“Yes, I know,” Sarah said.
“He’s very handsome,” said her mother.
“True,” Sarah agreed.
“I never trust handsome men,” said the elderly woman who was walking with them.
“They aren’t reliable,” Maureen replied decisively, as if she had a long history of being disappointed by dashing playboys.
Sarah glanced back to where Ren had paused to take a photo of a sash of white fabric that was drifting dramatically from the altar towards the sea. As she watched, the cloth detached from the altar and whipped upwards towards the sky. Ren kept shooting.
She felt a pang of regret that she had missed the shot, and another thimbleful of anger that Ren had gotten it. It made her want to kick her shoe against the wall like a toddler. Ren wasn’t supposed to be here. And he kept smiling at her.
He approached her a couple of minutes later in the hotel’s lobby, which was already set up for a cocktail hour.
“I can cover this if you want a break,” he said quietly.
Sarah glanced around. Paul and Abby were standing in a corner, having decided to skip over the formal photos because of the wind and instead chatting and laughing with friends.
“I’m okay,” Sarah said. “Shooting gives me an excuse to take a break from my mother. She’s very anxious.”
“In that case,” he said, “you shoot for a while and I’ll get you a drink.”
He gave her another of his charming smiles and walked over to the bartender who was standing in one corner of the lobby pouring wine.
She remembered the last time he’d brought her a drink, the last time he had treated her like a date. A part of her wondered what the explanation would have been for that night—the explanation he had tried to give months later—but she also desperately didn’t want to know. She had no interest in kissing him now. That felt like a relief.
Paul walked past her and glanced at her camera. “Hey! You’re off the hook for the night.”
“No need,” Sarah said. “I’m having fun taking pictures.”
“Well, if you get tired, please feel free to stop.”
Ren returned with a glass of red wine—of course he remembered what she liked—and leaned against the wall next to her as she took a sip.
“Beautiful spot,” he said as the first rays of sunset stretched through the windows. “I may step out and get some shots of the location.”
“Be my guest,” Sarah agreed. “I’ll stay here in case anyone starts dancing on tables.”
“Or doing complicated pre-choreographed dances.”
“Drunkenly fist-fighting,” she added.
“Confessing their decades-long crush on the bride.”
“I’ll get video for that one,” Sarah agreed.
He headed outside and she glared at his back. He was still sofun. She took a large sip of wine and then raised her camera again.
The evening continued without a hitch: a low-key cocktail hour transitioning into a sit-down meal, the bride and groom coming around to chat with guests. Ren and Sarah took turns shooting and circling the room. Ren spoke French with Lisette’s brother for a while and then chatted with Jasmine and Lucas. Sarah kept her mother occupied, then got some candid shots of Paul’s Newfoundland improv friends as they laughed with Paul’s Toronto acting friends.
Watching Abby and her sister Laura from across the room, Sarah tried to identify why she was having such an intense set of feelings. One part of the answer was simple, she realized. Abby and Laura were more or less her age. And they were in love. She had almost forgotten that such a thing was possible. Love seemed so out of reach after her divorce, but watching the two sisters, she couldn’t help but be swept up in a small wave of hope.
When it came time for toasts at the end of the meal, Paul toasted his lovely bride for helping him to laugh again. Then Abby stood up to join him.
“And folks, we have something shocking to confess to you,” Abby said. Sarah raised her camera, ready for something big. Were Laura and Ollie going to announce their engagement?
“For those of you who don’t know, Abby and I actually got married some time ago at City Hall,” Paul said. “This whole ceremony is a lie.”
