Page 39 of Four Weddings to Fall in Love
I move to take my seat, but when I pull out the chair, Max clears his throat and says, “I believe you’re over here.”
I frown.I could have sworn…
Oh.His face betrays nothing, but I’m pretty sure he switched our name cards when no one else was looking.I’m now next to his brother rather than his mother.
An odd warmth fills my chest, and I give him a swift nod in thanks.
Max doesn’t look much like his dad, a jolly man in his sixties with receding gray hair.I can’t imagine Max would ever bejolly.His mother, who’s wearing a navy dress, appears to be the more serious of the two.I wonder how I can win—
Wait a second.Why do I care about winning them over?
I turn to my left, and my gaze locks with Max’s.Damn, he does look good in that suit.It’s the same one he wore to Tessa and Malcolm’s wedding.I have no doubt that he, too, isn’t happy with this situation, and perhaps he’s a little anxious, but his expression says,We’re in this together.
I decide to clear up the confusion so nobody gets false hopes.Keeping close to the truth is probably the safest option.
“Look,” I say, “Auntie Gladys just caught us talking outside the tent last time.We met at a wedding in June—his friend married my friend—and we were saying hello to each other again.There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Is that so?”Howie’s eyes are twinkling.
Before I can say anything else, Max answers, “Yes.That’s correct.”
“But my sister said you two were talking very closely…”
“Because the music was loud,” Max says.“It was the only way to be heard.”
“Outside the tent?Lynne and I stepped out for a few minutes, and it wasn’t that bad.”
“Well.”Max clears his throat.“I think they turned the volume down later.It was very loud when the dancing started.”
I stifle a laugh.He says everything seriously, but he’s not the greatest liar.
“Kim is an engineer, too,” Mom jumps in.“A structural engineer.”
“Ah, like Max,” Howie says.“No wonder they hit it off.”
“We didn’t hit it off,” I mumble, but no one is paying attention to me, the topic of conversation.
“She was always a very good student in school,” Mom says.
This is true—aside from that one mark in English—but it’s strange to hear my mother sing my praises.I’m not used to it.I look across the table at Freddie, who’s being ignored for once.He seems perfectly content with this turn of events.
I can’t believe I’m spending the next few hours with these people.I could have refused to sit at the same table as my former one-night stand and his parents and brother, but making a big fuss about seating arrangements doesn’t seem like the right thing to do at Isobel and Daisy’s wedding.The focus should be on them, not on Isobel’s mom’s matchmaking efforts.
I’ll just have to bear this.Somehow.For the first time ever, I find myself hoping that the emcee talks alot.
A server comes around with wine.After he pours me a glass, I immediately take a sip.My mom shoots me a glare that says,Make a good impression.Why are you so eager to drink?
Whatever.
“Kim is also a very good pianist,” Dad says.
I nearly choke on my wine.
“Yes.”Mom beams.“She did grade eight piano.”
They’re overstating my accomplishments.True, I passed grade eight piano, but barely.I have zero natural talent, and now that I haven’t touched a piano in over a decade, I doubt I could play much beyond “Mary Had a Little Lamb” or “Jingle Bells.”Perhaps I could manage a few bars of “The Imperial March.”
“So if their children take piano lessons,” Mom says, “she can help them practice.”
