a spicy undercurrent that must be Damien's cologne.
“Thank goodness you're here.” She breaks away and gives me a look that's half-relieved, half-guilty. Tears pool in her eyes.
“This is Damien.” She pulls him forward. He offers a large, quiet hand. “Damien, this is my best friend Lauren.”
He has the kind of gaze that takes you in and decides something about you in three seconds. He's good-looking in an extremely focused way. Not at all the kind of guy Kate normally goes for.
“Good to finally meet you,” he says. His voice is quiet. Dignified, almost.
“You too. I've already gotten acquainted with your brother Max.” I drop his hand and glance at Kate.
Kate looks up at Damien. Damien looks down at Kate. The tenderness between them is so immediate and unguarded it makes me feel like I've walked into a room and interrupted something private. Which I basically have.
“Hey, Kate,” I say. “I’d love to catch up.”
“Yes.” She turns to Damien. “Give me an hour. Don't have too much fun without me, don’t carve the pig without me, and please don’t let either of your brothers get you in a kayak on the river before we open the champagne, okay?”
He leans down and kisses her forehead with a softness that seems at odds with his size. “Take your time, girlie.”
They part with the reluctance of people who've only recently discovered they can't stop touching each other. I look away, feeling a complicated mix of warmth, loneliness and what the actual heck…
I thread my arm through Kate's, and she leads me inside the resort.
“We can sit here.” She points to the bar off the lobby. It has low lighting, kayak paddles on the walls, and a few ceiling fans turning slowly overhead.
We slide into a booth. She takes three deep breaths, and of course, that’s when the waitress has to come over to give us our water. Which means there’s a round of introductions, and explanations of how Kate’s mom used to babysit the waitress and how Kate once walked the waitress’ dog…apparently the community fabric of Cypress Grove is tightly knit. Far tighter than my hardscrabble town in rural Ohio.
The waitress returns in record time with two glasses of champagne, on the house. I beam at her.
“Now we’re talking,” I quip.
When the waitress finally wanders off, Kate holds up her glass.
“To weddings.”
I touch my glass to hers. “To mysterious weddings and mysterious brides.” I sip through my straw. “Now tell me everything.”
Why is she looking around nervously, like someone might overhear our conversation?
I lean in. “Kate? What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re hiding something? Or that someone might hear us? Are you okay? Seriously. You need to tell me.”
She takes a second gulp of her bubbly. “You’re sworn to secrecy.”
“Of course I am. I’m your best friend. Aren’t I?” Maybe I’m not, and that’s why she’s so reluctant to share her life with me. I take a shallow inhale.
Kate leans in, her pretty eyes watery. Is she going to cry? My god, she never cries. I reach for her hand and take a fortifying sip of my champagne.
“This is all fake, this whole relationship, this wedding,” she whispers. “All of it.”
