Page 47 of Southern Comfort
If ever I was to marry again, I would want the reception to feel like this. Dancing under a big white tent lit with hundreds of tiny lights. And flowers, the unparalleled beauty of spring flowers. Good food and cocktails. A DJ that plays great songs from every era. It is elegant and comfortable at the same time. The guests do not want the party to end. We have been charmed.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine we would be sitting with celebrities. Sports celebrities at that. There was no assigned seating, but we got invited to be at the Swift family table. Every Tennessean knows who they are. I rarely watch baseball but must have absorbed it by osmosis. Hunter follows the Memphis Mavericks just as his father did.
I am impressed with the lot. There isn’t one I wouldn’t like to get to know better. People have come and gone at the table all night, visiting or leaving to dance. Lex and Holly joined early on.
I loved how the men and Lucinda talked lovingly about their shared past and included stories about Landon’s parents. Ronnie will love hearing what they have said, and mostly the memories of Victoria when she was young. Lucinda promised to send a photograph she has of the four of them.
“You two should come to Memphis for our Firefly Ball next year,” Boone says, lifting his whiskey for emphasis.
“You just missed it. Early spring is the only time they show up.”
“It’s a great night, Kim. Atticus and I, really all of us, look forward to it every year,” Charlotte says, sending a wink to her famous husband. Must be a private joke because he looks amused about something.
“You celebrate the arrival of the fireflies? I love that!”
Atticus speaks up.
“We have been accused of being an odd bunch. But everybody wants to come. There’s dinner and dancing. Then we all sit, or I should say lay, on chaises and wait and watch. While getting hammered, of course.”
Lex rises and takes Holly’s hand for a dance. “We’ll all go together next June.”
Landon’s hand finds mine. “Come on. This is our song.”
I had no idea we had a song, but this classic has always touched me. As Sinatra sings “I Have Dreamed” we find an empty spot on the floor. His arms embrace me and I feel loved. That’s the right word. Loved.
His whisper lands softly in my ear as we move around the dance floor. “What are you doing to me?”
My finger plays with the edge of his.
“I’m dancing with you,” I say.
“You’re doing a lot more than that. And I’m not talking sex.”
Looking in his eyes, the seriousness of the words offers a hope that has been hidden. Even to myself. Inch by inch, a gatein my heart opens. The no trespassing sign is in pieces on the ground.
“Whatareyou talking?”
He doesn’t shy away from the question and looks glad I asked.
“It’s not enough to say I like you, Kim. There’s more to the story.”
“I feel it too.”
“Then say you won’t see other men. Are you?”
“No. It’s only you.”
His eyes are sparkling, I swear.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“You too.”
“Me too.”
I lean close, nose to nose.
“No hoochie mamas at Mom's.”
