Page 95 of Say the Words
“I don’t think I’d be much fun tonight.”
“That’s too bad, man.” He managed a believable look of regret, but I knew he didn’t care if I went out with them tonight, and would probably prefer it if I didn’t. “June, you’ll join us, though, right? Maid of Honor, and all.”
“I’d better not. I’ve got plenty left to do tomorrow morning, and I don’t think a hangover would do me any favors.”
“We’d take real good care of you.”
He grinned until I wanted to shove him face-first into the sweet potato pie.
“Thanks just the same.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Isaiah affected an easy come, easy go attitude but cut a last glance my way.
I nudged a little closer to June like a Neanderthal staking my territory, and he finally turned back to his own business.
We finished filling our plates and were shunted away from the buffet. A smarter man would have taken his food over to Booker’s table and not looked back. As if reading my mind, June cocked her head to the side.
“Come on.”
I followed.
She led me over to where her dad and brothers sat beneath a sprawling old ash. As soon as Clint saw us, he started waving us on like a coach calling his runner home from third. Jed moved out of the way to clear space for us, and with some careful maneuvering, I sat down between him and June.
Marilyn Wells sat next to Clint at one end of the table, the two of them sharing secret little looks. I would have bet money they held hands beneath the table. I stole a glance at June, but she seemed more comfortable with the idea of them together than she had been. Or at least, she was trying to get used to it, which was more what I suspected.
“You’re looking a little worse for wear tonight,” Clint said.
“It’s not so bad as it was.” I liked to believe I was improving little by little, but today, walking up and down a few stairs wore me out— that was still pretty damn bad.
I dug into my food, hoping the conversation would turn a new direction. One bite of Beverly’s fried chicken sent my eyes rolling in the back of my head. The woman could cook circles around every restaurant in this town. No surprise I’d spent half my childhood trying to finagle an invite to stay over for dinner. Every dish was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten.
Wade gestured between June and me with his fork. “Are you two doing speeches tonight?”
June shook her head. “At the reception. Tonight, it’s just going to be Uncle Joel and Mr. Robinson.”
“I hope somebody sets a timer,” Clint said. “Joel will talk all night if you give him the chance.”
“Douglas will just wrestle the microphone out of his hands,” I said. Booker’s father loved a good opportunity to tell embarrassing stories, as he had thoroughly proven at his kids’ high school and college graduation parties. “He’s probably got ten pages of speech notes tucked away somewhere.”
“What about you, Junebug?” Jed grinned at her from behind a chicken drumstick. “Are you ready for your speech tomorrow?”
She gave him a sassy little look. “I hope everyone has a hanky ready, you’re all going to be in tears.”
“It’s going to be that bad?”
She glared at Jed but turned to me. “Yours is ready, right?”
I feigned surprise. “I have to give a speech?”
Her eyes went wide, just as I’d hoped.
“Relax. I’m not that incapacitated.”
She swatted me on the shoulder, but then let her hand fall to the crook of my arm. She rested it there, her thumb running little circles along my elbow, as if touching me like this was perfectly natural. Nobody else seemed to notice the gesture, but all my attention focused on it like a laser beam. The warmth of her fingers, the hypnotic circling of her thumb—my mind blanked out, I was so gone over the smallest touch from her.
An older woman came up to our table, a smirk set on her face. “Wade Evans, are those your boys stripping down to their altogether out under the magnolia?”
Wade spun his head around so fast, he probably gave himself whiplash. He choked on a bite of food and sprang up out of his chair, beelining to his two little boys who romped half-naked not far away.
