Page 26 of The Snuggle Is Real

Not even a little.

Chapter Seven

Emily

The rehearsal dinner is at a restaurant called The Copper Still, which occupies an old bank building on Rye Road and has clearly been renovated by someone who has seen every episode of every home makeover show ever produced in the twenty-tens.

Exposed beams. Edison bulbs.

There is a wall of Four Brothers Bourbon. Not a shelf. A wall.

"Subtle," I tell Malcolm as we walk in.

"The local economy hums because of us. People want to show their support."

"I'm aware. There's a scarecrow downtown wearing your T-shirt."

"That was Dylan's idea."

"Of course it was."

The private room in the back has one very long farm table stretching nearly the length of it, dressed in burlap runners and mason jars of orange ranunculus and little brass lanterns. There's a dance floor at the far end. A three-piece band is setting up beside it. The fiddle player is tuning his instrument and the singer adjusts the mic.

My work brain boots up before I can stop it.

The lantern candles are real flame, which is a fire hazard next to burlap. The bar is positioned so that traffic will bottleneck at the door. There's no seating chart, which means somewhere in this room is an aunt who is going to be upset about where she's sitting.

I shake my head.

"Stop," Malcolm murmurs.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're counting exits."

I was. There are three.

"You have my phone," I remind him. "You've already neutered me. Let me have my mental clipboard."

"Rest of the weekend," he says. "Two people at a festival."

"This is a rehearsal dinner." He’s right. I need to just relax. If I remember how.

"Two people at a rehearsal dinner." He puts his hand on the small of my back and steers me toward the table.

I notice.

I tell myself I don't notice.

Malcolm is wearing a charcoal suit, white shirt, and a dark green tie. He’s always worn a suit well and his are usually expensive. He’s also always impeccable. But tonight his tie is crooked. Probably because of our cramped room at the Inn. The mirror sits on a low dresser and it cuts Malcolm off at chest height.

"Come here," I say, and catch him by the lapel before we reach the table.

"What?"

"You look like you got dressed in a moving vehicle."

"I got dressed in a bathroom the size of a phone booth while you were using the vanity mirror for forty minutes."