Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Tabitha
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Stephen says. “Tell me you haven’t been with someone else.”
I clear my throat. “You’re wrong.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And you’re not being truthful.”
He’s right. I’m not. And I hate lying. I hate it with a purple passion.
God, am I the worst wedding date ever?
I owe Stephen a huge apology, but before I open my mouth, Henry and Sage escort Angie and Jason to the five-tiered wedding cake, baked by Angie’s mom and her cousin Ava, a baker.
I’ve heard that Marjorie Simpson’s cakes are legendary, and though I haven’t tasted it yet, it looks magnificent. I almost feel sorry for Stephen. All that sugar and dairy and so little time…
I got a good look at the cake when I came in.
It’s magnificent, frosted in a smooth ivory buttercream with a velvet finish that seems to glow.
Delicate gold leaf veining climbs the sides in swirling, asymmetrical patterns, and tiny sugar pearls are embedded into the designs—so subtle you’d miss them if you weren’t standing close enough to inhale the scent of vanilla.
Each tier is adorned with breathtaking edible florals in shades of periwinkle, cream, and deep plum. Clusters of them cascade down one side like a wild bouquet, winding through satin ribbons of fondant so fine they mimic silk.
It looks almost ethereal, like it belongs in a dream or a storybook, not real life.
But it is real. And it’s legendary. Just like I was told.
Photographers snap their cameras as Angie and Jason cut the cake and feed each other. Already I know they won’t shove it in each other’s faces like some couples do. That’s not Angie and Jason.
The servers then take over, cutting the cake and plating it. More servers come around and offer us coffee or more champagne.
I take the champagne.
I think I’ve drunk more during the last two days than I have in the last six months.
But it’s an event, to be sure.
When a dessert plate with a piece of cake appears in front of me, I grab my dessert fork and take a bite.
It’s only after I get my head out of the cake cloud that I notice Stephen declined a piece.
Shocker.
Still chewing, I swallow and turn to him.
“Don’t tell me. It’s not organic?”
He exhales through his nose and shakes his head.
“Doesn’t matter. Refined sugar, organic or otherwise, throws off my energy, makes my thoughts cloudy and my gut uneasy.
And white flour feels like paste in my system.
A bite of cake might taste good in the moment, but it’s more than I’m willing to pay. ”
White flour? I’m pretty sure I saw him eat a slice of bread. Does he realize he’s being a hypocrite?
I resist rolling my eyes. “You’re missing out. I’m happy to clog things up for this deliciousness.”
We say nothing more as I finish my cake and champagne.
The band—Dragonlock again—is warming up, and a moment later, Jesse Pike takes the microphone.
“Hey, everyone,” he says. “As most of you know, we are Dragonlock. Let’s get Angie and Jason up here for their first dance.”
Wild applause as Angie and Jason take center stage on the portable dance floor.
Jesse and Rory begin a cappella, a song I don’t know. Must be an original composition of theirs.
The words are beautiful for a first dance.
“I was drifting, wild and restless
Waves crashing through my soul
Then you reached into the chaos
And suddenly I was whole.”
Then the band joins in, first a soft cymbal, and then a guitar, and then the keyboard.
“You didn’t calm the thunder
You just held me through the fight
Now I see it so much clearer
You’re my reason, you’re my light
You’re my anchor in the storm.”
“Wow,” Stephen says. “I’ve never heard that song before.”
“It’s probably an original. Angie told me that Jesse writes most of the band’s songs. My guess is that Brianna asked him to write something special for Angie and Jason.” I sigh. “It really captures their story.”
When the song is over, Jesse grabs the mic again. “Let’s invite the parents of the bride up to join in the dance, as well as the maid of honor and best man.”
Marjorie and Bryce join on the floor, as well as Sage and Henry.
Sage and Henry look gorgeous together, his blondness and her darkness.
I can’t keep my eyes off Henry. He’s smiling, though not at his sister. He’s looking toward Angie and Jason and smiling.
And I believe it’s a genuine smile. It’s a smile I’ve seen only rarely. A smile I’d like to see more.
Once that song is over, the band begins another slow song, and Bryce takes Angie for the father-daughter dance. Marjorie dances with Jason—I guess because his mother isn’t here anymore.
It’s a beautiful sight, and everyone looks ecstatic.
I glance to Henry, who’s retaken his seat at the other end of our long table.
When the parents’ dance is over, Jesse takes the mic once more. “Okay, folks. Now we’re going to liven things up a little, and we invite everyone to the dance floor!”
Stephen grabs my hand. “Shall we?”
I nod. He is my date after all. It’s not his fault that he bores me to tears or that I’m hung up on someone else.
Hell, all this time he’s seen right through me.
Which is good, actually. He probably won’t try for another kiss tonight, which suits me just fine.
I follow him to the dance floor. The song is faster, so he doesn’t take my hand or anything.
We just move to the beat. Stephen is actually a really good dancer.
He moves to the music and looks good while doing it.
I love to dance. I can dance all night long, so I mirror Stephen’s moves, and pretty soon I’m smiling.
Dancing and music always make me smile, even if I’m not dancing with the man I want.
Already I’m planning to apologize to Stephen when he leaves. I’ve been a lousy date. Both times leaving to make love—well, fuck—with another man.
A man who isn’t offering me anything other than a moment in time.
But damn.
I’d say it’s been worth it. Ten minutes with Henry has been better than the longest lovemaking session I’ve ever had, which was over an hour with a guy—not unlike Stephen, I bet—who was into Tantric sex.
It was great, but also like Stephen, he bored me to tears. That was back in college, and he wasn’t a massage therapist. He was a grad student studying movement awareness.
That should have been my first clue.
I’ll bet every dollar I have that Stephen is into Tantric sex as well.
After three songs, we’ve both worked up quite a sweat.
“Take a break?” I ask.
Stephen nods. “Yeah. Time for some fluids.”
We head back to the table, and I walk by Henry. I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes focused on Stephen.
We return to our seats and gulp down some water. I also finish the last of my champagne.
“You’re a great dancer,” I say.
“You as well.” He shimmies his shoulders. “That was fun.”
I smile. “It was.” The first actual fun I’ve had with Stephen. “Hey, I’ve got a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you… Are you into Tantric sex?”
He laughs.
“Was that funny?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The question itself isn’t funny. It’s the fact that you asked.”
“Why?”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Because you’ve already made it abundantly clear that we’re not going to end up in any kind of sexual situation.”
He’s not wrong.
But I press on. “Are you going to answer me?”
“Why would you think I’d be into that?”
“Please. You’re into everything else that’s all Zen and weird. You’ve probably got a gong in your bedroom and essential oils categorized by chakra.”
He grins, slow and amused. “Okay, that’s fair. But no gong. Just a sound bowl. And I don’t categorize the oils. I just feel which one calls to me.”
I can’t help a laugh at that. “Jesus.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain at a wedding,” he says, mockingly solemn. “Bad karma.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly stick. “So that’s a yes? About the Tantric sex, I mean?”
He shrugs, nonchalant. “I’ve read about it. Practiced a little. It’s not just about sex, though. It’s about connection. Presence. Energy flow.”
I rub at my forehead. “God, everything with you is energy.”
He shrugs. “Well, everything is energy.”
I cross my arms. “And what exactly do you do with that energy? Prolonged eye contact until your partner has an out-of-body experience?”
He leans in slightly. “You joke, but it’s real. When you slow everything down, when you breathe together, touch with intention—”
“Touch with intention?” I snort. “You sound like a sex ed pamphlet.”
He chuckles. “Maybe. But don’t knock it till you try it.”
I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Believe it or not, I have tried it.”
“And…?”
“It was great. But a lot of work, honestly. Sex shouldn’t be so hard.” I grin. “No pun intended.”
He returns my grin, stretching back in his chair like he’s settling in for a story I’m not planning to tell.
“I get that,” he says. “Not everyone wants to turn sex into a spiritual pilgrimage. Sometimes you just want the release.”
“Exactly.” I nod. “Sometimes you just want to get off and go to sleep. No chants. No crystals. No synchronized breathing.”
He laughs again, but this time there’s something gentler about it. “Yeah. I figured you were more grounded.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“A compliment,” he says, shrugging. “You’re real. Honest. Not trying to impress anyone. I like that.”
I don’t reply.
“You know,” he says, “I thought there might be something here when we first met.”
“Yeah?” I ask, though I already know where this is going.
“Yeah.” He smiles, but it’s wistful now. “I’m pretty sure we’re not each other’s person.”
I nod. “Nope. We’re really not.”
And it’s weirdly comforting, naming it like that.
No pressure. No awkward what-ifs. Just two people who crossed paths, shared a few laughs, and knew when to let it go.
Or maybe he’s just making himself feel better since he seems to already know I’m hung up on someone else. And screwing someone else.
He raises his glass. “To not forcing what doesn’t fit.”
I clink mine to his. “To knowing when to walk away.”
We drink and lean back in our chairs, staring up at the stars. It’s a beautiful night, and for once, not being the storybook couple feels kind of perfect.
Until Henry’s tall body appears in front of me.
And he doesn’t look happy.