Chapter 7 The After-Party
CHAPTER SEVEN
The After-Party
The reception hall sure was ornate. No, that was an understatement.
It was lavish, a damn Pinterest event gone wild.
He’d never imagined that this small hotel in his even smaller hometown could be done up like this—lilies and peonies hung from the ceiling lights and sprung from vases on each table, neither flower one of Julia’s favorites, interestingly.
She was a classic red rose gal and considered all other flowers weeds by comparison.
White lace and satin ribbon were strewn tastefully over every surface, gold accents hidden in the layers, giving the room the impression that royalty might be arriving any moment.
With the hired photo booth, gold- and white-themed yard games in the corner of the room, and small, gold float frames with a different photo of Chris and Julia at every place setting, the rest of the event reeked of Julia’s taste.
When he first walked in, Sophie on his arm, Brad realized there wasn’t a hint of Chris in the room.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that no matter who the groom was, the hall would be done up in the same way—photo worthy but wholly impersonal.
Most of the photos were from their childhood, time in college, and even early adulthood.
Brad had been cropped out of them but had duplicate copies of most of the pictures at home in frames or on his computer.
It all served to remind him how inextricably tied he was to the newlyweds.
Not that any of it really mattered to him.
Honestly, he had other things on his mind.
Like being unable to take his thoughts or hands or eyes off Sophie.
The way she moved—to the music, but also to her own rhythm when she walked—had him hypnotized.
Her hips made gestures he wanted to reciprocate, if only he could coax his body to move that way.
She also had the adorable quirk of throwing her head back in fits of laughter when she was in a group, unabashed and unapologetically loud, then crawling back into herself, hiding her smile behind her palm with flushed cheeks when Brad’s gaze landed on her.
It was like two different people were fighting for dominance beneath Sophie’s skin—a shy, quiet, and thoughtful woman warred against a feisty, gregarious one.
Brad imagined that a different man might have a problem with her indecision, but he couldn’t imagine giving up either of the sides he saw in her.
To him, she was perfect, caught in the in-between.
She was incredible to watch, to touch, but more than any of that, she was incredible to talk to—more so than he’d realized at the bar earlier.
He opened up to her in a way he’d never been able to with other women, Julia included.
Part of it was her willingness to share her family history.
Though it had broken his heart, it helped put his own life into perspective and trust her in kind.
He told her about the farm, that it had been in the family for close to two-hundred years, that it had begun as a homesteaded property his great-great-grandmother had started.
He told her how he wished he could buy it from his folks, but as she could probably tell, his mom would be reluctant to sell to him now that there was a disconnect between them.
His sister would most likely purchase it for her husband, joining their two farms. While it made him happy knowing he would always be welcome there, it wouldn’t be the same as if he could make the farmhouse his own.
He longed to write stories where his writing career had taken off originally, to work the property that had shaped him into the man who stood before her.
By the third song and the end of his first beer, Brad had forgotten all about the reason they were all there.
It just felt like a really great first date with a fascinating woman he’d surely ask out again.
Sure, he’d been a little uncomfortable watching Julia and Chris say their “I-Dos,” but mostly because Chris was barely able to stand he was so drunk and Julia looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Even Sophie commented that Julia seemed sad.
Even if he hadn’t had the history he shared with Julia, he’d still have been uncomfortable.
He wasn’t the only one either.
His mom had sat ramrod-straight in her chair, a frown on her face when Chris stumbled over his own shoes during the vows.
Other guests wore the same pained expressions, whispering incantations at Chris, willing him to sober up and act like the groom he was.
That was one role Chris had never been comfortable playing—the sober, responsible one.
Then the preacher had called the bride by her sister’s name. It was a train wreck. Even so, he could sense a tentative optimism from the guests that the reception would be different, and because of that, the room felt lighter.
With the exception of Julia. She still had a look on her face that made it appear she’d stepped in dog poop.
He figured only a handful of people in this room knew that was her resting look, one of utter disgust and disappointment at the world around her.
After a decade of being on the other end of that look, he knew it was really just a reflection of what Julia thought about herself.
It was funny, he knew Julia inside and out, but for the life of him, watching her frown in her wedding gown on what should be her happiest day, he couldn’t see why he’d stayed with her as long as he had.
He’d only known Sophie as a peripheral friend, not counting the past few hours, but he had more in common with her, more of a connection to her, than he ever had with Julia.
Their earlier attraction at the bar grew with each song at the reception, with some props to be given to the DJ who played songs that seemed made for him and Sophie.
Well, now that he thought of it, they were classic love songs—also perfect for a wedding.
He didn’t even feel a faint sense of alarm that he was relating to the lyrics of love songs on his first date with this woman.
Nope, he was just living in the moment for the first time in what seemed like far too long.
Damn, it felt good, too.
Sophie danced with him for each song, slowly rocking against him, whispering the lyrics in his ear.
She shared what she wanted to do with her law degree, how much she despised cooking.
She never brought up her family again, and he didn’t push it.
They’d have time to get into it. That hope—that he and Sophie had time after that night—sent heat curling down his spine, coming to rest in his groin, which he hoped didn’t show as he pressed against a woman who lit all his senses on fire.
On the fast songs, especially after they’d had a few lemon drop martinis, she let him lead her, and he didn’t regret a moment of it.
He’d never been as turned on as he was trying to keep his hips aligned with Sophie’s.
They seemed to move to their own music, making all his attempts to mirror her movements futile. Not that he cared.
God, he wished he’d known enough to be aware of her in college—something told him she would have been a helluva good time at a party, not to mention in the bedroom. It wasn’t too late, though. This thought had his mind spiraling to what those hips would be capable of now.
Interrupting those thoughts, Brad saw his sister heading toward them out of the corner of his eye, Owen in tow.
With her pixie-cut brunette hair, bright, brown eyes, and short, five-foot even stature poured into a tiny pink dress that barely came to her upper thighs, she looked more like a fairy than a wedding guest.
Each time he saw his sister and her husband though, he was reminded that there was the potential for a happily ever after out there for everyone.
Paige was the wildest person he knew, and so many times in his childhood he’d wondered if she was adopted, she was so unlike him or his parents. Not just in looks or stature, either.
She snuck out to party or camp solo on a cliffside, while Brad stayed in, writing stories about small, petty thefts and the police who solved them.
She ditched school to explore small, local caves, while Brad enrolled in honors English classes, anxious to learn from the likes of Byron, or Irving.
She’d sprinted from the country the minute she’d graduated college, choosing Oxford Medical School while Brad had gone to the University of Montana because it was close to home.
But now she was one of the best pediatricians in the country, often invited to give talks at universities around the world.
He gave all the credit to Owen who’d somehow convinced Paige that setting down roots didn’t mean settling.
They traveled every winter for a month or two to keep Paige’s desire for adventure sated, but when they were home, Brad could sense her ease in both her domestic and professional life, and he could have hugged Owen.
He’d even said something of the sort as one of the “maids of honor” at their wedding two years earlier, a role he’d shared with Paige’s best friend, Aurelie.
His only wish was that Paige and Owen could start a family.
He knew the shadows behind his sister’s eyes when she saw babies in her office, sick and in need of more care than she could provide at times, meant that she wanted to take all of them home, love them with everything she had.
She and Owen would be wonderful parents, Brad was certain, if only her accident from a year and a half ago didn’t all but prohibit that from happening.
“Hi, there, brother. Mom’s over there fuming about you, so I had to come see why.”
Paige’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile, her eyes wide, and her arms at her hips. She looked like someone who was very much enjoying herself. Which inevitably meant trouble for him.