“I could provide an excuse.” He gave her an interested look. “Cover, as it were.”
“Are we back to the crabs and shoes?”
“I was thinking a stroll in the courtyard, but, hey, I’m always open to suggestions.”
“Oh, that’s you, a real people pleaser.” She had to admit she was tempted, but she could just see Carly’s face if she wasn’t there. “I’m going to have to pass. The bride’s my best friend. I’m afraid I owe her this one last blow to my ego.”
“Ah, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that.”
She laughed. “Wish me luck.”
“Would that entail catching it or not?”
“I’d settle for avoiding the woman with the ninja scarf.” She picked up her skirt, but he caught her hand.
“Kate?”
“Yeah?” His eyes were a clear, bright blue.
“I’d really like to see you later.”
A marvellous tingle shot up her spine.
“Kate!C’mon!” The junior bridesmaid was back, clutching Kate’s other hand and pulling.
Kate shrugged, gave Mark an encouraging smile and scurried off after Bethany.
At the gathering for the bouquet, Kate found a spot at the back, close enough to look engaged, but far enough to the side for the possibility of actually catching the accursed thing to be remote.
Carly appeared, beaming, and turned to toss the bouquet. But Carly had been a shot-putter in high school and somehow managed to put enough English into the release to send it spinning towards the speaker mount where, with atink,it careened straight towards Kate.
Kate flung up her arms to ensure the arrival didn’t come with the double humiliation of getting smacked in the face and, an instant later, a rousing cheer rose from the crowd.
Kate opened her eyes. Bethany clutched the bouquet giddily, aloft in the arms of Mark’s room-mate.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said and swung Bethany to the floor.
“Kate, look!” Bethany held the bouquet just like she’d seen Kate do it in the ceremony. The bouquet was half as big as she was.
“Amazing,” Kate said. “You look like a princess.” She gave P.J. a smile.
Mark was in the distance, chatting with other guests. He’d made an interesting offer, one she could spread like fresh blueberry jam
over the toast of the evening, savouring the crisp, sweet scent and glossy mounds of purple and blue whether she decided to partake or not.
“Are you staying for the foosball championship?” Kate asked Mark’s room-mate. Carly’s husband, Joe, was a foosball fanatic and had arranged a midnight tournament in the adjoining game room for those willing to stay the extra hour, and Kate could see Joe across the room, tie loosened, making the starting bracket on a sheet of paper taped to the wall.
“I agreed to collect the tuxes. I’ll be here until they lock the place up.”
The band started to play. Kate lifted a glass of champagne off a roving waiter’s tray, considered jumping into a conversation about the new light-rail line being considered in the city but elected instead to return to her seat, kick off her shoes and spend a few minutes rolling that blueberry taste around in her mouth.
Beside her, the seat was empty. She was reminded of the incident with the man – Patrick – who hadn’t come with Mark and P.J. as he’d claimed.
Weird.
She stretched her legs and let the strains of Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” roll over her.
This time she felt the emptiness beside her fill. She knew it was him, even without looking, though this time his presence seemed tinged with a different sort of emotion.
