Next, Cooper said, “You’re okay, right?”
I frowned like he’d lost his marbles. “Of course I am.”
“Because you look—”
“Beautiful, right? You said. That was so weird.”
“Beautiful—yes. But you also look—”
Then, before I could think better of it, I finished for him: “Like I’m about to call off the wedding?”
Cooper stilled.
I stilled, too.
Then he pulled in a breath and said, “Are you?”
“I thought that’s whatyouwere going to say.”
“I was going to say, ‘You look a little nervous.’”
“Because I’m not calling it off,” I said. “Why would you even think that?”
“Ididn’tthink that,” Cooper said.
Now we had ourselves a standoff.
We stared into each other’s eyes.
Right then, the organist began the processional—a baroque-hits favorite of the Richmonds’ that launched with a howl of menacing horror-movie chords.
Wait—did I have a pebble in my shoe?
I handed Cooper my bouquet for a minute so I could grab his shoulder for balance with one hand and pull off my pump with the other.
“What are you doing?” Cooper asked.
“I’ve got a pebble in my shoe,” I said, shaking it out.
“What is it with you and pebbles?” Cooper said.
But as I straightened up to take back my bouquet, Cooper tugged me closer by the waist and leaned in so close his breath tickled my ear. And then he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s pretty easy,” he said then, “to fake a faint.”
I pushed back and glanced toward the sanctuary. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It’s not,” Cooper said, lifting his hands in innocence. “Just random trivia.” But then he leaned back in. “The trick is to roll as you hit the floor so you don’t hit your head.”
I flared my nostrils at him. Then, for my official response, I flipped him off.
Cooper feigned shock at the gesture and said, “You can’t do that in a bridal gown.”
“It’s not my bridal gown,” I pointed out.
But with a wry headshake, Cooper said, “It is now.”
