With such a small group, the reception felt more like spending the day somewhere beautiful with good friends, along with a few people I’d be happy to live without, than any wedding I’d ever been to, crashed, or dodged.

“What’s happening?” I asked Rob when Andi told all the single ladies to stand about ten feet away from her. A very selective group—only Lane, Sara, Anna, Hillary, and Clare—stood together and sang the only two lines they knew from the Beyoncé song.

“Andi’s going to throw the bouquet.”

“Where?”

He looked at me with equal confusion. “Haven’t you ever been to a wedding before?”

“Sure, but I’m usually drunk by this point.” Or, long ago, hooking up with a bridesmaid, something that would be happening again as soon as I could get Lane alone.

Rob’s expression didn’t change.

I shrugged. “If you knew my mother, you’d understand.” I’d been to three of her weddings. Being sloshed was the only way I got through them without saying anything honest about Renee and her taste in husbands.

“The bride tosses the bouquet and, supposedly, whoever catches it will be the next to get married.”

“And that makes sense to people? Still?”

“Not really, but it’s tradition.”

Right. But just in case there was any truth to it, I let out a sigh of relief Renee hadn’t joined the others. My mother was a recovering addict. It had been over two years since she’d worn an engagement or wedding ring, but it was better if she stayed away from temptation entirely.

I looked at Andi as she turned her back on the women. Aside from Hillary, none of them looked too happy to be there. Earlier in the bar, I’d learned just enough about Sara to guess she wasn’t dating anyone. But in case of doubt, the way she had to be shoved into the group and had her hands glued to her sides were good indicators. Clare was busy organizing the others, herding them closer together and making sure Eric had a clear view for photos.

The most shocking thing was to see Anna mildly into it. My guess? She didn’t give a shit about the tradition. She saw it as competition and therefore, it was something she had to win. And Lane? Well, Lane was subdued, even as Clare pushed her up front.

After one more quick glance behind her, Andi counted down, swinging her arm as if she were warming up for a toss from the outfield. “Three…two…one!”

Then, still clutching her bouquet, she turned around and ran over to the group, shoving the flowers right at Lane. Everyone laughed, including me, until I remembered what that actually meant.

Lane’s cheeks turned red as everyone applauded, and I felt someone smack me on the back.

“Pressure’s on now, little brother,” Hayden whispered in my ear.

Now? Did he mean I should do it right now, in front of everybody? Why else would he have used the word? I didn’t have to worry about flowers because Lane was already holding some.

I took it as another sign when my knee buckled underneath me. I could do this. And if she said no, I would still have enough adrenaline and leftover positive feelings to swim back to California.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hayden dragged me up.

“What do you mean? You said now!”

“Oh, Carson. You need help.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought I was getting. From him. Then I saw Lane again, the tiny shakes of her head as she tried to push the flowers into somebody else’s hands, the whispered “No,” and the way she kept trying to redirect focus back onto Andi.

I tried not to think too hard about what it all meant.

---

As the servers came out with trays of food, everybody dispersed to sit down around wood tables set-up on a shaded patio ten feet away from the sand and help themselves to the Champagne. I looked around for Lane and saw her a little farther down the beach, facing the ocean and picking at one of the flowers in the bouquet.

“Will he or will he not?” I said quietly, coming up behind her and slipping my arms around her.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Carson. Don’t worry.”

I turned her around, then lifted her chin until she was looking into my eyes. “I’m not worried. Never have been.”

“Well, you should be,” she said, her smile finally showing up.

“Aww, it’s our first threat. Someone take a picture!” I looked around for the photographer.

Clare was leading Eric around as she positioned people into various fake-candid poses.

“Hey, you!” I yelled at her. “Lady with the control issues! We need someone to take a selfie for us!”

Lane laughed under her breath, knowing exactly how I felt about men and that whole obsession. Instead of “selfies,” I called them “total dick pics.” Because only a total dick would think anyone wanted to see him flexing in front of a mirror or sitting in his car.

Clare turned away from the tableau involving Andi and Renee, quickly ordered them to look happy, and started walking toward us. Eric had better turn his shutter speed all the way up, because Hayden’s new bride felt the same way about her new mother-in-law as everyone else in the family did. Plus, Renee’s sincerity could only last about as long as a teenage boy the first time he got laid.

Clare smoothed her hair back as she neared us. “Who knew weddings were so stressful?”

“Um… you?” Lane’s voice rose at the end of the word, turning it into a question.

“True. But in my defense, I was stressed out for far less pleasant reasons at my wedding.”

“Because you’d just realized you were going to have to put up with my brother forever?”

She winked. “Something like that.”

“Can we get a picture of Lane and me on the beach? We’re celebrating a moment.”

Her eyes got huge.

“Yep,” I said, waiting for her disappointment to set in. “Lane just threatened me. I figure someday the picture can either make us laugh or be used as evidence in her trial.”

Lane studied me. “You say that as if you think I’m not smart enough to make it look like an accident.”

“Oh, you’re smart enough. But there’s no such thing as a perfect crime, and I don’t want you going to prison for doing the right thing.”

Clare shook her head. “You guys are so perfect for each other. Come on, let’s find a better background for the picture.”

“And something that could be used as a weapon.” Lane laughed as we followed Clare around and heard her complain about the sunset. Apparently it had purposefully shown up on the wrong side of the island, just to ruin all the shots she’d planned.

She called Eric on her walkie talkie—yes, I’m serious—to let him know he was needed and where. Twenty seconds later, he was jogging toward us, anxious to prove his worth to my ex-sister-in-law. The little business she’d started with Hayden’s help had already grown large enough to need employees and a solid list of freelancers.

Lane and I let Clare position and reposition our bodies, step back to contemplate our humiliation, then shake her head sadly as she came in for another round. She twisted my shoulders, moved my hand off Lane’s ass—

“Ah, come on! That’s its comfort zone!”

—and told us to smile without showing any teeth.

“Stop sneering, Carson. Tilt your head a little to the left, Laney. And lift your chin.” Obviously we were idiots because she actually showed us how to do every motion as she listed it. “Maybe… um…”

Lane held onto my arm for life when Clare knocked the back of her knee so her hip stuck out and she stopped standing “like a sumo wrestler.”

“Clare, if you really want to show off Lane’s best side, you need to turn her away from the camera.”

The women didn’t find my comment nearly as funny as Eric did. I think Lane would’ve if she hadn’t been worried laughter would ruin Clare’s hard work and force us to start over.

“Great. Now look natural.”

Lane and I glanced at each other from the corner of our eyes.

“Is this how it’s gonna be at your wedding?” I asked her through my teeth.

Lane was a better ventriloquist than me. “You mean if I ever find someone worth marrying?”

I tried not to smile. “I was trying to be supportive, but yeah, if you can ever find someone who’ll love your sorry ass.”

“It’s not my ass I’m worried about.”

“Carson, stop fidgeting please,” Clare said, in between comments to Eric about good angles. “We’re almost done. Just want to get a few more.”

This was a huge mistake. I’d just wanted a picture I could use as a screensaver, not to submit to National Geographic. Plus, I was now one hundred percent sure I could hear the bar calling my name.

“To answer your question,” Lane whispered. “I think I’d prefer something a little more casual.”

“Vegas is casual,” I joked, knowing how much she hated the place.

“Sure, if I meet him at a Vegas strip club or something, then that might work. As long as it’s somewhere that means something to us. And is family-friendly.”

“That takes me out of the running—there isn’t a place on earth where my family is friendly.”

“Stop it. My cheeks are cramping.”

“You sure? I should check.” I slipped my hand from her waist down to its comfort zone and gave her cheek a little squeeze. “Feels good to me.”

Her ass tightened beneath my hand. “Owww!” she wailed.

Shit, the jellyfish sting! “Sorry, babe. Look but don’t touch.” How could I have forgotten the world’s most depressing expression?

“Carson!” Clare yelled. “That was almost the perfect shot.”

I shook out my arms and watched Lane try to twist around to look at the source of her pain.

“Why do I get blamed whenever someone does something inappropriate?”

“Because you’re always the someone,” Lane said, still gently rubbing her ass.

“I cannot be held responsible for the temptation created by your proximity.”

I held her face in my hand and leaned down to kiss her. The parting of her lips was all the invitation I needed to deepen the kiss and forget where we were.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard Clare gasp and say, “Perfect! Stay just like that.”

Gladly. In fact, I planned to stay just like this as often as I could for the rest of my life.