When she didn’t answer, I grew concerned. Had I overstepped by adding my own words to the ceremony?
I knew it. I should have just stuck to the script we’d arranged. Why had I decided to?—
“I think,” Joan said, and her voice caught.
Dumbstruck, I glanced over, took in her shining eyes and trembling chin.
“I think you nailed it,” she finally managed. Then she slipped her arms around my waist and hugged me. “Thank you for making them happy,” she said.
Her breath was warm against my neck, and I relished the closeness, the honesty of her words pressed into my skin.
Strong hands held me tightly. I let myself lean into the embrace, relief and comfort and so much damn affection for this woman making me unsteady. She felt so good in my arms, like she belonged there, like we fit.
I knew now that I’d come on too strong in the beginning. I’d caused her to question and doubt.
So I’d forced myself to be patient, determined to give her time. No part of me wanted to scare Joan off. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t the spoiled, incapable celebrity she thought I was. I’d let her get accustomed to having me in her life. To me, earning a spot there was more important than forcing my way in anyway.
But I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. Every moment I didn’t have my hands on her felt like wasted time.
“Save me a dance,” I whispered, letting my lips graze the shell of her ear. Letting her see. Letting her feel.
Joan shivered against me before nodding.
The event coordinator called everyone together as guests were seated in the reception area, and music began playing.
Joan and I stepped away from one another. But with any luck, this wouldn’t be the last time she was in my arms tonight.
Joan
I’d already decided that I liked Corie, the photographer. She and Larry were good together and seemed to make each other happy. Plus, every time I saw the woman, she asked me how my apples were doing. That was a good way to endear oneself to a farmer.
My opinion only warmed as we finished up the wedding photos in under twenty minutes. Corie was frighteningly efficient and knowledgeable. And she’d stolen a tray of appetizers for the wedding party while we waited for her to change cameras and set up the lighting.
For as long as the day had seemed, between manicures and hair and makeup appointments, everything sped up once Candace walked down the aisle. Much of the evening went by in a blur of hugs and camera flashes, followed by a pasta buffet and cake cutting.
The wedding had been small and intimate. The reception was loud and joyful. And my sweet sister couldn’t stop smiling.
But time started to slow down again once the wine was flowing, the dance floor filling up. I’d done all the maid-of-honor tasks I could think of. I’d loaded all the wedding gifts into Mercer’s truck. I’d gathered our things from the bridal suite, and I’d made sure my sister and her new husband had taken time to eat.
There was nothing left for me to do. When I saw Ian laughing with the deejay like they were best friends, I knew I’d avoided him long enough.
Ian caught my eye and grinned.
A moment later, he made his way to me, stopping three different times to take selfies with guests, plus sign a cocktail napkin for my great-aunt.
“You are a hard woman to track down,” Ian said when he reached me. “And your aunt Linda would have made it to second base if your mother hadn’t stepped in.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
I stared at him before lowering my voice angrily. “You shouldn’t have to get used to people touching you without your consent, Ian.”
“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing to me? You’re the one getting manhandled.”
It was ridiculous that Ian felt like he had to put up with people violating his personal space. That he was content to just grin and go on with his life instead of telling everyone to fuck off—my great-aunt Linda included.
