Page 12 of Wedding or Not

“He stood you up?” the lady beside me asks.

“Yes.” I tuck my loose hair back behind my ears. “Story of my life.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re so pretty, and you have the sweetest smile. I’m sure young men are falling all over themselves to get to you.”

“That’s so nice.” I’m genuinely appreciative of the woman’s kindness, so I don’t have to fake my smile. “But I’ve gotten stood up more than once. And now I have an empty seat in the first row.”

“Do you know anyone here out on the grass? Maybe someone can take the seat so it doesn’t go to waste. It would be a shame to have even one empty seat in this row.”

“That’s a good idea. My aunt and sister are here. Let me find them.”

Everything is going exactly right so far. When I search and then spot the blanket, Aunt Grace, Audrey, and Jake are seated there but not Wes.

I walk over, smiling ruefully as I explain that my date canceled so maybe Aunt Grace would like the better seat.

Aunt Grace is only in her forties, but her hair went white ten years ago. She wears it long and wavy, and it’s a striking contrast to her clear skin and blue eyes. She’s in a folding beach chair next to Jake, and she explains that she’s comfortable where she is.

Audrey has to leave early, so she doesn’t want to take the good seat.

Then, right on cue, someone walks up behind me and gently pulls up my sweater from where it’s slipped partway down my arms.

Wes.

I give him a resigned look and gesture toward the seats.

He shrugs and says he’ll take it if no one else will.

So the two of us walk to the reserved seats, and it feels like everyone is watching us as we do.

I’m sure that’s not true. The sweet older lady in the seat beside me clearly hadn’t spent any time on social media lately. She had no idea who I was. The same must be true of a large portion in attendance.

But some will know.

I see a few phones raised, and one flash goes off as I turn to give Wes an annoyed look.

We brainstormed a little argument about who would sit in what seat, but it doesn’t feel natural. Instead, when I glance up at his smug expression, I scowl at him in the way I always do.

“What’s that for?” he asks, clearly annoyed and confused by the scowl.

“You don’t have to look so superior.”

“You keep saying that, but this is my normal expression.”

“Maybe your normal expression is superior. Did you ever think of that?”

“I’ve always understood superior to be a desirable trait.”

“Not made-up superiority over other people.”

He snorts. “You’re imagining things.”

We’ve reached the chairs now, and I flop down in the seat next to the kind, smiling woman.

“So you found someone?” she asks.

“Yeah. My sister has to leave early, so I got stuck with a family friend.”

“Aw, he doesn’t look so bad. He’s a very handsome young man, and you two look like you know each other very well.”