“Oh.” He looked away, his hands in his pockets, looking bored. “I’m okay with dancing. It was just that song. It’s stupid, I know.…”
“Torie told me,” she said, her voice gentle. “About your girlfriend.”
“Torie talks too much,” he snapped. “How about that drink?”
But now the bride and groom were making their way to the cake table. Laurie-Beth had commissioned a sculptor friend to make figurines of her and Payton, authentic down to the tiniest real flowers in her bouquet, for a cake topper. The caterer had asked Cara to stick around for the cake-cutting ceremony so she could help remove the sculpture before it came under attack from the Confederate-era sword Payton planned to use.
“Sorry, can’t,” Cara said, giving him a smile he hoped was full of regret. “I’m still on duty.”
She hurried off in the direction of the bride and groom, leaving Jack Finnerty staring at her back, at her bare shoulders, and her neck. She really did dress oddly, and yet, he thought she was by far the prettiest girl in the room that night, with her windblown butterscotch curls tied up with a pink satin ribbon. Her pink-orange skirt billowed out from around her tightly belted waist, and she reminded him of a tropical hibiscus blossom. Begging to be picked.
17
Bert was lounging on a low brick wall outside the warehouse, smoking a questionable substance with Austin Winship. When they saw Cara approaching, they giggled in unison, threw down the butts and stamped them flat. Austin drifted down the cobblestoned walkway toward River Street, where yet another party beckoned.
“Heeyyyy, Cara,” Bert said, in a singsongy voice. “Is the reception over already?”
“It is for me,” she told him. “Do you want a lift back to your place?”
Bert looked off toward the river, where they could hear faint strains of loud rock music, and laughter, but Austin had already disappeared.
“I guess,” he said.
She left the van’s windows down for the short ride back to Bert’s apartment on St. Julian Street, which was only a few blocks away from her own place.
“I saw you talking to your favorite person,” Bert said, giving her a sly sideways look.
“Jack Finnerty? He’s not so bad.”
“Certainly not bad-looking,” he said. “Kind of a coincidence that he’d show up at two weddings you were working, two weeks in a row, don’t you think?”
“He knows a lot of people,” Cara said. “He went to school with Laurie-Beth’s brother. And he knows Payton’s brother too.”
“Interesting,” Bert said. “What were you two chatting about?”
“Nothing, really. Our dogs. He thinks his dog is depressed.”
Bert giggled. “Maybe his dog needs some puppy uppers.”
She rolled her eyes in the dark.
“So. Is he married? Seeing somebody?”
“Not married. Had a bad breakup with his girlfriend a few months ago. And before you start, Bert, I amnotinterested.”
He feigned a look of innocence. “I’m not saying a word.”
“You were thinking it,” Cara said. “I could hear you loud and clear.”
“Would it hurt you to have a life after Leo? To start seeing a nice, good-looking guy, who also happens to have a dog?”
“Yes,” Cara said crisply. “It would. Now let’s drop it, shall we?”
He waved his hands wearily. “Whatever. You’re the boss.”
She pulled the van alongside the curb outside his apartment. Bert got out and walked unsteadily over to the driver’s-side window and leaned in.
He lightly touched her shoulder. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”
