Page 63 of Engineering a Love Story

She moves to the next table, but Simon remains standing next to me. He points his chin at Evan, who is on my other side. “This the plus-one then?”

I apologize and introduce them. “I thought you two had probably met at some point.”

Simon shrugs and reaches to shake Evan’s hand. In the next moment, Evan, his ego likely stung, turns to speak to someone at the table behind us.

Simon angles himself toward me. “That the messy one?”

“Evan? God no.”

“Good.” Simon rests an elbow and his back against the table. He chews a drink stirrer and surveys the crowd. “Citibank are thrilled to be working with you. Anytime you need to be in the city, you let me know.”

“Thank you. Though I don’t expect to need that again. The messy thing didn’t work out.”

“Ah. Sorry to hear.” Simon takes the straw from his mouth and motions it at the patio. “I’ve got a few mates here from the UK. I could introduce you.” He squints, as if he’s assessing these options. I laugh, thanking him, but insist that’s the last thing I need. He shifts to his full height and taps my hand with his straw. “Carry on, then.”

When Evan returns, he bumps his empty cocktail glass twice against the table. “So, this thing you had—”

“Can we not do this here?” I ask quietly, not looking at him.

“Sure. But I should …” He trails off, tapping his glass again. “Did it start when you had dinner with wonder boy in San Francisco?”

“Of course.” I look past Evan at the ocean, which is just visible around the corner of the patio. Evan has other questions. Had I seen Seth again? How long had it lasted? I provide a few details—San Francisco, Boston, Baltimore. New York.

At the mention of my trip to New York, Daisuke pipes up from across the table, just as he puts some kind of folded pastry in his mouth. “Your dress for New York was beautiful. This man’s loss.”

Evan’s head swings toward me. “How does Daisuke know?”

I tell him Daisuke and Lian helped me shop. “And Lian’s roommate Brittany.”

“Brittany?” Now Evan looks pissed, hurt that he was left out.

“I couldn’t tell you. It was uncomfortable enough for me. I didn’t want to foist that on you too.” A single drum gongs and a waiter encourages us toward the dining room. “Let’s go inside.”

We dine at a round table with other Gilroy people, though current and former Gilroy colleagues are scattered around us. I attempt to eat what’s placed in front of me, but it seems especially bad, even for a New England wedding. The scrod is dry, the rice crusty, the green beans soggy. I’m not able to choke much of it down. Travis raises an eyebrow when I only eat a dinner roll.

It’s easier to enjoy the dancing. As Simon promised, the wedding is a fun party with little pomp. I dance with Evan and in a group with Travis, Daisuke, and others.

Even Lars finds me. I’m taking a break to sit among the empty glasses and crumpled linen napkins at the table when he rests his hands on the back of the chair next to mine. “Dance?” He’s already lost his blazer, and his pale blue dress shirt makes his eyes, which are nearly the same color, jump from his face.

I take his hand. The band is playing an old Journey song that reminds me of middle school and Lars overexaggerates our moves, swirling and dipping me, as the lead singer wails about his open arms.

The next song is slower and less childish—the one John Hiatt sings about faith, one of my favorites—and Lars pulls me close. He rests a hand on my lower back and presses our clasped hands between us, his warmth reaching me through his shirt. And he’s so tall. Even in heels, the top of my head barely reaches his shoulder. His hand skims my lower back and, exhausted, I let my head rest against his chest.

“Hard to believe, looking at those two now,” Lars says, after a while, “how it all started.” I lift my head to see him watching Simon and Tracy, who move together near us on the dance floor. “I knew them both when they met. We were at The Symp and Simon had just started with the company. About six years ago, I guess. He was only visiting from London then. But he was into her from day one.” He clucks a laugh at the memory. “Tracy joked about it at first, this young guy—younger than she was—just blatantly hitting on her, not caring that she was married. And then at some point, she quit joking and then stopped talking about him altogether.”

I maneuver my head to see past his shoulder. Simon and Tracy are whispering and dancing.

“Simon finessed the transfer, got himself to the States and into the New York office,” Lars continues. “She was divorced within the year. It was … scandalous? People hassled her. But you look at them now and it’s like, how could anything else have happened?”

I inspect the other guests in the room, wondering how many of them attended Tracy’s first wedding. Did her family and friends disapprove of her relationship with Simon early on? Hassle her, as Lars put it?

If so, that all appears forgotten now. Tracy certainly doesn’t look worried about any of it, as she twirls with her handsome new husband, as if she’s safe in assuming this happiness is her birthright.

There’s more dancing and I do meet one of Simon’s mates—Nigel—who has bad breath and worse teeth. I dance with him only once.

After Simon and Tracy leave, we gather coats and shoes. A few Gilroy people are staying overnight nearby and heading to a local bar. Lars approaches, shrugging into his blue blazer. “Join us?”

I’m relieved to have the excuse of Evan, Travis, and Daisuke waiting on me. “I have to drive everyone home.” Lars gives me a final, playful look, but then he turns and bellows across the hall, rallying those who are going on to the next party spot.