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It’s also unusually warm. Warm enough that I’m wearing my sister’s Chloe peacock blue minidress with a ruffle collar. It’s safe to say Jackie is never getting this one back.
“Calling the florist again right now,” Nan yells back.
You know it’s all hands on deck if Nan has been enlisted to pitch in. Elvis jump up on one of the tables and almost scream. It’s taken me hours to make sure each tablecloth is pristine.
Nan grabs him and pats the fat bastards head before she drops him.
My job is to steam linens and set the tables. Which I’ve been doing since 7 am this morning. Nan catches me yawning for the third time and makes a face.
“Go get some coffee and I’ll finish the steaming.”
“I’m fine. I only have a few runners left to do,” I tell her as I lay out the pale sage cloth down one of the long banquet tables.
I’m not fine. I’m exhausted. Writer’s block is a bitch.
I must have started and scrapped the article on Jake and the hockey program five times in the last four days. Something about it didn’t seem right. It sounded stiff and boring. In other words, like hard news. And that’s not what Hal asked for. So late last night, I started over.
After staring at the computer screen for a solid hour and a half, I just began typing. I don’t know, maybe it was the combination of too much caffeine and mixed emotions, but my fingers started moving and didn’t stop till dawn. It’s finally done. And before I second guess myself for the fifth time, I plan on emailing it to him tomorrow.
I haven’t seen Jake since the night he drove me home from Gina’s place four days ago. Since the near kiss, as I like to call it. Since the night he opened the door a little more and let me in. The same night he said the quiet words out loud.
He thinks we have chemistry.
I wasn’t sure whether to believe my ears, but frankly it’s a relief to know I’m not the only one feeling it for once. I’m so used to pining from afar I have no idea how to behave when it’s reciprocated.
Where that leaves us––I don’t know. Or takes us, for that matter. But I’m more than willing to find out. And hey, it’s not like I’m getting ahead of myself. I know this is a temporary thing. Everyone needs human touch once in a while. I’m not deluding myself into thinking I’m the girl of his dreams. Maybe he’s just as lonely as I am. Everybody needs somebody sometime, right?
“They’re here!” Nan exclaims seeing the delivery truck pull up to the service entrance. Once the flowers are schlepped inside, we finish setting up.
Two hours later the wedding party begins to trickle in. One by one, they take a seat in one of the white Chippendale chairs on the flagstone patio. The nondenominational ceremony will be held outside overlooking the lake, under an arch made of white birch branches adorned with white flowers.
While the last of the guests arrive and take their seats, the minister takes her place on the alter.
Meanwhile, I hang back, leaning against the side of the house to watch. The backyard slopes down all the way to the lake’s edge so it’s a bird’s eye view from this angle.
The music starts and the groom comes down the aisle, shaking hands with guests, a goofy smile plastered on his boyish face. His expression when he finally steps on stage says it all. It’s the face of a man in love, more than happy to be getting married today.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s a man out there, somewhere, that will look like that for me one day. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I sure hope so.
The best man turns and a pang of recognition hits me. It takes me a moment to pin point why he looks familiar. His face is more angular. He’s shed about fifty pounds and added a lot of muscle, but the eyes are the same. It’s someone in my graduating class. Sean Gordon or something, I think.
He seems to be having a good time, joking around with the groomsmen. Until the music starts. Then they all sober up and face the French doors, waiting for the bride to appear.
When she finally emerges, led by three bridesmaids and two adorable flower girls, the guests turn in their seats to watch, faces lighting up as she comes down the aisle escorted by her very proud father. The crowd claps and cheers. A few even whistle, making me laugh. I’ve never seen such a rowdy wedding ceremony.
Meanwhile, the bride is unconventionally beautiful. Willowy, ethereal, a woodland pixie with short dark hair and an easy smile. No veil, her hair is decorated with a wreathe of vines and white flowers, her dress is a flowing mass of white chiffon. And she’s obviously incandescently in love with her groom judging by the way she’s looking at him. Her father hands her over to the man she’s about to marry and the ceremony begins.
