I go over the details again as I button my dress shirt. Dating for three months. Met at a conference. She works in finance. We see each other on weekends, in Seattle or whatever city fits her schedule best. And she hasn’t visited Wild Rose Point yet because… well, once I bring a woman home, the town rumor mill will happily start chugging. Three months feels long enough that things would be “serious,” at least on paper.
Except nothing about this is serious. Not really.
Not unless you count the gnawing, inconvenient feeling in my stomach every time I think about her walking in on my arm tonight. The stupid, hopeless desire that this wasn’t a farce, that the thing that’s been flaring between us is real. Mutual.
I take a steady breath, knotting my tie. Sloane’s coming as my date because she needed a place to escape to. That’s it. And no matter how wound-up I get around her, no matter how hard it is to ignore the glint in her eye when when she’s gazing out at the ocean, this is a practical arrangement. Case closed.
I pull on my blazer and head to the living room to wait. She’s in the bathroom, music drifting out from her phone.
Marshall is parked outside the bathroom, tail thumping, gazing at the door like the sun itself is in there.
“You’re really wearing your heart on your sleeve, buddy,” I murmur. Not that I’m any better.
I open Wordle on my phone just as the music shuts off. I look up, and it hits me like a freight train.
Sloane steps out in a long red gown with thin straps, her hair loose and wavy over her shoulders. She gives me a shy smile. “Ready when you are. Hope you don’t mind if I wear these sandals. The dress doesn’t really go with the ones I showed up in.”
My jaw nearly drops. Marshall’s about ready to launch himself into her arms. I whistle him over, grateful for the distraction, for something to do with my hands.
When I look up again, she’s smiling like she knows exactly the effect she’s having. And she’s not wrong.
“You look great,” I say, trying to hit the sweet spot between sincere and not too enthusiastic.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “You too.”
So much for keeping a low profile. I’m about to show up with a woman so gorgeous she might eclipse the bride. This might be a huge mistake.
By the time we pull into the parking lot at the Wild Rose Point Inn, only a handful of spots remain. Guests are mingling in the garden, cocktail glasses catching the sun. My stomach tightens.
I spot my parents immediately, chatting with my ex’s parents, Steve and Lois. Nice people, but…well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Confidence and chaos, wrapped in two overly enthusiastic wedding guests.
Beyond them stand a cluster of Calista’s friends, some of my cousins, aunts, uncles. And my grandfather, sitting in a chair off to the side, who definitely has a flask of Jack Daniels in his jacket pocket. No one hates weddings like Boris Clancy. The sentimental stuff makes him itchy.
“Everything okay?” Sloane asks.
I startle. I must’ve been staring. “Oh, yeah. For sure. All set?”
She tilts her head, one eyebrow raised. “You know, it’s fine if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
My stomach rumbles and I clear my throat to mask the noise.
She nods toward the garden. “Looks like the bar’s open. Let’s get a drink, then we’ll circulate. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
I take in the freckles over her golden skin, the soft shine of her lips. Dressed for a wedding, she’s…someone else. Confident. Grounded. A far cry from the shell-shocked woman in a ruined wedding dress I met days ago.
If I had my way, I’d turn the car around and take her somewhere quiet. Just the two of us. Somewhere without curious eyes and small-town gossip.
But the group walking toward my car has other plans.
“Ryan! Hey man!”
I swallow hard. “Here we go.”
The first few introductions go well, and by the time we reach the bar and order ourselves the signature cocktail, some kind of fruity berry thing that Sloane seems to like, my shoulders have relaxed slightly and my jaw’s no longer clenched so hard it could crush gravel.
Sloane is friendly, gracious, and despite the situation, exactly the kind of woman I need at my side at this event. There’s still tension in the air, but Sloane has a diffusing effect.
