CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sarah
“Today is the day. My best friend’s getting married to the guy of her dreams who once claimed to be gay so he could rent her available room and figure out a way to woo her.”
“Wow,” Maggie deadpans. “That was a charming recap.”
“Hey.” I shrug with a smile. “I’m trying to keep myself from getting weepy.”
And it’s tough, believe me. Maggie looks breathtaking in her dress. Just as I’m placing her delicate veil in place, there’s a knock on the door.
“No, Ry!” I automatically holler.
Ry’s made numerous attempts to see Maggie already, claiming he needed to give her a kiss and then a note. I had to put the kibosh on it all.
“It’s only me, sweetie,” Mrs. James, Ry’s mother, calls out before the handle of the door turns, and she quickly steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She stops short at the sight of Maggie, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Oh my word,” she breathes. “You are breathtaking.”
“Isn’t she?” I smile over at Maggie, noticing her eyes are glistening slightly, and I know what she’s thinking. Her parents passed away a while ago, and I know she’d give anything to have them here today.
Sliding my hand in hers, I give it a squeeze. “You know they’ll be watching with the best seats in the house.”
Nodding, she presses her lips together firmly before suddenly reaching out to me, and I embrace her as carefully as I can without disturbing her dress and veil. “Love you,” she mumbles softly.
“Love you back,” I manage to say over the lump in my throat, widening my eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. Finally, Maggie and I part, and I concentrate on righting her veil, smoothing it.
“Ry wanted me to give you this, sweetie.” Mrs. James holds out a small square napkin that’s folded in half. That’s Maggie and Ry’s thing; sweet little notes they write when they’re out somewhere.
Maggie accepts the napkin, and when she reads it, the smile that spreads across her face is one that affirms everything. Because the smile derived from this small note from her husband-to-be immediately eradicates all traces of sadness, leaving in its place happiness. Knowing Maggie has found a love like this with Ry is everything to me, especially since she didn’t always have an easy go of things.
Maggie’s eyes flicker up to me and over to Ry’s mother before returning to the napkin and reading the message aloud.
I’ll be the guy who has the goofiest and happiest smile on his face waiting as his bride walks down the aisle toward him.
I’m ready to marry the love of my life.
I’m ready for Maggie James.
Mrs. James dabs the corner of her eye with a tissue while I continue to fiddle with Maggie’s veil, doing my best to ensure it is perfect. Then I meet my best friend’s eyes.
“I believe it’s time to go see your groom.”
* * *
There’s just something about weddings. It’s like you’re suddenly encapsulated within some sort of spell or mood which makes you swoony and sappy. Even me, a person who’s normally not the least bit swoony.
But, man, this wedding was beautiful, and I guess it was inevitable that the air would be filled to the brim with love and sentiment when it comes to Maggie and Ry.
I watch the couple as they linger at the bar. Ry plucks a small bar napkin from the stack nearby and pulls a pen from the inside pocket of his tux. Maggie smiles up at him as he writes something on the square of paper before sliding it over to her. And, like earlier, the moment she reads whatever it says, the look in her eyes, her entire expression is one of absolute—
“Love.”
I jerk in surprise at the sound of Jack’s voice in my ear, yet maintain my gaze on my best friend and her new husband.
“Any second now, those two lovebirds will have cartoon hearts shooting out of their eyes at one another.”
I’m unable to resist a snicker at Jack’s remark because that’s exactly what I was thinking.
“Any chance you’ll save a dance for me?” he whispers huskily.
Spinning around to face him, I decide to mess with him. Planting a hand on one hip, I gesture flippantly with the other. “Look, just because you’re far too handsome for your own good in that tux and have a disarming grin doesn’t mean that—”
Oh shit! Abort! Abort! This is how my attempt at harassing him goes? Really, Sarah? By spewing compliments?
“You think I look handsome?” His eyebrows rise in exaggerated surprise. “And what’s this about a disarming grin?” Turning his head slightly, he flashes me a wide smile. “Is this the disarming grin?” This smile is more of a smolder—not that I’m going to admit that to him—and he reaches a hand back behind his head to pose dramatically. “Or this? Is this the one? This is the one, isn’t it?” He has the audacity to wink at me.
Rolling my eyes at his antics, I redirect my attention to the crowded dance floor without responding.
“Come on, now. Admit it. You thought that was funny.” What is the deal with his husky voice? I swear it’s giving off subliminal messages. And those messages are something like Get up on that bar and spread your legs for me.
Damn vagina. She’s such a traitor when it comes to Jack.
He steps closer, his chest against my back, and I swear, I can feel the heat radiating from him. Suddenly, his arm shoots around me, and his fingers hold something small in front of my face.
A foil-wrapped chocolate; the kind I always carry with me. Except today, since amidst the wedding festivities and being Maggie’s maid of honor, I had no way of stashing any.
Well, not without putting them somewhere they’d end up melting, that is.
Fighting a smile, I grab it, but he hangs on. I give it a tug, and he leans in to whisper, “Promise me a dance, and you can have it.”
“Fine.” Another tug but still no dice.
“Promise, Sunshine,” he says, amusement coloring his tone.
“I promise,” I grit out, giving another tug on the chocolate and internally rejoicing when he lets go. Unwrapping it, I read the message inside before popping the small chocolate into my mouth in its entirety.
Something decadent is going to happen.
With a smirk, I fold the wrapper just as Jack’s voice rumbles in my ear. “I’d say that’s true since you and I”—he startles me by grasping my wrist, spinning me around, and walks backward as he leads me onto the dance floor—“are about to show these people how slow dancing is really done.”
My eyebrows rise with skepticism. “To Dave Matthews?”
“Satellite” is playing, and while I love this song, I’m not entirely certain how swaying back and forth will show anyone “how slow dancing is really done.”
He picks up on my disbelief and eyes me with a smirk. “Just close your eyes and go on a journey with me.”
“Jack.” I can’t help but roll my eyes.
With a pseudo attempt at a stern expression, he tosses back, “Sunshine,” before pulling me closer. In these heels, the top of my head is eye level with him. My eyes fall closed at the feel of his jaw against my cheek, and I find myself concentrating on the masculine, woodsy scent that’s one hundred percent Jack—and unbelievably potent.
“Are you concentrating on the song? On his voice?”
My eyes remain closed as I murmur, “Yes.”
“Okay.” There’s a brief pause. “Now tell me you don’t think there’s a chance that Dave Matthews and Shakira could be the same person.”
Wait, what?
My head rears back to stare at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Humor me, Sunshine.” I honestly can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “Listen to his voice and then think of every Shakira song you’ve ever heard—”
“Which would be a total of two.”
“And note the similarities.” He raises an eyebrow as if he’s made his point. “This song isn’t as good of an example as some of his others. Like ‘Ants Marching,’ for one. That song”—he nods in affirmation—“would totally convince you.”
Laughter bubbles up, and I can’t help but shake my head. “You’re crazy; you know that?”
He makes a noncommittal sound before abruptly swinging me out, then spinning me back into his arms, and dipping me dramatically. Straightening us and continuing to sway to the song, he reaches out one of his hands to brush a few stray strands of hair back from my face. Dipping his head, he presses a kiss to my hairline before resting his lips against my forehead.
“As far as something decadent happening, Sunshine,” he murmurs in a low, silky tone, “I’d have to say that having you in my arms like this is it for me.”