FIFTEEN
Max
I have a rule about weddings. One I've developed over years of attending other people's events.
Don't get emotionally involved.
Standing in Lauren's suite with her perched on the edge of the bed, her blue chiffon dress pooled around her cast and her hair coming down in dark waves from what was once a very elegant updo, I'm fairly certain I've broken my rule.
“What are you staring at?” she asks, a coy grin on her face.
“I'm appreciating. Not staring.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. Staring is rude. Appreciating is a form of attention.” I loosen my bow tie the rest of the way and drop it on the dresser and am on the verge of saying something about how she’s gorgeous, but I don’t want to come on too strong. “How's the ankle?”
“Not terrible.” She shifts carefully against the headboard and makes a face. “A little painful. But manageable. Kate's tincture really has worked wonders.”
I shake my head. “You witches and your potions.”
“I’m not a witch. Yet. Although if I lived here I’d probably join a coven.”
“You’d fit right in.” I pull the spare pillow from the other side of the bed and set it at the end, near her foot. “Here.”
She looks at the pillow, then at me. “You're very organized.”
“It's my best quality and my fatal flaw.” I sit in the armchair across from the bed rather than next to her on it, because one of us should show some restraint and it's clearly going to have to be me. “Do you want something to drink? I have water, and I think there's ginger ale somewhere.”
“Water would be good.” She tilts her head. “Wait. You have ginger ale?”
“I travel with it. Digestion.”
She stares at me. “Do you also have a laminated emergency checklist? A backup charger? Perhaps a small first aid kit organized by category?”
“The first aid kit is organized alphabetically, actually.”
She laughs. “Of course it is.”
“We've been somewhat occupied this weekend or I'd have shown you the full inventory sooner. Let me know if you need a carbon monoxide detector for traveling, by the way.”
“I’m not sure if you’re being serious or not, but I have to admit, traveling with one of those isn’t a bad idea.” She’s looking at me with her head tilted, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m a genius or the biggest dork in the world.
I get her the water and sit at the edge of the bed, a respectful distance away. We look at each other for a moment in the quiet of the room. Outside, the reception is still going faintly. In here it's just the hum of the ceiling fan and the thump of a distant bass.
“I had a good time tonight,” she says. “That's a weird thing to say given everything, but I did. Your toast was one of the best parts.”
“Same.” I pause. “Your toast was also pretty dang good.”
She waves her hand. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn't nothing. Damien looked at you like you'd said exactly the right thing.” I consider for a moment. “He almost never looks like that.”
She's quiet. There's something moving across her face I can't quite read — some calculation, some decision. She turns the water glass in her hands.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
