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She tugs at the point and it comes off, then she puts it back on. “If ever there was an excuse to be a fairy, isn’t it Willow’s wedding?” Her laugh sounds like the tinkling of bells and I make a mental note not to drink the wine. I don’t know where I get that from, but it seems like sound advice.
“Yes,” I say, my voice catching, and I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m here with Faye Benington.”
“Oh, you must be her Zeke!” Her face lights up, and she pitches herself in through the truck window, throwing her arms around my neck.
Maybe I should be surprised that she’s able to get up to my level as quickly as she does, but mostly I’m stuck on the way she saidher Zekeand how it shot a current of warmth into my chest
“We just love our Faye!”
And like that, the feeling splats. This girl is just possessive.
“Faye’s the best,” I say. She pulls back and hangs onto the side of the truck, nodding with a knowing smile.
She climbs down and nods toward a clearing a little ways ahead where I see people walking. “Parking is to the right. Find a spot that isn’t obnoxious, and then follow the signs to the Nuptial Glen.”
I check myself in the side mirror and roll up my sleeves. If our greeter’s attire is anything to go by, I don’t think anyone’s going to give me a hard time about rolling up the sleeves on my light blue collared shirt. A Subaru passes ahead of me, sending up a dust cloud, and as I wave through it, I see Faye. She’s standing there in a long, red dress dotted with bright white flowers. It’s buttoned down the front and as a breeze flutters the skirt, it reveals her bronzed legs. Her blond hair is twisted back and a flower wreath rests on her head.
“You made it,” she says, biting her bottom lip.
“You look beautiful,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She stiffens as I realize I’ve never done this before. This isn’t how we say hello. But as I breathe in her fresh, sweet perfume, I decide it’s not the worst move.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, pulling away awkwardly. She pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and takes me in as if she didn’t really get a good look before.
“You look…”
“Overdressed?” I say.
She smirks and shakes her head.
“I like the shirt,” she says, brushing my shoulder with her fingertips as if there’s dust there. Maybe there is, but her touch sends a shiver down my body that makes me lean into her.
“It’s this way,” she says, and I follow, taking full advantage of my position to admire the way the dress accentuates her hourglass figure. It pinches in at the waist, and as she walks, the skirt flickers back, wrapping around the soft flare of her hips.
We wind down a little trail into a shady clearing lined with benches, and I follow her to where Aly and Caro chat about something or other. Aly seems distracted, but both are warm when I greet them and we sit.
The ceremony itself is short and exactly what I’d expect from Faye’s beekeeping and fire-dancing neighbors. The flower girls are nothing short of adorable, twirling down the aisle in glittery fairy wings. Willow looks like an ethereal Tolkien goddess, walking down the aisle in a long, flowy dress, a crown of white flowers on top of her dark hair.
When they exchange their vows, Caro and Faye squeeze Aly, who is a crying mess. But when the officiant wraps their hands in ribbon supplied by the guests, I’m the only one who notices Faye’s eyes get glassy. I put my hand on her shoulder and stroke her neck with my thumb. She blinks up at me, a tear caught on her thick lashes.
For a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us, her hazel eyes looking more green beneath the canopy of giant cedars. A warm breeze tickles her cheek, freeing a strand of golden hair. I tuck it behind her ear, and my fingers brush against her pink cheek. She bites her bottom lip, and I curl my fingers around the back of her neck. My heart beats faster, her chest rises sharply as if she’s surprised by what she sees.
“Zeke?” she whispers.
My mouth feels dry, and I lick my lips. Her eyes follow my tongue and something tightens in my chest. I stroke the side of her neck with my thumb. Her skin is so soft, her breath coming faster.
Suddenly, Faye lurches away from me. Aly is standing with her arm looped through Faye’s and everyone around us are on their feet. I stand as well, redirecting my attention away from my beautiful friend, and back toward the bride and groom who are dancing down the aisle to a rendition of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys, played on a ukulele.
“Willow said the bar is open,” Caro says, nodding toward the back of the glen, and Aly tugs on Faye.
“Go ahead,” I say, plastering on a wide smile. “I’ll find our table.” I pick up Faye’s handbag that she left at her feet, and she shoots me a quick, grateful smile. But in her eyes, there’s something uncertain, almost wistful.
I try not to think too much about it as I find our table, covered in a yellowed lace tablecloth with a jar full of wildflowers at the center. The area is like something straight out of a Led Zeppelin song. Green and lush beneath a sky of string lights. A stage is pitched at the far end and an eight-piece band has just started playing. I recognize the song, but it takes me a moment to place it, not immediately recognizing the Beastie Boys’ classic when played on an accordion and penny whistle.
* * *
When I don’t see her after a bit, I go back to the wedding glen, looking for her. And I don’t have to look hard. She’s kneeling behind where the “altar” was, in a clearing of fading rose-hued light, staring down at the ground. Maybe it’s just the wedding vibe or all the fairy wings, but she looks so ethereal, I almost don’t want to disturb her. Then I hear her sniffle.
