Page 89 of The Kiss Countdown

As I move to the bookshelf to pick it up, my eyes snag on the picture placed behind it. In the picture I’m a kid, probably about nine years old, and my head is sticking out from the opening of a homemade fort. I’m grinning harder than any child has the right to, showcasing a missing incisor, with my hair sticking out of a weeks-old braid.

I hand the battery to my dad as he walks up. “Was this taken at the apartments on Bridgewood Street?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. You remember that?”

“Yes. Those apartments were just a few blocks from the bread factory.” I can still see the old stucco exterior. “Theslide was broken the whole time we lived there, but at least I got to smell bread every day on my walk to school.”

There’s another picture on the top shelf. I’m standing on the couch with a toy microphone in front of a burgundy wall. I pick it up and use my finger to get rid of the small layer of dust on the frame. “This was at the condo by Ellis Elementary. No, no. Camelot.”

When our neighbors were at work, Mom would let me sing at the top of my lungs as I did chores so I wouldn’t complain the whole time.

“You’re right,” Dad says, stroking his chin. “I thought you would’ve been too young to remember. Lord knows I’m too old to recall every place I’ve lived.”

I remember them all. I may not know the exact street or the name of each apartment complex, but I can recount dozens of memories of what my parents did to make each space ours so that I never felt like a stranger wherever we were. All these years, I’ve felt untethered, like I was missing out by not having a childhood home full of love and memories. But now I see I don’t need a physical place when the love and comfort my parents have always provided are tangible things I carry with me everywhere I go.

I throw my arms around my dad. “Thank you for a great childhood.”

He doesn’t ask me to explain. He simply holds me in the strong, reassuring way he always has to let me know I’m not alone.

It makes me think of the way Vincent held me that first night at the New Year’s Eve party, and a wave of homesickness I’ve never experienced before washes over me. It threatens to drown me with its intensity, and I grip my dad tighter. I do not need to fall apart on today of all days, when I’m overseeing Vincent’s parents’ vow renewal. But here I am.

I’m not sure when it happened, but I came to think of Vincent’s home asmyhome. That guest room I decorated was for our future guests. That marvelous bathroom was just waiting for me to talk Vincent into installing a chandelier. And Vincent... Vincent, who was always so patient with me and caring and dependable, offered me a place in his home. And I told him not to contact me.

We hear the start of a lawnmower and Dad stiffens.

I smile and release him. “I guess you better finish before Momma gets on you,” I tease.

“She thinks I’m some kind of workhorse. Hey, where are you off to looking all nice?”

“I have an event today. Do you like it?” I twirl to show off my navy jumpsuit.

“You look beautiful. Go knock it out, Mimi.”

I don’t know whose smile is bigger: mine or Mrs. Rogers’s. I’m sure Mr. Rogers could be in the running, but he’s barely been able to take his eyes off his wife as she stands there, regal in her vintage cream dress. They’re obviously as much in love now as they were thirty-five years ago.

And me? Well, I’ve truly outdone myself. I can now introduce myself as Amerie Price: event coordinator and yacht expert. Well, not exactly an expert, but I did have to take a tour and go over the safety precautions before the event setup could begin. I was shown each staircase and the exit procedures, and it was heavily stressed that guests are not to jump off the side. It’s no cruise ship, but at sixty-eight feet above the water, it may as well be the distance to the moon. If any of the guests are like me, jumping won’t be of any concern.

The exterior of the ninety-foot boat is white, and the guestsare free to roam between the open upper deck, where the ceremony will be held, and the main deck for the reception.

As the couple walks around talking to their guests, I move to inspect the chairs, making sure the covers are flawless. After, I walk to the edge to straighten some roses on the flower garland that wraps around the railing. I make the mistake of looking down into the water, and immediately my stomach flips. Placing a hand on my stomach, I back away, breathing slowly. I took some medicine, hoping I wouldn’t throw up in front of everyone, but if the boat is not even moving yet and I’m already feeling it, I know I’m in for one hell of an evening.

Downstairs in the main cabin, tables are set up, and there’s a small area for dancing. More roses and greenery fill the room, outlining the walls and windows, and Mrs. Rogers loved my idea of a bouquet of the same roses in tall gold vases for the centerpieces. String lights along the ceiling finish the look, shining like hundreds of stars. I snap a picture of the room and send it to Gina. Before I can put my phone away, it buzzes with an alert to let me know it’s almost time for the ceremony to start.

I take the stairs back to the deck, where I have the DJ change songs, then make sure I have eyes on the photographer, who is already standing near the flower-decked altar. Once the song changes, Brianna is the first to find her seat, followed by Camille and Lance. The rest of the guests follow suit as a hush of anticipation settles over the boat. This song will be over in two minutes, followed by a piano cover of Mr. and Mrs. Rogers’s song, “Always.”

Speaking of, I need to check on the couple. I look at the time on my watch as I spin around. After taking three steps, I come up short when I spot a familiar smooth walk and topaz gaze headed my way.

“Vincent,” I gasp out. Adrenaline floods through me in a mixture of shock and elation. “What are you doing here?” I shake my head, not wanting to sound rude. “I mean, I thought your launch was today.”

He briefly scans me from head to toe, and I swear there’s a flicker of emotion before he regards me with a neutral gaze that shows none of the heat or teasing he always directed at me before. “The launch was rescheduled, and I knew it would mean a lot to my parents if I could make it.”

“They’re going to be thrilled you’re here.”

He offers a polite smile, then looks behind me to where the guests are. “It looks like everyone is already sitting down. Should I sit up front?”

“Oh yeah. Of course.” I realize I’m blocking his way and slide over to give him room to move. “We set up two chairs in honor of you and your brother. They’re next to Camille.”

“Thank you.”

---