Chapter 31
Tallulah
Blossom and Manuel's wedding couldn't have taken place on a better day. The September afternoon was warm enough that jackets hung forgotten on chair backs, but cool enough that the breeze carrying the scent of autumn did so without causing guests to shiver.
The venue, an old converted barn with exposed beams soaring overhead, glowed with vintage black lamps mounted on the walls. The wedding colors—burgundy, terracotta, and olive—transformed the space, adding warmth and rustic beauty to our surroundings.
After sitting for what seemed like an eternity, I stood near the edge of the space, watching my daughter dance salsa with one of Manuel's uncles—a man in his sixties who moved with amazing agility. Somehow, my daughter matched him step for step, her hips moving, her face radiant with joy.
Was this real life? My baby was married.
Hours after the ceremony, the reality of the day made me emotional. The same little girl who had trembled in my arms because she was terrified of thunder no longer needed me. She had a partner now who would be right by her side, and they would weather the storms of life together.
"Look at our little girl."
I had been so enthralled by my daughter and her dance partner that I hadn't noticed Karl coming to stand beside me.
He held the remains of a taco from the food truck parked outside.
He had shaved his beard, but his tawny skin bore the shadowy remnants of the facial hair he had worn for years, as if his skin were dyed with ink.
His expression appeared softer than I'd seen in a long time.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" I said.
"She sure is." He took the final bite of his taco and chewed thoughtfully. "Where did she learn to dance like that?"
"She and Manuel took salsa lessons."
"Huh." We watched Blossom spin under her partner's arm. "Her sense of adventure comes from you. Always willing to try new activities and jump into the unknown."
Surprised, I swung my head in his direction. I couldn't remember the last time he had paid me a compliment, particularly this kind. For most of our marriage, my willingness to try new things had been framed as impulsive, demonstrating a lack of planning.
Manuel made his way to the floor and cut in to claim his bride. Blossom melted into his arms as if they had been made to hold her.
"Manuel seems like a good kid," Karl commented.
"He is. I've gotten to know him well. He's responsible and quite wonderful, actually."
"And his father?" Karl's tone became extra neutral, but I caught the curiosity underneath. "You two seem... close."
Heat crept up my neck. I had barely spoken to Jamison all day, yet somehow Karl had picked up on our connection. Was it obvious to everyone that we were involved?
"We are close," I admitted.
"I figured." His gaze slid to me. "I hope he gets you. You deserve that. I never did understand your ways and kept trying to turn you into someone you weren't. I shouldn't have done that."
The admission hung between us. His honesty was overdue and strangely freeing.
"I appreciate you saying that. We both made mistakes, but we did a pretty good job with Blossom."
"I agree with you there." His smile was genuine, reminding me of the early days of our marriage, before our incompatibility became too big to ignore and crushed the lightness between us. "I should get back to my table. Laverne's probably wondering where I wandered off to."
"Tell her I said hi."
"I will." He disappeared across the room.
After a moment, I had the distinct impression I was being watched and noticed Jamison standing near the bar, talking to his older sister. They had the same gray eyes and dark hair. Though in conversation with his sibling, his attention remained locked on me.
He excused himself and crossed the space between us with his confident stride, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his pants. At some point, he had removed his jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. My favorite look on him.
Damn, what a sexy man.
"Care to dance?" he asked when he reached me.
Salsa music pulsed through the barn, fast and rhythmic and well beyond my skill level. My eyes drifted to where Blossom and Manuel were moving together, surrounded by a crowd of family and friends who all seemed to know exactly which steps to take.
"Um, we didn't take salsa lessons, and I don't want to embarrass either of us," I told him.
My family called me Rhythmless Nation behind my back. No way was I getting on the dance floor.
"Are you scared?" Jamison taunted, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I'm not scared..."
He arched an eyebrow. "Then dance like no one's watching."
"Salsa, though?" I eyed the dance floor with trepidation.
My mind spun with all the reasons I should decline. I could trip over my own feet. I might step on his toes. I would look ridiculous. People would notice. People would laugh.
Then I realized what I was doing.
I had fallen into an old trap, where I cared too much about other people's opinions.
Where I chose safety over joy. Our kids had almost made the same mistake.
I knew better. Even Jamison, a man who lived his life with rigid structure, who arrived everywhere early and planned his day down to the minute, knew better.
He held out his hand and rocked his hips from side to side in an exaggerated, epically unserious movement that made me burst out laughing.
God, I loved this man.
I placed my hand in his. "Let's do this."
He led me onto the dance floor, weaving a path through the friends and family twisting and turning more elegantly than I ever could. The music thrummed through the floorboards, up through my feet, encouraging me to let loose.
Jamison and I stepped into position and moved at the same time, bumping into each other.
I laughed, mortified. "Sorry. I—"
"One, two, three," he muttered under his breath.
We both moved at the same time again and nearly collided again. I laughed harder, the sound bubbling out of me in a helplessly unguarded way.
Shaking his head, Jamison's eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement.
"This is going well," I said.
He leaned forward, bringing his lips to my ear. "Let me lead."
And so I did. I relaxed, following instead of trying to steer. Our feet found the rhythm. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But enough.
The music wrapped around us, the press of other bodies on the dance floor fading into obscurity. It was just me and Jamison, dancing to the sexy beat, his hand resting on my back in a reassuring way, melting my embarrassment into oblivion.
We weren't dancing salsa. We were just dancing. To our own beat. Our own rhythm. The one we had been working on for months—through cake tastings, yoga, dance lessons, late-night conversations, and an intervention to help our children trust themselves and their love.
"You're doing great," Jamison said, guiding me into a spin.
The song shifted into something slower, and the energy of the guests adjusted to fit the new tune.
Couples edged closer as the frantic salsa rhythm gave way to a gentler sound.
Jamison drew me in, and I willingly wrapped my arms around him and rested my head against his chest. I didn't care who knew we were together.
This was my man, and I was publicly claiming him.
We danced until my feet—in heels I rarely wore—hurt. Then Blossom and Manuel cut the cake—a beautiful three-tier almond cake with Biscoff buttercream frosting—and zero cannabis.
Much later, after we had sent the couple off on their life together, the food trucks were gone, the DJ had packed up, and only a handful of guests remained, Jamison and I sat at a table.
My head rested on his shoulder as I watched a couple wrapped in each other's arms dance to their own private tune.
"Are you ready to go?" Jamison kissed the top of my head.
"Your place or mine?" I asked, stifling a yawn with my hand. I didn't want to leave, but my body was sending a message that it was time to go.
"Mine. I have real coffee. Not that mushroom coffee crap you had me drinking the other day."
I lifted my head from his shoulder. "It's good for you. It supports gut health and boosts your immune system, and the taste is similar to coffee."
"I don't drink coffee for the health benefits, and as a coffee aficionado, even in a blindfold test I'd know from the smell alone—before I took a sip—that slop isn't coffee. On this, you can't convert me."
I sighed. At least I had convinced him to drink tea on occasion after finally putting together a blend he liked.
Jamison stood and took my hand. "Come on."
He pulled me from the chair, and we walked hand in hand toward the door. His ex-wife and her husband were walking in the same direction.
"Good night," Maria said, shooting a knowing look at Jamison. She wore a colorful dress that cinched at the waist, her curly hair resting on her shoulders.
She and I had spoken earlier, and I liked her. Since she and Jamison had a good relationship, I wouldn't be surprised if she questioned him about me.
"Good night. Nice to meet you both," I said to her and her husband.
He was much less colorful than his wife and an accountant, if I remembered correctly. The Mexican version of Jamison. Funny how we seemed to have a type, attracted to the same people despite our pasts.
"I'm probably going to fall asleep in the car," I warned as we strolled through the parking lot.
"I'll wake you when we get to my place."
The stars were out, bright and sparkling against the dark sky. We walked slowly, not in any hurry.
"Oh, Blossom received a job offer yesterday, which she accepted. For the position that made her late to the cake tasting."
"That's great!"
"I know. She's so happy, and I'm relieved she can relax and will be working in the field she has a degree in."
We stopped beside Jamison's car, and I squeezed his hand, my heart filled to overflowing. Our lives had taken an unexpected turn, one neither of us had planned. Our children had stepped into a future together, and now, without ceremony, we were stepping into ours.
Jamison kissed me—slow, deep, and full of promise. Then we climbed into the car and drove off into our future together.