There’s the barest flicker at the corner of his eye; then he follows me between two trucks, where no one can see my bra.
His slow hands ease up the tail of my cardigan, thumb nudging the base of my spine as he grabs the zipper. Maybe I shiver, or maybe he trembles, or both.
My sweater tumbles back down, sending a puff of air across my hot-and-cold skin. I can’t erase the tingling from the little stroke he left as the zipper reached my nape.
When I turn, there’s an angry flush across his cheekbones, clouds darkening in his gaze. “Let me guess. You fought with Amber. But you don’t want to make a big deal of it, and you won’t—” He presses his lips together, pushing an angry breath through his nose.
“Can we drop it, Tobe? Please. We can just be us, just for tonight. No family, no pitch contest.” Neither of us can suppress a twitch at “pitch contest,” like I could summon an evil ghost if I said it twice more.
“Okay. Just us. Just for tonight.” He fits his hand to the small of my back, sending a ripple all the way up to my scalp. “Is that the bride?” He points at Béa with a flock of colorful bridesmaids. It looks like the ceremony’s starting any second.
“Dammit. Run.” I pick up my delicate skirts so I don’t tear them with my un-delicate knees and revise my dry-cleaning estimate upward by a lot.
Béa turns as we skid across the parking lot, giving us the hand. Damn, we’re too late. We’ll have to sneak in once she’s walked down the aisle.
“Liz!” Her deep brown eyes careen from me to the building. “You’re from here. You know people. Do you know anyone who can officiate a wedding? In the next half hour? Our guy called.His kid put a whole package of raisins in his other kid’s nose and they’re all in the emergency department.”
“What about your aunt? Didn’t you say she’s an officiant?”
“Who cannot remember Stéphane’s name!” Béa’s eyes threaten to spill, and unlike me, she’s got a couple hundred bucks of professional wedding-day makeup on the line.
“Okay. Don’t panic.”
“Please say you know someone.”
“I don’t. But Sharon’s here.”
Béa nods, hopefully, desperately.
Inside the hall, people rustle and murmur, checking watches and phones to confirm that, yes, the ceremony should’ve started by now.
“What’s Sharon look like?” Tobin scans the crowd.
“About fifty. Blond. Curvy. Great tailoring.”
“That description is not as helpful as it could be.”
He’s got a bee up his butt today. I google Sharon, then pass him my phone.
“Your friend Sharon isSharon Keller-Yakub?”
“There she is.” Her upswept hair and high-collared forest-green dress make me want to swear fealty to her as my queen. I scoot up the side aisle to where she sits next to a gorgeous brown-skinned man and a couple of empty chairs.
“Liz! I saved you a—”
“No time. Sharon, you remember Tobin. He can save our seats while I borrow you for one little second.”
Sharon’s eyes narrow. She could eat a stack of minor emergencies for breakfast, with a fruit plate on the side for proper nutrition. Between my logistical power and her actual power, we’ve got this covered. I fill her in, sotto voce, on our way to the bride.
“Wait, what? There’s no such thing as an available officiant atthe last minute on a long weekend. It has to be the aunt.” Sharon pauses at the exit.
“But if she screws up Stéphane’s name, Béa will cry.”
Sharon does barracuda eyes at me. “I know I promised not to give you advice, Liz, but apparently I can’t help myself. Don’t focus on the problems you can’t solve. Find the ones you can.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means our problem isn’t the officiant. We’re here to help Béa embrace chaos on her wedding day. I’ll do the talking. You back me up,” she orders, leaving me scrambling to catch her long stride.
