My best friend needs to work on her description of people.
Yeah, I can see the resemblance between Luna and Dash, with their sharp cheekbones; dark brown, almost-black hair; and hooded eyes.
But Dash’s dark brown eyes aren’t beautiful and guarded like his sister’s. And the guy’s mouth wasn’t perfectly made for long,languid kissing. And his body is not merely a taller version of his sister’s strong, curvy form.
“Nice to meet you,” I try to say in a normal tone of voice, without drooling.
“Good thing I wore heels.” She nods down to her feet, which are sporting some strappy shoes with a spiked heel.
“Huh?” The awkward word is all I can manage when I get distracted by her red-painted toenails.
“Because you’re so tall”—she reaches up to tap the top of my head—“while I can walk under most limbo sticks without effort. At least, this way, they can take a picture of us together, and both our heads will be in the frame.”
She smirks, and I grin in return.
“Oh good. You’re here. Let’s get some shots with the wedding party.” The photographer waves Luna and me over.
Luckily, I’m able to shuffle along the railing to reach the happy couple.
For the next few minutes, the four of us stand grouped together for unending photos. Paige does her best to keep an arm wrapped around my waist when the opportunity presents itself, no doubt worried I’ll face-plant if she doesn’t lend some support.
“That’s great. Now just the man of honor and best woman.” The photographer messes with buttons on her equipment as we rearrange.
When Paige and Dash stroll off to the side, hand in hand, I try not to show how eager I am to get close to Luna again.
“You know, with those titles, it sounds like this event is all about us,” I murmur to Dash’s sister when she’s at my side.
Luna snorts, but then her body gets all kinds of stiff as she faces the photographer.
“Okay, these are just some casual shots. Feel free to relax into them,” the woman directs.
I do my best to not appear to have a stranglehold on the railing, and I watch as Luna moves her hands around awkwardly, like they’re inflated with helium and she can’t figure out how to keep them down.
The smile the photographer aims at the two of us is all strained patience, and I pity her. Models we are not.
“What if we do some funny ones?” I suggest, getting a genuine smile of relief from the professional.
“Funny how?” Luna’s skepticism is clear in her voice.
“Like … oh my God! Is that a whale eating a shark?” I point wildly to the empty water, and Luna whips her head to the side, shielding her eyes, then glances back at me with a wry smile.
A click sounds. The candid moment caught.
“Got me.” Her strong hand grips the rail beside mine. “What next?”
“Piggyback ride?” I offer, apparently because I’m in active pursuit of pitching face-first onto the deck.
Luna’s lips twist in contemplation. “I’m giving you one,” she announces.
“What?”
But the short woman is already hunching over, presenting me her back. “Come on, Man of Honor. I’m stronger than I look.”
The situation takes some clever maneuvering and a lot of laughter from Paige and Dash. I’m not sure the shot of me—all long limbs, draped over Luna’s compact body—is wedding-album material, but the silly pose breaks some of the tension of two relative strangers posing together.
My awe of Dash’s sister multiplies exponentially when Luna not only lifts me off the ground, but performs the feat in heels on a swaying boat.
This woman is a beast.
