Page 93 of Passing Ships

“Your date,” he snaps.

Oh, right. Allen.

Shit, I haven’t seen him in a while. Where did I leave him again?

I shake my head. I don’t have time for this.

“He’s not a date. He’s a plus-one, and he’s having coffee. Now, shake a leg, Sailor.”

I turn on my heel and start toward the stairwell that leads down to the storage. I’m pretty sure I saw a ladder down there when we were helping bring chairs up for the rehearsal dinner.

Lennon huffs in exasperation but follows me as I open every door until I locate a metal A-frame ladder. He hoists it over his shoulder, and we make our way back to the stairs. I grab the top of the ladder with my free hand and help him guide it up the steps and out the door to where the vendors are still setting up seating for the ceremony.

He sets the ladder down, and I hand him the fistful of white roses.

I kick my heels off and try to adjust the ladder under the arch, but the stupid thing is too tall.

“Dammit,” I bite as I stand back and look up at the flowers that are just out of reach.

I turn to Lennon. “You’re going to have to give me a boost,” I say.

“A boost?”

“Yeah, if you boost me onto your shoulders, I think I can reach what I need.”

He shakes his head as he walks over and sets the flowers on a chair. He removes his jacket and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt before walking back to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Giving you a fucking boost,” he says, his voice crackling with annoyance.

“Grab the roses. We need those,” I say.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second before turning back to retrieve the flowers.

He’s probably praying for patience.

He hands them to me with a tight smile. Then, he grabs my waist, lifts me onto his shoulders, and walks under the arch.

I have to wiggle and stretch, but I’m finally able to pluck the flowers I need and toss them onto the ground a few feet away. Then, I stuff the stems of the roses into the gaps.

I’m on the last stem when I overreach.

“Legs, hold on,” Lennon yells right before we topple over.

I grasp at his hair, trying to stay upright, but I end up in a tuck and roll that sends me headfirst into the damp sand.

“Ouch,” I cry as my hand flies to my head.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Lennon asks as he gets to his feet.

“I think so,” I say.

He reaches down under my arms and tugs.

“You might be fine, but your dress is not,” he says.

I look down to see the fabric has ripped at the split, all the way up to the top of my right thigh.

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