How to Ruin a Wedding(96)

We cheer for them as they walk out of the hall hand in hand, and the party follows them down the aisle before the rest of the guests clear out for the reception. Somehow, I get paired with Anders as we walk, and our arms bump each other twice as we make our way out.

He apologizes swiftly, and I shrug it off, pretending each physical touch doesn’t make my heart pound and my head spin.

Like we promised, when we make it out the doors, the bridal party steals Valerie away to a separate room and helps her change into a sexier minidress that shows enough cleavage to make John pass out.

She keeps the veil on when we’re done, and during their first dance. She tosses it to the ground as soon as it’s over, turns to the crowd, and screams, “Let’s party!”

And the night really begins.

As soon as I’m clear of any bridal party duties, I grab the nearest wineglass and chug it. Nerves have killed my appetite, and the liquid burns as it slides down my throat, settling at the pit of my stomach.

I’m seated between Jennifer and Taina—Taina already up and flirting with one of the guests—and I don’t care that Jennifer is reaching into my clutch, because while she steals my second-best lipstick, I steal her wineglass and down that too.

My gaze scans the room and immediately lights on Anders, who is standing by the round tables, talking to a woman I don’t recognize. It’s not exactly jealousy that runs through me, but it’s too unpleasant to be anything close to neutral, so I take Taina’s left-behind glass and drink that too.

In my head, I was going to approach Anders immediately, clear things up, strike up a conversation, ask him how he’s been, tell him how I’ve been, mention, I don’t know, that I think about him way too much to keep to myself, and I’m regretful for ignoring him and leaving, not trying harder to stay when he’s spent his whole life worried people will leave so he makes himself as small as possible to prevent that in the first place.

Easy, light stuff.

I groan and slam my head on the table. Where is the courage that brought me back to Charleston? That let me face everyone I feared, leaving behind New York and what I thought I wanted, and start something different—similar, but different.

Does my courage apply to everything but love?

No, I’m in a different place now. I have a job I love and my own space, and I’m not exactly where I want to be, but I’m on the way. I love where I live. I love having an honest start. I love my life here, my friends, my sister, and I’m happy.

Nearly perfectly happy, too—but that’s impossible right now, anyway. Not when I’m missing one thing, one person.

I suck in a breath, fortify myself, and stand. I move forward toward Anders, and his head turns slightly toward me.

And I whirl around and bump into another table. Amazing start, honestly.

After a few minutes, I try again, and as soon as Anders makes a move to turn in my direction, I pivot. It happens enough times that Anders and the woman finish their conversation, and he walks away talking to a man with blond hair.

Instead of trying again, I find an empty table and sit down for a quick time-out. I need to get it together. There’s no need to be nervous. I told myself weeks ago I was going to face Anders head-on when I saw him. It’s not like I’m doing anything difficult. It’s a conversation, for God’s sake.

I get up, my knees buckle, and I immediately sit back down.

“You’re the worst,” I mutter to myself, dropping my forehead onto the table once, twice, several times in punishment.

Something soft blocks my headbutt, and his words make my body pulse with warmth as he says, “Are the tables here upsetting you? I’ve seen you bump into several.”

I move my face back from his palm, and when I turn, my nose is pressed against his; he’s so close. Every part of me stills, and my heart races hard enough that the vibration reverberates throughout my rib cage.

“You’ve seen me all this time?”

“I, well, yes,” he admits, pulling away to stand, and my body instinctively misses his proximity. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me or if I kept catching you trying to avoid me, so I thought I’d just ask you directly.”

Too desperate to have dignity, the words tumble out of me. “I don’t want to avoid you.”

Finally, a glimpse of Anders appears. His dimples press into his cheeks as his smile slowly takes over his face. “That’s good to know.”

“I also didn’t want to avoid you yesterday,” I explain, “but I was—you caught me at an inopportune time—I wanted to, I don’t know, not look ridiculous.”

“You were as beautiful then as you are now.”

I frown at him. “You’ve become a better liar.”

His smile falters—maybe the reminder of the time we spent apart upsets him as much as it upsets me.

“Can we talk?” We ask at the same time, mirroring each other’s smiles.

Anders holds out a hand as the band plays a slow couples’ dance. I take it, and he leads me to the dance floor. His hands snake around my waist, and I press my palms to his chest, let my hand feel his heartbeat, and notice its rhythm speeding to match mine.

He leads me through the first half of the song, and I lay my head on his chest, letting myself get lost in the moment without any baggage or hurt or anything in between. Just the comfort of Anders, of us.