Page 48 of When Hearts Awaken

But I hate it. This selfishness, jealousy, envy, and loneliness don’t belong in a beautiful night such as this.

The DJ switches the music to a faster song and couples join the newlyweds on the dance floor. Millie pulls a brooding Ryland into the crowd, but as soon as she curls her arms around his neck, a beautiful smile appears on his lips. In a darkened corner away from the commotion, I see Maxwell holding Belle tightly in his arms, clearly lost in the sensations of each other, oblivious to the world around them.

My breath hitches and my legs bounce under the table.

Screw this shit. It’s a beautiful evening and the Lochness Monster can’t come and screw it up. I’m going to request some fast songs and dance like nobody’s business.

Filled with renewed determination, I make my way over to the DJ before a familiar voice stops me.

“Tay!”

My eyes widen as I see Olivia waving at me from the back of the room. Tonight, I almost don’t recognize her, since she’s wearing contacts and a slinky black dress instead of her usual glasses and business suit.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, making my way over. “I didn’t know you know Grace.”

We usually hang out outside of The Orchid bingeing movies, browsing bookstores, or even visiting a bar or two. She’s easy to talk to and I’m thankful she doesn’t psychoanalyze me, because let’s not open that can of worms. I’ve been meaning to introduce her to Grace and the other girls, but haven’t had a chance yet. I think they’ll like her too.

“I wanted to say hi at the ceremony, but you were too busy.” She pulls me into a light hug. “Actually, I’m a guest of Steven’s and I also know Maxwell.”

She pauses but doesn’t say more and suddenly something clicks in my mind.

“Hold on a second…you’re the same Dr. Lin that Maxwell is seeing?”

Olivia shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face. “Can’t confirm or deny that. You can ask your brother, though.”

Holy shit.She’s the expert who helped Maxwell with his severe social anxiety and panic attacks. I almost fan-girled at the idea of her when I heard how Maxwell’s doctor turned his life around with therapy and medication.

“I’m not a hugger, but I want to hug the fucking shit out of you,” I blurt out. “You saved Maxwell and because you helped him get his shit together, he and Belle are so, so happy now. And they deserve it. God, do they deserve it after everything they went through.” Those two went through life and death situations not long after they got married and came out on the other side.

Olivia chuckles and swats me away. “I love my job. So,” she eyes me quizzically, “we’re both not on the clock tonight and I presume…dateless. We should party it up. Us single girls need to stick together in this sea of nauseating love.”

I bark out a laugh. “Hear, hear. Are you sure you’re supposed to say this? Aren’t you supposed to be all hell-bent on healthy commitments and all that shit?”

“Well, Ms. Peyton-Anderson,” her voice drops into a soothing tone I know is her psychiatrist voice, “Dr. Lin would also tell you weddings may be hard on single people because folks often reflect on milestones then and it’s only natural for us to compare themselves with others. Society views getting married as a pinnacle and those who aren’t may feel lonely or somehow less than.”

The wave of doom sweeps in at her words, and I slowly deflate.

Olivia’s eyes darken and glimmer with an unidentified emotion before she blinks it away. “But, Olivia says, with all things in life, we only see the grass as greener on the other side. And, because you and I are single, we don’t have to answer to anyone. We get to live for ourselves and love the person who deserves it the most—ourselves. So, we’re partying it up.”

She leans in and whispers, “Think about it—we don’t have to deal with the toilet seat cover being up, dirty socks on the floor, or loud snoring at night.” She waggles her brows at me. “I mean, no brainer, right?”

I snort. “You’re a riot.”

Just then, I hear loud laughter nearby, and we turn our heads toward the commotion. Charles is standing next to the dance floor withnotone or two, butthreewomen practically draped over him. He’s saying something, that damn charming smile on his face again, and the women practically melt in his presence. A brunette steps up and presses her hand to his chest.

“Ugh,” I mutter. An uncomfortable pinch tugs at my gut.Nope, not going to think about what that means.

“What? You know him? Do we not like him?”

Charles is now gesturing in the air, each movement highlighting the muscles flexing under his tux. He twirls the brunette on the dance floor—one simple spin and dip.

My breath hitches. He carries himself with grace, his moves smooth and fluid—the man has had lessons before and he’s pretty damn good at it.

I frown—did I just give him an internal compliment? I shudder in horror.

His harem giggles and I fight the urge to throw up at grown ass women acting like they are starstruck teenagers. The redhead waves her hand in the air next and he tugs her to him before he demonstrates a decent box step—a classic ballroom dance move.

Come on, who the fuck lives to be eighteen and doesn’t know the box step? It’s literally moving in the shape of a damn box. It’s like saying you don’t know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.

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