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The flowers are also lush and copious. The entire tent is packed with arrangements of various sizes, all of them featuring magnolia blossoms in honor of Lane’s childhood home and all the folks who made the trip from Georgia to celebrate with her. There are even full magnolia tree limbs arching over the dance floor, intermingled with twinkling fairy lights.
I’m so busy admiring the decorations and bopping along to “Beyond the Sea,” Lane and Grant’s first dance, that I don’t realize Barrett hasn’t arrived for several minutes.
When I do, I circle around the dance floor to the other side of the tent, to see if he’s trapped in a long line for drinks or something.
But when I get to the champagne fountain beside the bar, there’s no line to speak of and Barrett is nowhere to be found. I do another lap around the tent and swing by the ice sculpture, thinking we might have missed each other, but there’s still no sign of him. I check the bathroom line next and the family bathroom by the parking lot, but he’s not there, either.
As I close the door to the family restroom behind me, a sinking feeling takes hold of my stomach. My throat tightens and chill bumps lift on my arms, making me wish I’d brought my sweater in from the truck.
The truck…
Maybe Barrett went there to fetch something. But as I turn away from the glittering lights in the tent and move farther from the sounds of music and celebration, the lurching in my gut only gets worse. By the time I reach the rear right corner of the gravel parking lot, every nerve ending in my body is on high alert and I’m not really surprised to see that Barrett’s truck is gone.
But I am surprised by the string of texts that pops through to my cell a few moments later—I’m so sorry, Wren, but this isn’t going to work.
Us. Together.
It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It’s best if we put an end to this experiment now, before we get in too deep, or do irreparable damage to your reputation.
I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight and send one of my brothers to help you move out of the house tomorrow. I’ll get them there at ten with a U-Haul and you won’t have to worry about a thing except making sure the boxes are packed.
Again, I’m so sorry. I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry. I know this will be painful, but in the end it’s what’s best for you and everyone else involved.
I’ll always think the world of you. You truly are one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. I hope we can find a way to move past this and be friends someday, but if not, I understand.
My deepest apologies and regrets, Barrett.
By the time, I’m finished reading, tears are streaming down my face.
But they’re not sad tears.
They’re angry tears.
If he thinks he’s going to give me the best few weeks of my life, then dump me via text, he clearly doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.
Swiping at my damp cheeks, I pull in a breath and stomp back toward the reception, plotting the easiest way to get Patrice to loan me her car.
Chapter Twenty-One
BARRETT
It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or the right place at the right time, I suppose.
I hated every single thing I overhead tonight, but I’m glad I heard it. Celeste, Allana, and Mabel are shameless gossips, but they’re also pillars of Bad Dog society and good people. Celeste and Allana run the biggest non-profit in town, helping at risk women escape abusive relationships, and Mabel is a human rights attorney—as well as my first cousin.
And if your own family is talking disparagingly about you behind your back, it seems like a person should pay attention.
So, I do, easing closer to the row of potted ficus separating the champagne fountain from the bar tables on the other side, where the three women are snacking on appetizers as they rip the rose-colored glasses from my eyes.
“I can’t believe he came,” Allana says in a scandalized whisper. “Let alone brought the woman everyone knew he was carrying on with for his and Lane’s entire marriage. Who does that?”
What the hell?
Clearly that was about me. And highly inaccurate.
A scowl clawing at my forehead, I step closer to the plants.
“Well, Lane invited him,” Celeste says. “And she seems fine with it, so…”
“Is she really, though?” Allana presses. “She was always so good at hiding it when he hurt her. Remember the time he stayed late at work, doing God knows what with Wren Baxter, and totally forgot it was their two-year anniversary? You would never have known Lane was upset. She rescheduled the celebration for a few days later without saying a word.”
