My collar feels too tight.
I drag one finger under the edge of it and catch Noah’s eyes in the mirror. He’s standing near the window of the groom’s suite with his shirt half buttoned, his hair still damp from the shower, and a grin on his face that tells me he’s enjoying my suffering too much for a man getting married in under an hour.
“Don’t tear it,” he says. “Mindy picked those shirts.”
“I’m aware.”
“You look good,” he insists.
“I look rented.”
“You look human.”
I shoot him a look, and he laughs as one of his groomsmen tosses him a pair of cuff links from across the room. The suite is full of noise, cologne, pressed linen, and men pretending they know what the hell to do with boutonnieres. Everyone is cheerful. Everyone is moving around with drinks, jokes, and unnecessary opinions. I stand near the dresser with my shoulders taking up too much space, wishing I could step outside long enough to breathe without someone asking if I’m excited.
I’m excited for Noah. That part is easy.
The rest of me is a goddamn mess because I kissed Rosalyn last night, and now the taste of her won’t leave me alone.
I’ve spent the whole morning replaying it. Her back against that low stone wall. Her hands gripping my shirt. The sound she made when I pulled her closer. The way she hurried away afterward with her lips swollen and her eyes wide, as if I’d knocked her entire life off center. I know mine shifted. I felt it happen the second my mouth touched hers, and I haven’t been steady since.
Noah steps closer, lowering his voice while the others argue about which side the boutonniere goes on. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? You’ve been staring holes through the wall for twenty minutes.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow because he knows me too well. “This about Rosalyn?”
I look at him, and he immediately lifts both hands.
“Okay,” he says. “That’s a yes.”
“Focus on getting married, man.”
“I’m focused. I can multitask.”
I shake my head. “You can barely tie your own tie.”
“I’m wearing an open collar.”
“Exactly.”
He laughs, then fastens his cuff links. It’s a trip, seeing him this way. In my head he’s twelve, skinny elbows and too much energy, following me through the woods because he didn’t want to be left behind. Now he’s standing here ready to marry a woman who looks at him with her whole heart, and I’m proud enough of him that I can feel it in my throat.
“You picked well,” I say.
Noah’s face changes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He swallows, then smiles. “You too.”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “Nothing’s happened.”
“Barrett.”
