Page 14 of This

I step back far enough that Ford’s hands fall away.

“How’s the rest of the garage?” I ask. Their parents named them all after cars with the twins, Chevy and Lincoln, rounding out the all-boy group.

“Busy.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “They voted me family rep for the night, but we’re all hoping to make it to the wedding.”

I’m hoping they all won’t.

Joyce’s voice carries in from outside. He glances over his shoulder. “I should probably go sacrifice myself to the mob. Come with me?” He reaches his hand out. We both stare at it hanging in the air between us—him wanting me to take it, me willing him to take it back.

He lowers it to his side when I shake my head.

“I plan on hiding until dinner. I have a limited number of facts to dole out about Portland and need to ration.” I turn around to face the counter.

“See ya out there then,” he says.

I wave over my shoulder and pour a near-overflowing glass of wine. Ford can make a situation awkward but dealing with him is easy enough. It’s Bentley at the wedding I dread. The last time we saw each other didn’t end well.

I take a few gulps to distract myself and smell a lotion that’s on the counter. It reminds me of an old lady, so I hide it in a drawer. “No, Joyce.”

More people trickle in but none I know. I check my phone. If Dane wants to dictate what I wear, he could at least show up on time to see I haven’t listened. A few seconds after my phone clatters to the counter, the screen lights up. I reach for it, but hands run up my arms, the kitchen window reflecting Dane behind me.

“Waiting for someone?” He leans down and kisses my bare shoulder. “Or do you always scowl at your phone when you check it?”

His arms wrap around me, pulling me back against his chest. I sink into him. He smells clean and reminds me of being on the water.

“I thought you weren’t sneaking up on people, unannounced, anymore.”

“I sent you a text. I just wasn’t patient enough for you to read it.” He picks up my phone and shows me.

You’re so fucking hideous.

I laugh, and he nuzzles against my neck.

“That’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

He backs up, his hands lingering as I spin around. A reflection can’t do him justice. His hair, shorter than last time, is still wet; he left an extra button undone at the top of his shirt; and his eyes are fixed with a sexy stare.

“You look pretty awful yourself,” I say.

“You accidentally used five words in a sentence that only needed three.” He counts off each word on his fingers as he mouths,You. Look. Pretty.

I laugh again, and he grins.

Clinks from outside precede Patrick’s ten-minute warning to dinner. “In other words, get your drinks and sit down,” he says.

Dane hands me my wineglass off the counter. “Shall we?”

I follow him out, wishing I’d booted Uncle Jimmy from beside me instead of poor Aunt Peg.

We go in opposite directions at the bottom of the deck. Keaton looks like she needs saving from a group of family members. A cousin reaches out, tugging at one of her loose curls. Her fists clench at her sides, fighting the urge to slap the hand away.

“Here you are,” I interrupt her cousin Steph. “I need some clarification on how you want the servers to carry the trays.”

Keaton feigns an exhausted hostess face. “There’s always something.” Her arm hooks through mine, and we walk away. “I fucking love you. She’s already trying to find out when I’m popping out a kid, so we can coordinate births.”

“Picture it, Keats … you can share a birthing tub.” I yelp when she pinches me.

Everyone is taking their seats, and I weave through the tables. Joyce squeezes my arm on the way past, the way a mother does to remind her children that she’s proud of them for doing absolutely nothing. I smile at her, even gladder I buried the lotion.

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