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Drew sweeps Ensley into his arms. Lila grabs little Rosie in her flower girl dress and lifts her onto her hip.
I want to crawl up the white arch, but I don’t think it will hold my weight. “Why did you make us go barefoot?” I shout at my sister, high-stepping with my long skirt in my hands like I’m dancing a jig in fourth grade PE.
Garrett watches the panic with a shake of his head, picking up a chair and rushing the remaining crabs like he will crush them all in a mighty blow.
The officiant holds out his hands. “No, no, my friends. It’s all right. These land crabs are native to La Jarra and are far more frightened ofyou!”
Like hell they are. Theycharged! Cries and screams leave the wedding scene in chaos, guests trying to stand two at a time on the wooden chairs, like Jack and Rose flailing on the door in the ocean water outside theTitanic.
Garrett raises his folded chair over his head. He refused to go barefoot and likely feels more confident in his steel-toed boots than the rest of us.
I notice a streak of green heading in our direction, and suddenly the chair is pulled from Garrett’s grip and tossed aside.
“Tourists! You’re the worst!”
It’s a man, a stranger not from the wedding. He scoops up an oversize crab with both hands and rushes it to the ocean. Then he dashes back for another, his sandy hair ruffled, face red with exertion. In no time, all the remaining crabs are safely relocated to the water and disappear beneath the surface.
I drop the hem of my pale-blue cotton dress. Drew sets Ensley down. The officiant helps guests from their perches on wobbly chairs. There are several shaky laughs. More than one person presses a hand to their chest.
“We’re all right,” the officiant calls. “All we need is a kiss.”
Drew nods, stepping close to Ensley as the wedding party resumes their positions. He tucks a loose bit of hair behind Ensley’s ear. Her curls are falling.I told her.
I’m still breathing hard from the fright. Rosie sniffles on Lila’s shoulder, startled by the commotion. I pat her back while Drew kisses Ensley and a sigh ripples through the guests.
The happy couple walks up the aisle between the chairs, and I turn to look for the man who saved the crabs. He’s headed toward a circular beach bar with a thatched roof, his green surf shirt clinging to broad shoulders and powerful arms. He’s barefoot and incredibly tan.
As soon as I’m down the aisle myself, I rush to catch up with him.
“Hey!” I call.
He stops and turns to look at me with the disdain I often sense between locals and tourists. Not that I travel a lot. I’m too poor for that.
But at the Atlanta bar where I mix drinks, we can always spot the out-of-towners. They’re an easy mark for ridicule with their strange expressions and unexpected fashion choices, the perfectusversusthem. No doubt this guy is going to complain about our wedding to his buds.You should have seen those dumb tourists,he’ll say.Scared of a few local crabs.
The urge to smooth things over is strong. “Thanks for helping. Sorry we got spooked.”
He points at Garrett. “That punk was going to crush them. They’re females with egg sacs.” His accent is lilting and melodic. “The crabs are already losing their safe spaces. They’re forced to cross the beach to deposit their eggs in the water.”
My face contorts into a grimace as I picture an army of newborn red-eyed crabs. The babies can’t possibly be cute. “Ewww.”
His eyes blaze fire, hands fisted. “They’re an important part of the ecosystem here.”
I can’t tear my gaze from his angry face, and parts of my bodystart their engines. I’m the worst about getting hot for passionate men.
But I can’t handle being an ugly afterthought, even to a stranger. “Thatpunkis my brother. And he was only protecting our sister, the bride.”
He rolls right over it. “And that’s why weddings shouldn’t even happen out here. Especially not during breeding season.”
Oh, this is getting good. “You’d cut out a million-dollar destination-wedding industry over a case of crabs?”
He stares at me for a moment, and I think my joke will crack his facade, but it doesn’t. “If you can’t handle the local wildlife, get off the beach.”
I examine my fingernails like I’m completely unruffled by his yelling.
He stares me down, hands on his hips.
Dang. I want to tackle him. But I have to move on.
