Tank has one of Jo’s hands and Ashlee has the other. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Jo happier. Tank keeps sneaking admiring glances at Ashlee, a goofy smile on his face. I swear, he about fell over when he realized my lawyer is none other than Belle the supermodel. Apparently, he’s a big fan.
Harper and Chase slow dance in a corner, despite the fast-paced music. Dale couldn’t take off work mid-week, so Winnie and Val are shimmying in the midst of some friends of the Grahams. I met them all earlier, but it was a blur. Much like the whole day, which had the quality of a damaged video playing at varying speeds—some moments stretching long and slow like taffy and others only a blip. I’m left caught between an adrenaline high and a dizzying overwhelm.
My eyes skim back over to Pat like they can’t help themselves. I’m blaming the kiss. Over the years, I hadn’t forgotten Pat’s skillful mouth and the raw power of our physical chemistry. But remembering and experiencing are two different things.
It wasn’t a long kiss. Mouths stayed closed. And yet my skin flushes even now just thinking about the brush of his lips. My breath hitches as one corner of his mouth kicks up into a smile.
I’m going to dream about that kiss. And it will only be repeated in my dreams, because kisses are against the rules. Yes, I made rules. New rules. Because without them, I’m already lost in a sea of Patrick Graham.
Val and Winnie slide into the booth across from me. “Hey, chica! You’re looking entirely too glum for a wedding reception. Especially your wedding reception.”
“It’s not a wedding reception. More like a party to celebrate a legally binding contract.”
Winnie lowers her head to look at me over the top of her glasses. “Sheesh. We should call you Eeyore.”
Big Mo appears at the end of the table, brandishing a tray with slices of tres leches cake, my very favorite. I give him a dirty look, but I’m not a monster. I also take a big piece.
“Thank you,” I mutter as Winnie and Val grab slices of their own.
Mo rumbles out a laugh, beard shaking. “If you’re trying to be thankful, you best mind your tone. And also, congratulations.”
“Thank you.” My tone is mildly better now. Maybe because it’s been softened up by cake.
“I wish you a very long and happy marriage,” Big Mo says, before wiping his hands on his apron and moving on. “Enjoy every day you get.”
Our table is quiet for a moment, and I watch as he passes out cake like he’s the bearded tres leches fairy. His simple words have special meaning. Big Mo came to Sheet Cake after his wife and daughter were killed by a drunk driver. He sold his house, quit his corporate job working for one of the big energy companies, and left Houston. Mari found him at the diner counter one day, red-eyed and limp with grief. She took him in like she had Val and her older sisters, letting him have the upstairs apartment. He’s been here ever since.
If he’s giving me marriage blessings, I should really take them.
“How’s married life?” Val asks, licking frosting off her arm.
“Shut up, you.” I take a bite of cake. It’s delicious, of course, but I refuse to let the sugar soften my mood.
Winnie sets down her fork and leans across the table with a piercing look in her eyes. “I’m only going to say this once. Probably. You are allowed to enjoy this, you know. You are allowed to have happiness. To want things. To have things you want.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Winnie asks. “Because from where I’m sitting, I’ve watched you live for other people for years now, forgetting that you’re part of the equation. You like Pat.”
“She looooooves him,” Val says.
I start to argue, but Winnie’s on a roll. “You have feelings for Pat. Maybe you told yourself you’re doing it for Jo, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be doing it for yourself too.”