Page 3 of Whole Latte Love

I stand on the edge of the beach, in the grassy area, and watch as the crowd around me disperses. Some people are lingering, watching the wedding party take photos by the water, while others are simply chatting with each other. Most people must be here for Violet. I only see a couple of familiar faces from my law school and college days.

I find my way back to my rental car. Jake said the town was a quintessential coastal tourist spot, and that everything is easily walkable, but I feel better having a car at my disposal. Plus, itlets me leave the reception whenever I want. There’s always the chance I don’t know anyone and just want to get out of there.

Or if I get a really good book idea and need to sneak off to write.

Since I’m staying in town, I may explore up and down the coast while here. I booked a few weeks at the Airbnb, but I can always extend my trip or get a different place to stay.

The drive to the reception at Mrs. Barlow’s home is easy to navigate. The house sits on a decent amount of land. One of those classic homes built for hosting parties. I walk in and there are people are milling about, glasses of wine in hand.

There are tables inside set up with appetizers and small snacks. I find the seating chart and locate my table out back. There are a bunch of tables organized around the dance floor. With a live band and open bar, I expect the party to last well into the evening.

I drape my suit jacket over the back of my chair and set off to find the bar. I’m stopped along the way by a woman with the most enchanting eyes. They’re reminiscent of a forest, with all the different shades of green.

I prepare myself to be bombarded by questions. It may be a small town, but people out here still read like any other city. Ever since my publisher and the movie studio announced that my mystery book series was slated to be turned into a multi-movie series, my face and name have been everywhere. Some big names are rumored to be attached to the project, too. Every rumor or press release adds sparks to the fire.

But everyone wants something from you when money and fame are involved. I’ve learned that the hard way, more than once.

“Excuse me, but have you seen the seating chart?” her voice is crisp. She’s cute and smells like freshly roasted coffee with a touch of something floral.

“Yes, I am,” I stop myself realizing she didn’t ask me if I really wasthat guy. I clear my throat before replying, “I have, it’s near the front hall, by the staircase.”

“Of course!” she exclaims, “I parked and just came in from the back. Thanks for the help!” She lightly squeezes my arm as she flashes a wide smile. Her touch is electric. I’m tongue tied for once.

It’s hard to not be mesmerized by her lips as she speaks. They’re plump without looking overdone and a deep shade of red like Michigan sweet cherries.

She leaves just as quickly as she arrived, off in search of the seating chart. I didn’t even get to ask for her name. Dang it, there must be close to a hundred people here.

Will I even see her later?

I’ll just have to try to subtly ask Jake about the raven-haired beauty later.

I reach the bar and ask the bartender for a scotch on the rocks. I sip it as I make my way back to the table. I’m stopped twice by two different women wanting to chat. Neither are as stunning as the one who approached me earlier.

Both women inquire who I’m here for— the bride or the groom. After explaining how I know Jake and after putting two and two together, they know that I’m Theodore Birch, mystery writer turned screenwriter. Author of the well-known detective series with a book deal that raked in a few million dollars before the movies were even a done deal.

After some polite conversation, I make an excuse and finally arrive back at my table. I just want to enjoy my scotch and eventual dinner. I’m not in the mood for dancing right now, but I wouldn’t mind finding some of my college buddies.

Maybe the night will turn around.

Marie

The Barlow’s home is decorated with various white flowers and little bits of the same blue tulle from the beach ceremony. The wedding décor really breathes life into the dark wooden interior. Jake’s grandmother must be loving every single moment of this day. Her home is overflowing with guests. Every nook and cranny of the home and yard is full of people, decorations, or food.

Speaking of which, the food smells amazing.

I came in from the back and haven’t found my way to my table yet. It’s been a while since I’ve attended a wedding, but I assume it will follow the same little rules and schedule like others. Ceremony, photos and appetizers, dinner, and finally dancing the night away.

I went to Bethany’s wedding, but hers and Liam’s was a very small ceremony with dinner at the Waterfront Bistro in town. Cozy and intimate, unlike the feeling I get from larger weddings like this one. My brother Victor missed it because he was in Brazil on the coffee farm.

But I was here in Kastle Harbor.

I’m always here.

I shake those gloomy thoughts off, today is not a day for a pity party. It’s a day for a wedding party. To celebrate love, not mourn a loss. Besides, maybe I can just drink enough to be tipsy and dance the night away. Maybe go home with a handsome stranger.

Or eat a lot of sweets. Head home in a sugar coma.

That outcome is way more likely.

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