Page 63 of Savannah Sweethearts

“Oh, sorry, man. I didn’t realize she had a date.” Coyle shook his head and walked off into the crowd.

Was I supposed to be thankful or insulted by his intervention? I shook my head to clear it. “Thank you. I appreciate your help, but I could have handled that. I’ve dealt with his type before.”

His laugh was deep and velvety. “I’m sure you have. But at least now he won’t bother you anymore tonight.”

“Why? Are you going to stay by my side all night? Surely you have a date?” I didn’t see anyone lingering by looking for him. But then, he had come from the back of the house. “Are you even a guest of this wedding?”

With a sigh, he put his hands up. “Caught red-handed. I’m not. I work here.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You’re Cordelia’s son.” The one who would be taking over. I swallowed hard and grabbed a bouquet that was thrust at me as the mother of the flower girl picked her up and ran her to the bathroom.

The commotion didn’t faze him. “You know Cordelia?”

“I’ve known her a few years. I’ve been in several weddings here before.” I glanced over to the newlyweds who were still taking photos.

A sly smile crept across his face, but his eyes remained cool. “So you’ve heard of me?”

If this guy was taking over as the head of The Promenade, I needed to tread lightly and be on my best behavior. “I only know that you’re taking over here when she retires soon. Oh, remind me to talk to you later about the hideous green polos the staff are wearing.”

He chuckled, at what I wasn’t sure. “Allow me to tie up a few loose ends and I will join you for a dance if you’re willing. I can check in on you from time to time in the next few hours.”

For a moment I wondered if he was a creep like the groomsman, but something in my intuition said he was a good guy. I gave a subtle nod. “I would appreciate it. I love to dance.”

“I’ll be back.” He moved toward me for the briefest of moments before deciding against it and winked at me instead. He turned and disappeared down a hidden hallway. This time his shoes were quieter.

I turned back to the bridal party and Jaques. As they finished up, I went to the DJ and told him to start calling the guests into the ballroom. The light background music changed to a heavy beat, beckoning to the people gathered.

The bridal party was called in by pairs, so yet again I was next to Creepy Coyle.

“Where’s your date?” He looked around.

I suppressed an eye-roll. “Don’t worry, he’s here.” We were called and I ran in ahead of him. Now I just needed to avoid him for the rest of the night.

After the couple was introduced and had their first dance, dinner was served. I finally had a moment to sit down and breathe while I inhaled the meal I had helped Suzette pick. My curls has fallen, my make-up had melted off, and my stomach protested at how fast I was eating. But this was part of the job description and I loved every moment of it.

The room was immaculate with the bride’s chosen colors of mauve and dusty lavender everywhere. The slate-gray walls were neutral and kept the huge room feeling more intimate. Cream-colored columns were decorated with balloons and fresh flowers.

My eyes kept going to the door looking for the young Mr. Daniels. This is nuts, why I am looking for him?

When he slipped back into the ballroom while dinner was wrapping up, a giddy feeling bubbled up in my stomach. He strode through the room, his eyes scanning the crowd. While I had the advantage, I studied the man. He was taller than me, but not overly tall. His dark hair was cut close but had a hint of wave to it. He filled out the suit nicely, it was perfectly tailored.

Once his eyes found me, limp hair and all, a huge grin broke out on his face. I couldn’t help but return the smile as I felt the heat creep up my cheeks. He approached and held out his hand right as a slow song began to play through the DJ’s speakers.

I bit my lip as he led me onto the dance floor where two other couples swayed cheek to cheek. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be held in this man’s arms.

Orlando

The photographer had called her Amaya. It was the perfect name for the beauty with long, almost raven-colored hair. When I had spotted her loose curls across the room, I had to stop myself from skipping over to her. Skipping. I’m over thirty. My days of skipping were long over.

But the days of dancing were still going strong. I had loathed the dance lessons that came with the equally unliked charm school lessons when I was twelve. But both now came in handy for business functions. And pleasurable ones as well, it seemed.

When she took my outstretched hand, a slow jazz number began. Perfect timing. It was almost as if the DJ had been tipped to play it. I would never tell. Two other couples came to the floor, both older, and they danced close together. I would love to still be in love when I’m that old.

Unable to help myself, I pulled Amaya close, but tried not to make it too intimate as I began a basic box step. She followed my lead effortlessly. I should tell her I’ve seen her here before in a few different bridesmaid’s dresses, but that could wait. She must be quite popular with her friends. The silence between us was perfection, there was no need to talk, the conversation in our steps spoke volumes.

She held her body close to mine, a sign that she was comfortable and didn’t think I was too adverse. I cracked a simple joke that made her laugh and her eyes twinkled with flecks of gold. When the music reached a crescendo, I twirled her around and Amaya neither fumbled or mis-stepped. There was a certain grace about her.

The music ended and the DJ announced it was time to cut the cake. Both bride and groom were ushered forward, and Amaya broke free from my arms without a glance back as she hurried to the cake table. What was going on with her? Sure she was a bridesmaid, but did she have to run the show as well?

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