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Theo: On it.
Laney: You are the bees-knees.
Laney’s dessert in one hand and my fourth cocktail in the other, I pad down the quiet half of the country club as the wedding guests sound noisily at the entrance, buzzing after the night’s festivities while waiting on their cars. Soft country music drifts from the room down the hall. Soundlessly, I open the door and spot Laney at a large eight-top on the other side of the massive room. Heels kicked to the side, she sways—barefoot—back and forth to the music, smelling the half dozen roses in her hand. Holding the door with my foot so I don’t alert her to my presence, I lean against it watching as she dances around, cutting stem after stem of fully bloomed pink roses and laying them on a table covered in crystal vases. She sings along to the song, her long hair moving in the opposite direction of the sway of her hips. I’m totally drunk on the sight of her this way. And it has nothing to do with the whiskey warming my insides. Guitar music fills the air as she spins in a melodic circle before tossing a few roses into a vase. She lifts a pitcher of water, pouring it onto the fres
hly cut stems and spots me, her eyes lighting up.
“You were watching me?”
“Yes,” I say unapologetically, moving toward her because there’s no way in hell I can’t.
“This one has got me feelin’ all kind of romantic,” she says as I approach. “Alabama.”
“What?”
“The song, it’s Alabama. Old school country.”
“Ah.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Do you like it?”
“I like that you like it.”
She sighs, lifting the pitcher and dividing the water into the vases. “I’ll never convert you.”
“No, you won’t, but I’ll listen to it if it makes you happy.”
She pauses her pour, her eyes lifting to mine. “What a sweet thing to say.”
“Speaking of sweets,” I smile, lifting her dessert. “Take a load off and eat this. It’s incredible.”
“I know. I’m the one who made sure it was on the menu.” She darts her eyes around the hall. “I’ve still got so much to do.”
“Laney, I’ll stay until it’s done.” I set her dessert and my drink down on the table and gesture for her to sit.
She stutters on nervously. “I just, I was gonna get the bridesmaids to help a little, but Devin is a hot mess express and well—”
“Laney, I’ll stay.”
“I can handle it, I just—”
“Ask me for help, Laney.”
She looks up at me pensively. “What?”
“Ask. Me. For. Help.”
She blows out a harsh breath through lush lips. “Will you help me?”
“Yes, now,” I pull out the chair in front of her, “sit.”
“Gah,” she says, ogling her dessert. “This looks so good.”
I tug her into the chair and cut into the dessert, bringing the fork to her mouth. She takes the offered bite, and as soon as it hits her tongue, her eyes close. “Exactly,” I murmur, leaning in. I catch the goosebumps that spread on her skin as I scoot her chair closer to the table.
“T-thank you.”
Moving to the other side of the table, I sit behind the waiting pile of sachets. “So, I’m taking it we’re replacing the insides of these with this?” I raise an insulated bag full of filler.
