He’s cut off by a body crashing into mine. Tall and slim, smelling of tequila and fruity perfume. Clothed in an off-white satin dress, normally long black hair tied in a knot atop her head.
Nora.
I smile, another genuine one, and wrap my arms around my best friend. She’s sweaty from dancing, her eyes wild and carefree. “Come dance with us, Finny.”
I laugh at the name her two-year-old has taken to calling me, since he can’t pronounce theLin my name. Nora is just as drunk as I am, but unlike me, her husband will call them a car tonight and make sure she takes her makeup off and pops two ibuprofen before they climb into their giant bed together.
I’ll be lucky to pass out on my couch, still in my bridesmaid dress, and I’ll wake up cold and alone with a raging hangover.
It makes my heart pinch, but the dazzling smile on her face has me nodding and following her onto the dance floor anyway. When I toss a glance back at Grey over my shoulder, there’s an unreadable expression on his face as he stares after me. Tenderness and something else. Something sadder. What I imagine I looked like watching Holden and Wren and June a few minutes ago.
I bump into someone dancing, and after I right myself, I turn back around, hoping to figure out what Grey’s look meant, but he’s gone, and I only catch a glimpse of his back retreating toward the bar. I’m surprised he’s not a little drunk too. Butwhen I stole his drink earlier, in desperate need of something for my parched throat, it was just soda. Not even a splash of whiskey.
Nora tugs me the final step to where her husband, Raj, is dancing with our friends from high school. Soon, we’re joining them, a mass of warm, breathless bodies doing the Cupid Shuffle.
It’s easy to get lost in it, the dancing and the drinks that keep ending up in my hands. It’s a relief to let go of the heavy sadness that’s been plaguing me since Gus unceremoniously dumped me a week ago. You know, since he doesn’t want to be in the wedding photos when this obviously wasn’t going anywhere. That had been news to me. He told me he thought he’d been upfront in the beginning, that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, that he wasn’t ready to settle down. And that’s true, he had. But that was two years ago. I guess I thought I could change him. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. From here on out, I’d only date men with a house in a good school district and an inherited engagement ring from their late grandmother that they’re waiting to propose with when they find the woman of their dreams.
There’s not a category for that on any of the dating apps. I’ve checked. It also doesn’t help that I live in the smallest town in America, with more tourists than residents year-round, and I’ve known almost every eligible man in a ten-mile radius since preschool. They’re all either married or gay or making their rounds like Grey.
And just like that, the ache is back. After making an excuse to Nora, I stumble off the dance floor, unsteadily walking toward the bar. Before I can get there, Grey is at my elbow once more, but this time, he reaches out to steady me.
The world is spinning on its axis, a blur of blue eyes and messy hair and a smell so clean and fresh that it’s not even offensiveto my precariously delicate sensibilities right now. I lean heavily into him, and his hands find my hips, large and warm and heavy.
“Okay, Finley,” he says, his breath hot against my neck where he’s leaning down to speak directly into my ear over the loud music. “I think it’s time to get you home.”
I want to argue, to protest and say that I’m not ready, that I want to drink and dance more, but despite the years-long bickering match between us, I know Grey has always got me. He’s one of my pillars, like Nora, Mom, Holden, and now Wren. He will hold me up when I can’t. Literally, right now.
So I just sink into him and nod against his chest. I think he lets out a relieved breath, and it makes the wisps of golden hair that have fallen from my half updo dance against my sticky neck. I think we’re moving. Either that or I’m even drunker than I thought. I hear him speaking, although I’m not focused on his words. And then I hear Holden and Wren. I peel my eyes open enough to look at them, to paste a sloppy smile on my face.
“I’m so happy you’re married.”
Wren grins up at me, but I think there’s a little sadness behind her eyes. Holden’s too. I want to tell them I’m okay, that they don’t need to feel sorry for me, especially not on their wedding day, but I don’t have it in me to lie about my mental state. And actually, Idofeel okay. I’m warm, tucked under Grey’s arm, his hand solid and firm on my hip.
“I’m happy we’re married too,” Wren says, leaning forward to wrap me in a hug. She’s quickly become one of my favorite people in the world, and I’m so thrilled she’s officially a part of the family. I’m going to make sure to express that to her when words are easier. When my mind isn’t fuzzy and there’s not an embarrassing lump in my throat, signaling tears I didn’t know were forming.
Gosh, I’m a mess. I think Grey knows it too, because he hurries our goodbyes and leads me off the dance floor and toward thedark gravel parking lot of the farm. I’d stumble and probably face-plant if not for the way he’s holding me up. I’d cry if he spoke right now. I’m on the verge of falling apart, and now that I’m away from the twinkling lights and the magic, I just feel dizzy and empty and cold.
And nauseous.
When I pull away from him and stop to heave in the grass, I’m surprised to feel his warm hand gathering my hair and holding it against the base of my neck, his other smoothing up and down my spine comfortingly.
I think he’s talking, whispering soft words, but my head is too spinny to process them. My skin grows cold and clammy, and I shake uncontrollably until Grey wraps his arm around me again, leading me to his truck.
He opens the door, helps me inside, and closes me inside the dark interior. It smells like him in here, clean and masculine, and I like the way the leather of his seats feels beneath my hands. All of it helps ground me, and by the time he climbs into the driver’s seat, I’m feeling a little less unsteady.
His eyes find mine in the dark, and I hear the crinkle of plastic. A water bottle. “Can you drink this, or do you need help?”
He’s gone into firefighter mode, I think. It’s the only reason he’s taking care of me this diligently. Either that or I look even worse than I feel, and he’s genuinely concerned for me.
I hope Gus gets genital warts for the number he’s done on me.
My head rolls against the headrest. “I can do it.” But when I lift the bottle to my lips, it splashes onto my dress. Then Grey’s hand is there, holding the bottle steady. I gratefully gulp down the water, rinsing the nasty taste from my mouth.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
He holds my gaze for another long moment, a wrinkle between his brows. And then he’s putting the truck in gear and backingout of the parking spot, gravel crunching beneath his tires. “Let me know if you need me to pull over.”
With a salute so poor military forces all over would cringe, I say, “I promise I won’t puke in your car.”
