FOURTEEN
Lauren
Who knew partying with a scooter could be this much fun?
After the ceremony I sail back down the aisle with a grin so wide it's slightly embarrassing. Damien is as much in love with Kate as she is with him. Maybe more. The officiant had barely asked him to say “I do” when he jumped in to utter the words, then he practically devoured her during the kiss.
She has zero to worry about with him. Plus they murmured what sounded like a dozenI love yousafter the vows, and I wept accordingly.
It's all so incredibly sweet and pure that I almost can’t handle it.
I get a small round of applause as I scoot into the reception hall, which I accept with a gracious wave, like a queen. Max laughs and kisses my cheek when I skid to a stop in front of him.
“Maybe I have a future in dirt bike riding. Or Jet Skiing,” I tell Max, who laughs.
The scooter stays with me all evening, and I zoom around talking to people, cracking jokes, making friends with Sadie's first mate who has a parrot tattoo on his neck and fascinating opinions about tidal navigation. The pain is an ever-present throb but manageable.
Max and I are never far from each other. His hand finds the small of my back when we're talking in groups, and I find myself leaning slightly toward him whenever he's near, like a plant adjusting toward light. He secures me a stool for my foot while we eat, produces an ice pack from somewhere, brings appetizers, brings me mocktails without being asked. He does all of this without fanfare, as if it's simply obvious.
His toast to Damien is the funniest thing I've heard in months — a story about ten-year-old Damien attempting to teach himself to ride a motorcycle, and the lasting damage to the family's begonia beds. And then, quietly, at the end:“He is the most honorable man I know. He always has been. And Kate, you've got the best of us.”
That's when I start weeping again and have to retrieve his handkerchief from my satchel.
When it's my turn I stand — well, lean on my scooter — and raise my glass.
“I can't top Max's storytelling,” I say. “All I know is that Kate is the hardest working, most lovable, most stubborn, most magical person I've ever met, and Damien is marrying an actual angel.” I pause. “Be worthy of her.”
There's a moment of silence and then applause, and Damien nods at me with real solemnity, like he’s making a blood oath.
The DJ starts playing. Kate and Damien sway through “At Last” while the rest of us watch, undone.
Of course I can't dance. Max fixes this. During a slow song he simply lifts me off the ground and turns us in a slow circle, my feet dangling, my arms around his neck. And then he kisses me — right there on the middle of the dance floor, in front of everyone, unhurried and completely unashamed.
There's a smattering of applause from somewhere.
“You don't mind everyone seeing that?” I ask, breathless.
He looks faintly baffled. “Why would I?”
“I'm not used to men who want to show me off in real life rather than on social media.”
“I'd rather have the real thing than a photo of it.” He adjusts his hold on me. “Strange concept, I know.”
My stomach flips, and flips again.
Later, as the evening mellows and some guests begin to filter out, Max turns to me. We’re both sitting out the Macarena, but a hardy group is going strong on the dance floor.
“How are you holding up?” he says quietly.
“Honestly?” I pause. “I'm completely done with most people. Even people I like.”
“Even me?” His grin is lopsided and foxy.
I shake my head. “Shockingly, not you. But it’s been a lot of people tonight. I honestly didn’t think the entire town would come.”
He stares at me for a second. “You're an introvert?”
“This surprises you?”
