Page 4 of At First Dance
“Don’t,” I repeat.
“I didn’t get word from her agent that she was coming,” he says, and for once it sounds true. “Thought she was out in California.”
“She ran off the road on her way to find you.” I keep my voice flat as a pasture .
“Of course she did.” He takes a swallow. “You okay? Did she say what she wanted? Never thought I’d see her out this way. Not really her kind of atmosphere.”
“You can ask her yourself, Crew. I’m not her messenger. And why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Crew shrugs. “Because you rescue damsels like it’s muscle memory and then glower at them for needing help.”
“I didn’t glower.”
“You did your version of glowering,” he says. “The quiet kind—all jaw, no volume.” I drag a hand over my jaw and aim my eyes anywhere but him. Bailey has already crowned Ivy with a flower ring, like she’s part of the decor and also the point of it. Ivy tilts her head, and the flowers tilt with her, summer sitting easy on her shoulders for the first time all afternoon.
Crew knocks his knuckles against my arm. “You want me to—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. I smooth it. “Eat. Be present. It’s Lila’s day.”
He studies me for a beat. Then, surprisingly, he nods. “Yeah. It is.” He peels off toward the groomsmen like a man who knows better than to light a match in a dry field.
The backyard swells and settles with the ceremony. The someone’s-uncle string band finds its key, the officiant wipes his glasses, and the kids line up like feral ducklings. Ivy ends up three chairs away because Bailey puts her there, and I take an aisle spot because I always do. The vows are honest and a little messy—good ones always are. Lila cries at her own words, Dean kisses her knuckles like he rehearsed, and when the sun drifts under a ribbon of cloud, the whole yard exhales like God dimmed the world for a second to let us see better.
Applause snaps and spills. The band slides into something porch-slow. I’m pinned by handshakes for a minute—neighbors, vendors, and a cousin who thinks I should buy a boat. When I find Ivy again, she’s crouched to kid level, listening to a preschooler talk about dinosaurs like it’s a TED Talk. She says “no way” with perfect gravity when he reveals a fun fact about T. rex arms, then taps the brim of his tiny paper crown and sends him strutting back across the grass like she knighted him.
I don’t want to notice any of that, yet I do.
Bailey steers Ivy back toward me with two champagne flutes. “Hydration,” she says, shoving one at Ivy. “Supervision,” she adds, handing me the other with a knowing look. “I’m going to track down Aunt Andrea before she redecorates the cake with her opinions.”
“Godspeed,” I say.
“She’s a menace,” Ivy murmurs, watching Bailey go with fondness that sounds like it surprises her.
“An effective one.” I offer my flute. She clinks without making a ceremony out of it.
We drink. The bubbles are ridiculous and perfect. For a moment, we stand shoulder to shoulder in a pocket of quiet no one else uses.
“So.” Ivy looks over the yard, then at me. “I’m intruding.”
“You’re here,” I correct.
“Uninvited.”
“My sister and her now husband claim most of the county. You count by default.”
She tips her head. “That sounds like logic you made up just now.”
“It is.” I let my mouth twitch. “Still true.”
Her smile is small and dangerous. “Thank you. For not making this weirder.”
I take the opening. “Do you want this to be weirder?”
“No,” she says quickly. Then she repeats a softer, “No.”
“Good.” I nod at the barn. “Avoid the group of older women currently surrounding the dessert table unless you want to be adopted by Ethel Mae.”
She mimics my nod like it’s a language lesson. “Beware of Ethel Mae.”
