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“You know, I’m not sure yet.”
Over approximately the next three hours, Foster and I enjoy the peaceful scenic drive to Hillary’s hometown. Once we’re outside the city limits and beyond the suburbs, there’s not much to note since it’s all the same—farms and fields with cows and horses. I wonder if the bride grew up doing hoedowns and wrestling cattle.
When we take the designated exit off the highway, I’m relieved to see some semblance of population the farther we travel into a small town center. Passing through the main business area and about a mile farther along the road, Foster banks a right down a long drive where a large stately white historic building comes into view. He pulls up and stops the car under the portico of the local resort and spa. The valets open our doors, and we exit the vehicle to check in to the hotel.
At the desk, we’re told that our room isn’t ready yet, but we can leave our bags with the bellman, and they will be delivered by the time we return after the wedding reception. Since the ceremony is set to start in less than half an hour, I head to the ladies’ room to freshen up, change my shoes, and then meet Foster where he’s lingering in the lobby.
Clicking my heels along the marble floor, I adjust the coat over my shoulders and then take Foster’s waiting arm, looping mine through his.
We are already playing the part so easily.
Through the doors, he steers us past the parking area and down a sidewalk lining the driveway.
“Where are we going?” I ask, confused.
“The church is only two blocks from here. The concierge said we could easily walk there using…” He slows his steps and then turns us down a small paved path. “This walkway. It should take us straight there.”
“Clever.”
About five minutes later, we come to a clearing that opens to a simple Christian church constructed of brick. Pairings of people are filing in for the ceremony, and we follow their lead toward the open large wooden doors.
When we reach the base of the concrete steps, Foster pauses.
“What is it?” I ask, smoothing my fingers over the lapel of his jacket.
He captures my hand at his chest. “My parents are here. I just saw them go in.”
“You mentioned they were coming.”
“I’ll introduce you to them at the reception.”
“Sounds good. Is there anything I need to know?”
His brow crinkles. “No. They’re easy people, but I didn’t tell them anything about you.”
“That’s okay.” I smile. “Parents aren’t a problem for me. I find, the less they know, the better. They often make assumptions based on what they hope rather than what they are told anyhow.”
“That’s an interesting theory.”
“Trust me. But when you introduce me, be sure to call me Evelyn. It will go over better than EJ.”
“But that’s not what you like to be called.”
“By you, I do—well, I tolerate it,” I add sarcastically. “Plus, it’s just for one night, and it’s just a name.”
He tightens his grip around my digits and breathes, “Evelyn.”
“You got it.”
Lowering our joined hands, he says, “Let’s do this,” and he leads me into the church.
Inside, we’re ushered into a pew on the groom’s side toward the rear of the sanctuary. Muted violins play in the background as more guests take their seats for the upcoming ceremony. Not long after we’ve settled in, the groom, Parker, and his groomsmen appear near the altar. The music changes as the bridesmaids begin to make their way up the aisle. All of the guests turn to watch the procession, one by one, of women in gowns of slate and silver, their hair sparkling with gemstones.
Foster, like everyone else, follows the path of each one until they reach a point out of view. However, he pauses after the third girl passes, instead fixated on the pews near the front. I lean into his shoulder, trying to decipher what has caught his attention. There, in a dress of celery and adorned in pearls, is a woman with dark hair and eyes that mirror Parker’s. Staring back at the man at my side, she releases an impish smile and then raises her hand, a gesture in greeting.
Foster returns her hello with a small wave.
“Is that Sasha?” I whisper, my words brushing against his ear.
He nods once in reply.
I lace my fingers with his and then press my lips to the corner of his mouth without any thought.
Slowly and with noted control, Foster tilts his head, connecting his soft orbs with my own, as I try to backpedal in my mind what made me kiss him just now.
The tune changes once again, and the audience begins to stand in preparation for the bride to make her way down the aisle. Foster plants his mouth on my forehead and then rises at my side. I do the same, lifting myself from the pew and holding myself high, hoping to catch my fluttering heart that is thumping steadily toward the sky.
