Amy was holding court on the sofa, flanked by two of her bridesmaids on one side and the notorious Aunt Jan on the other. At least I had an easy entree into chitchat with Jan. I could simply ask her how Justin Timberlake was doing. She seemed like the kind of person who lived for that moment, if only to have some eavesdropping bystander ask, “Do you know Justin Timberlake?”
Eamon offered me his still-full glass of champagne after I dispatched mine. “What next?”
“Just a glass of white wine,” I said. “I should probably take it easy, huh?”
“You can always go hard later if you feel like it.” He bobbed his eyebrows at me, smug as ever, and made his way to the bar in the corner.
“Crab cake?” a young woman in a black turtleneck and black pants offered.
I took one and popped it into my mouth, which I instantly regretted as I discovered a shard of shell with my teeth. I spit it out as demurely as possible into my napkin and went in search of the trash. Shelly was standing off to the side out in the hall, speaking with one of the servers. A tall silver trashcan was right next to her.
“Thanks so much for hosting,” I said to Shelly as I slyly disposed of my treacherous canapé.
She narrowed her eyes to tiny slits. “You do know my mother did everything. She quite literally wouldn't let me make a single decision. She told everyone I was hosting to make it look like she's less of a control freak.”
“And how's that going? You and your mom?”
“I still haven't told her. I'm thinking about waiting for Christmas morning. The wedding will be over, everyone will be drunk on eggnog, and most importantly, my dad's buying her a car.”
“A car for Christmas. Must've been a good year.”
Shelly shrugged, looking out over the party. “I’d say a normal year. He loves to buy her extravagant gifts so we can all be reminded how much they love each other.”
It seemed to me like it would be a lot simpler and far less expensive if they just focused on the love part and worried about the cars when they needed a new one. “How's your love life?” I was careful not to say girlfriend. I was not going to out her at the shower she wasn't hosting.
“Great, actually.” She smiled and a beautiful blush crossed her cheeks. It went wonderfully with her magenta hair. “How about you? Is that the guy you told me about?”
“It is, indeed. Eamon.” He was on the far side of the room talking to Luke and Luke's dad, Tom. There were definitely a few women eyeing Eamon, but he seemed oblivious, smiling and laughing. It was so unfair how Eamon was at ease in pretty much any setting, but then again, part of that was simply being comfortable in his own skin. And what lovely skin it was.
Shelly clapped her hand over her mouth. “Holy crap. That's Eamon MacWard.”
I laughed and nodded. “The same.”
Shelly elbowed me in the ribs. “You didn't tell me your boyfriend was famous.”
“Isn't that rude? Walking around talking about that?” I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong.”
“Aunt Jane would take out a full page ad inThe Timesand talk about it every chance she had.”
“Well, we knew each other far before he was famous. I think that makes a difference. I look at him and just see Eamon. He leaves his socks on the floor like any other man.”
A chorus of laughter rang out from the vicinity of the couch, reminding me that as much as I enjoyed talking to Shelly, I was only putting off the inevitable. I still hadn't spoken to Amy. We hadn't even made eye contact yet, but surely she had to know I was here. Eamon was, and he was impossible to miss.
“How’s Amy holding up?” Shelly asked, clearly referring to the wedding and not the sisterly strife.
“Oh, uh, I haven’t spoken to her yet. I didn't want to monopolize her.” More like I didn't want her to lop off my head in front of her future in-laws. If anything ruined a bridal shower, it was blood spatter on the carpet.
“You should go talk to her. I need to check on the next wave of food to come out. My mother did give me a few menial tasks to handle.”
“Okay. See you later.” I blew out a breath through my nose, feeling as though I was headed for the executioner as I began my walk to the sofa.
Eamon intercepted me with my glass of wine. “Going in?”
“I gotta do it at some time,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
“I’ll be your wing man.”
Another step closer and Amy saw me. Our eyes connected and I struggled to decipher what in the hell she was trying to tell me with that look on her face—it was so strange. Was that joy? Excitement? Plain old happiness?
