I’d spent all day getting ready: I did a face mask and a hair mask, whitened my teeth, painted my fingernails and toenails abridal-blush pink, and did full body exfoliation, depilation, and hydration. I wore a short and sweet dress with a tropical floral pattern and cutouts at the waist. That, plus strappy nude sandals and my white blazer, made me feel, frankly, smokin’ hot. I could tell Stephen approved. He wolf-whistled as I climbed into his car. He wore a navy suit with—oh Lord—bare ankles peeking tantalizingly out of his loafers. I could tell it was going to be a good night when he kissed me so enthusiastically in the car that I had to wipe my lipstick off both our faces.
The wedding was at a sweet little Woodinville winery. There was a white canopy and twinkly lights overhead and in all the bushes. The aisle was a brick path lined with rustic wine barrels topped with white hydrangeas. The bride and groom were both college friends of Stephen’s. I was quite excited to meet his friends. The first order of business was the ceremony. It was one of those blessedly short Unitarian ceremonies and went off without a hiccup. All of a sudden, it was time for the cocktail hour, when they were serving a vodka cocktail hilariously dubbed the “Marry Me.”
Stephen guided me around with his hand on the small of my back, introducing me to various friends. He was so charismatic and (there’s no other word for it) sexy, I could tell people were quite dazzled by him. His friends would blink in surprise and exchange looks with each other when Stephen graced them with his presence. I curled my hand into the crook of his arm and almost felt guilty about our effervescence as a couple; I didn’t want to show up the bride and groom.
Shortly after I snagged my second Marry Me from a passing server, the happy couple made their grand reentrance. The DJ announced them and, as everyone cheered, I shouted, “Mazel tov!”
Stephen shot me a naughty grin and pulled me over to the grass, where he gathered me close to him and began to rock back and forth in an intimate slow dance, even though it wasn’t time for dancing yet. We revolved slowly on the spot to the jazzy cocktail hour music, earning wistful and approving gazes from some of the older guests. I looked up at the strong, jutting line of his jaw, nestled above my head, and felt a catch in my chest. My heart leaped as though it could tell that this moment was something to remember.
He planted a lingering kiss on my hair, and then I felt the ruffle of his breath as he whispered, “For fuck’s sake.”
“What?” I asked, leaning back.
“Just saw someone.” His voice was gruff. He tried to laugh it off. “You know how it is at these things. You never know what ghosts from the past will show up.”
“Ooh, is it an ex-girlfriend?” I was intrigued. I craned my neck around but couldn’t make out a specific face among the crowd.
“No, nothing like that.” Stephen pulled me against him with a playful show of possessiveness.
“Good. We wouldn’t want a catfight to spoil this beautiful evening.”
He laughed, showing off his shiny white teeth and the curve of his Adam’s apple. (Good God, he was an attractive man.) “Come on, let’s get another drink.”
“Marry Me?”
“What?” He stopped dead, his hand trailing out of mine.
“I only meant, did you want a Marry Me cocktail?” I blinked innocently.
Color flooded back into his face and he laughed again. “Sure, why not.”
I have to admit, I’d thought it would be a cute joke (since the name of the cocktail practically begged for it), but Stephen’s reaction was less than flattering.
“Two Marry Mes, please.” I sashayed up to the bar ahead of Stephen.
I had only just registered that there was a familiar profile in my peripheral vision when I heard Stephen grumble behind me, “Actually, I’ll wait back at the—”
The man beside me turned to look at us.
“—table.”
“Rachel,” Christopher Butkus began in surprise, and then he stopped. His eyes fell on Stephen, and he blanched as though someone had thrown water in his face.
“Hi, Christopher.” I looked from him over my shoulder toward Stephen—but he had disappeared. “Um. Fancy meeting you here.”
Christopher was still staring off toward wherever Stephen had gone; he wrenched his gaze back toward me with apparent difficulty.
“How—how do you know Jake and Vanessa?” he asked.
“I don’t, but my boyfriend went to college with them.” I took a guilty sip of my cocktail; I hadn’t yet confirmed the whole boyfriend thing with Stephen.
“That’syour—that’s the guy?” Christopher asked with a touch of alarm. I was simultaneously annoyed and pleased at the intimacy in the question, the reminder that we’d had a (weirdly) open conversation the last time we’d met.
“Stephen?” I was puzzled. “Yes…” And then, as Christopher blinked in confusion and visibly tried to shake off whatever was bothering him, it all clicked. Christopherlikedme. He liked me,and he was appalled to see me with a guy who was so clearly more attractive than him.
I stifled a giggle and placed a comforting hand on his arm.
“Look, Christopher, I really appreciated your advice last time. It was sweet of you. And”—I thought I’d throw him a bone—“I think it actually helped. So you can feel good about that.”
