“And miss the look on your face?” Frank asked, shaking his head. “Never.”  The band started playing their version of “I Gotta Feeling” and I found myself moving without even thinking about it, the pounding beat making it easier to forget that Frank was now watching me, that I didn’t have quite the same freedom as before.

And five songs later, I’d totally forgotten it. Frank had taken off his jacket, and we were dancing up a storm, so much so that people were starting to give us a wide berth. He would twirl me in, then send me spinning, and I’d almost bonked my head twice on a centerpiece when he’d dipped me and I’d lost my balance. He wasn’t the best dancer, but neither was I, and after a song or two we had found our groove and were dancing together as easily as we ran together. The band had just played a cover of “Sweet Caroline” that had everyone on their feet, and Frank and I had been yelling the bum-bum-bums at each other. When the song ended, everyone clapped, and I felt myself laughing, not for any specific reason, just that I was flushed and tired and happy.

The bandleader announced that they were slowing it down, and they started playing “You Send Me,” a song I’d always loved. I looked around, still trying to see if I could find a water, about to suggest to Frank we sit this one out, when I saw that he had extended his hand to me.

I was on the verge of starting to make a joke, but whatever I’d been about to say left me as I saw Frank’s serious expression. I met his eyes and reached out my hand to his. His fingers clasped around mine, and he pulled me close to him, gently, like he was making sure it was okay. I slid one of my arms around his neck, and he had one hand on my waist. Somehow, we were still holding hands, his fingers lightly wrapped around mine as we moved slowly to the music together.

He laughed softly and shook his head, and I leaned back to be able to look at his face, which was close to mine, closer than it had ever been. “What?”

“Just . . . you,” he said after a moment, with a faint smile. “Crashing a wedding.”

“Your idea.”

“I know,” Frank said. “But I was just thinking about that first night at the Orchard.”

“What about it?” I asked. I was trying to focus on having a conversation with Frank, and trying not to think about how close together we were, that he was touching my waist, that he was holding my hand.

“You just seemed so . . . diminished,” he said after a moment. “Like you were hoping nobody would see you.”

I kept my eyes on his, not letting myself look away. “And now?”

He looked right back at me as he gave me a half smile. “You’re the brightest thing in the room,” he said. He lifted his hand from my waist, and slowly, carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “You shine.”

My breath caught in my throat. People said those kinds of things about Sloane—not about me.

“What?” Frank asked, his eyes on mine.

“Just . . .” I took a shaky breath. “Nobody’s ever said something like that to me.”

“Then they don’t see what I see,” he said. I looked into Frank’s eyes and knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word. I started to say something when the chorus kicked in and Frank moved closer to me.

He was tall enough, even in my heels, that I could have rested my head on his shoulder. I swallowed hard, feeling the need to try and freeze the moment and sort through everything that was happening, and figure out just what I was feeling. Our faces were close enough that I could see the constellation of his freckles, his dark eyelashes, and smell that he was wearing some kind of cologne for the occasion—it smelled like cedar, like early mornings, and it made me want to step even closer and breathe him in.

Frank’s hand tightened on my waist, just a little bit, and it could have been just him moving with the music. But even though we weren’t looking at each other—even though we both seemed to be working very hard not to look at each other—I had a feeling he’d done it on purpose, and a moment later, he unclasped his hand from around mine and threaded my fingers through his.

I felt my heart pounding as I concentrated on staying upright and moving to the music, on the song that I knew was ending, any minute now, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted it to end right then, or keep playing on for days. I looked up at him, realizing again just how close we were, when the song ended and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” started. He dropped my hand and took a step away, and I looked away, pretending to straighten my dress, not exactly sure what had just happened.

“Hey!” Dawn was approaching us, a half empty water bottle in her hand, smiling at Frank. “When did you get here?” She looked around hopefully. “Is Matthew here too?”

“No,” Frank said, pointing at me. “I figured that one wedding crasher was enough.”

I nodded at Dawn’s water bottle. “Is there any way I could have some of that?”

“Sure,” she said, handing it over. “All yours.” She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “I swear, I am never doing one of these again. It’s much better to be on the road and actually getting tips. Thank god this is finally over.”

“You’re done?” I asked as I lowered her bottle, realizing I’d just drunk all of it. Dawn nodded.

“You guys want to come to my place and hang out?” Frank asked, as he pulled out his phone. “I’m not sure if Collins had plans, but I can text him . . .”

“Cool,” Dawn said. “Sounds good.”

“Em?” Frank asked, looking over at me as he texted.

“Actually,” I said. I took a breath before speaking again, not quite able to believe I was about to suggest this. But I couldn’t think of a better time, or one when I’d be so willing to take a risk. “I had an idea . . .”

12

GO SKINNY-DIPPING

“I can’t believe this,” Collins said as we stood in a line on the sand, still fully dressed, and looked out at the water. “And this was Emily’s idea?”

“Yep,” I said, still getting my head around that fact myself. “It’s for the list.”

“Please,” Collins said, waving this away. “This is all just a grand scheme to check out my bod.  You can admit it.”

“So, um,” Dawn said, twisting her hands together, sounding more nervous than I’d ever heard her, “do we have a plan? Like, are we going to go in one at a time while everyone else looks away? Or all at once? Or . . .”