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I, on the other hand, am a bundle of nerves, the last of my chill evaporating as the clock ticks closer to two, when the waiters—and Nick—will be arriving.
“Relax,” Aria murmurs when I nearly drop one of the wine glasses I’m removing from the carrying crate onto the concrete. “Just be cool and act like nothing happened.”
My forehead furrows. “But something did happen.”
“Yes, but now isn’t the time to discuss it. Just put him at ease today and delay your attack until you’re fully prepared.” Aria winks. “Better to make your move when his guard is down.”
My attack?
Am I attacking?
No sooner has the thought passed through my head than I spot Nick strutting through the rose garden toward the outdoor kitchen, looking so good in a motorcycle jacket it should be against the law for him to be within five hundred feet of a wedding in progress—it isn’t fair to test a bride’s resolve that way—and decide yes on that attack plan.
I will be attacking. When the time is right.
I pull in a breath, doing my best to keep it calm, cool, and collected—or at least fake it until I make it—and then Nick steps into the shade of the tent and looks my way. Our eyes catch and hold and something passes between us, not the familiar wave of attraction, though the sizzle of chemistry is definitely present.
This is more than chemistry. It feels like I’m seeing Nick for the first time, seeing past the dimpled grin and the swagger and the “couldn’t care less” persona to the man inside, a man who has a lot of the same fears and worries I do, who sometimes feels lost and out of control and who is still sorting out who he wants to be.
He looks like someone with questions, someone who wonders what it might be like to try something new, and for a moment, I’m positive that I’m that something. I even have a fleeting fantasy of Nick walking over to my prep station, leaning in, and asking if I’d like to go grab a coffee after the wedding and talk about what comes next. Or maybe propose marriage, I don’t know.
I push my hair from my face with the back of one hand and smile my most encouraging smile.
Nick instantly cuts to his right, striding away without a word, following Manny out to the parking lot.
My heart plops into the burning pit of acid my stomach has suddenly become. Nick doesn’t even smoke—no one does, but Manny, and he’s trying to quit—but Nick would rather stand around inhaling cancer-causing fumes than acknowledge my existence.
I’m a fool. A dumb, sappy, wants-to-believe-in-unicorns-and-bad-boys-with-squishy-hearts-and-other-imaginary-creatures kind of fool.
Ugh. I’m the worst.
The very worst.
The rest of the afternoon passes with miserable slowness. Nick goes out of his way not to interact with me—or even touch a glass or plate that I’ve recently touched. I keep my head down and my hands busy, trying to brush it off but secretly dreading making eye contact with him again.
How could I have been so stupid?
How could I have so completely misjudged what I thought was a moment of connection?
Clearly there is no connection. Clearly he hates me like seed ticks infesting his socks and I let my talk with Aria get my hopes up too high. Now I’m going to pay for it with a long, miserable fall back to reality.
The only bright spot in the entire afternoon is when Seth, the drummer for Ghost Town Double Wide, lets me know I made it past the first stage of auditions.
Hey, lady, Seth texts, You were great Friday night. We want to have you and a couple other people back to sing again tonight at eight to help us make our final decision. Think you can make it? The bar’s closed on Sundays so it will just be us and we’ll have time to jam and make adjustments as we go.
I’ll be there with bells on, I type, grinning ear to ear.
Awesome! Can’t wait to see you again, Seth shoots back a second later.
“Really?” I mumble aloud, arching a brow.
He’s certainly changed his tune. Seth wasn’t very warm or inviting the other night—pretty much the opposite, in fact. Seth kind of gave me the cold shoulder, even after he heard me sing, giving me the impression I wasn’t anywhere on his shortlist for new lead singer.
I wonder what caused the sudden attitude change?
Whatever it was, I decide to take it as a good sign.
Holding tight to my happy news, I make it through the rest of the long afternoon without giving in to the urge to drown myself in the industrial sized container of salad dressing, but just barely. By the time five o’clock rolls around I’m more than ready to get the heck out of Atlanta and as far away from Nick Geary as possible.
