Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE REHEARSAL DINNER
Connor
three years ago
Gretchen
Someone tell my brother that weddings are supposed to be fun.
And by someone, I mean you!
I smile like a fool as I settle into the driver’s seat. Before I put the car in gear, I shoot off a reply.
Me
No can do. He’s making me wear a suit and tie tonight and a tuxedo tomorrow. No fun to be had here.
What’s he worked up about now?
This wedding is definitely Reagan’s dog and pony show. Translation: Drew is hyper-focused on making sure none of us—his family and friends—do anything to mess it up.
Gretchen
He just barreled into my room and threw a toddler tantrum over me not being ready yet. Lol.
Apparently walking to the restaurant ACROSS THE STREET could take more than thirty seconds. *insert eye roll emoji*
Me
You could just use the emoji you know?
Gretchen
Connor. We’ve talked about this.
It’s funnier this way.
Nerves of anticipation coil in knots in my belly. Every text and phone call and FaceTime chat has led to this weekend and all I can think about is that I’ll finally get to see her—to pull her into my arms and hug her.
That summer she turned sixteen—three years ago—flipped my world on a dime.
For obvious reasons, I kept my distance after her brother and I moved to Chicago.
Gretchen and I had almost zero contact other than when she and her parents would visit Drew occasionally on the weekends.
I’d see them in passing, but I mostly tried to make myself scarce to give the Fishers the space they needed for family time.
Everything changed when Gretchen turned eighteen and her parents lifted their social media ban.
One little notification in my inbox and I didn’t think twice before accepting her follow request. The moment I opened her page and saw the first picture—cap and gown, goofy grin spread wide across her face, holding up a peace sign, head cocked to one shoulder—I think I was done for right then and there.
She messaged me. I messaged back. Eventually we exchanged phone numbers, which led to texting. Texting Gretchen became an all day, every day, best parts of my day occurrence. By Christmas we were FaceTiming almost every night .
While our conversations have been friendly and only slightly verging on flirtatious, I haven’t been interested in anyone else. Not since the day that follow request notification popped up. Not for the past twelve months, two weeks and three days.
I’m several years older than her and that’s never going to change. But the more time Gretchen and I spend getting to know each other, the less time I spend thinking about her brother and his warning three years ago.
Drew and I are still best friends, but seasons of life change.
He moved in with Reagan a couple months before I ever reconnected with his sister and I’ve been living alone ever since.
Between he and Reagan navigating their last year of law school and planning their wedding, Drew and I’s social meetups have become significantly less frequent.
His bachelor party last month was as close to our shared playboy days as I can remember.
We barhopped through Chicago with a few buddies.
Several of them picked up some ladies along the way, everyone playing wingman for someone else.
Except me. I did my best man duty, making sure Drew stayed out of trouble and didn’t get too wasted.
He tried to get me to flirt back with one such cute bartender who came on very strong when she swiped my phone and put in her contact information without my consent.
Little did he know, I planned to FaceTime his little sister as soon as I got home.
I want to see Gretchen face to face, find out if she feels for me what I’m feeling for her. My hopes are up—sky high. Every last one of them, up as high as I can throw them, helium balloons floating up and away.
If she’s willing to give us a try, I don’t care if I have to hop on a plane every weekend to see her. I’ll do it. I’ll come clean to Drew and make him a new promise: a promise to never hurt her.
The dimly lit restaurant hosting the rehearsal dinner boasts three long tables. Adorned with a runner of candles and flower arrangements, each table seats at least twenty-five people down its length .
Nearly everyone has arrived, except for the guests of honor and their families.
A group of my old frat brothers and myself catch up by the bar as we wait for Drew and Reagan to make their big entrance.
All my thoughts are about seeing Gretchen walk through that door, though.
My hands shake with nerves. I clutch a glass of Woodford Reserve in one hand and stuff the other in my pocket to steady them.
At last, the front door swings open and the place erupts in cheers when the bride and groom step inside. Quickly swarmed by guests, I can’t make out the family that follows behind them.
A couple minutes later, the happy couple breaks from the crowd. Drew hoofs it straight toward me and the other groomsmen at the bar. “I need a drink.”
“Take it easy tonight, babe,” Reagan says with a sweet finger to Drew’s chest.
I reach past my glowering best friend to plant a kiss on his fiancée’s cheek. “You look lovely tonight, Reagan.”
“Thank you, Connor.”
Drew secures a beer for himself and a glass of white wine for Reagan before she gets pulled into a circle with her bridesmaids.
I’m still scanning the room for Gretchen, but the low lighting and tight clusters of people scattered everywhere leave me coming up empty.
The hand in my pocket fidgets with my keys, nervous energy still buzzing.
Our friend, Mav, chimes in. “Fashionably late to your own rehearsal dinner, Fisher?”
Drew scoffs. “Apparently, only a very specific pair of diamond earrings were acceptable to wear tonight.” His tone is exhausted but has no real disdain behind it because the guy can’t stop sneaking lovesick looks at his bride across the room.
“I hope you also told them you were the one who failed to bring the correct earrings to the hotel as you were instructed,” the female voice comes from over Drew’s shoulder.
I’d recognize that voice in my sleep. She’s the precious gem a metal detector beeps madly for—the closer she is, the faster my heart pounds in my chest.
Drew steps aside and Gretchen comes into view.
Clad in a shimmering burgundy dress that dusts the floor, she’s an utter vision.
Her signature fancy braid draped over one shoulder, strands hung loosely around her face drawing all of her beauty into focus, is even more captivating in person.
Eyes the color of rich, dark chocolate, framed by dark lashes.
Tanned skin. Light freckles dotting the top of her nose.
Lips stained in a deep red to match her dress.
“Minor details,” Drew mumbles into his pint glass.
“Ok, so really this is all your fault.” I frown at Drew, who gives me an unamused look and stomps off to mingle with other guests.
The guys, Gretchen and I watch Drew’s back for a few seconds before we all turn toward each other. Our eyes find each other, a collective whole-body sigh escaping both of us—the kind you feel .
“Hey, Fish.” My smile is so big I should be embarrassed, but the smile she gives back fills the entire room and I can’t bring myself to care.
I’m done waiting. I pull her in for a hug, arms thrown around her waist. Her arms around my neck, I squeeze her tight. A lavender vanilla scent invades my lungs as I breathe her in. My words are a breath against her ear when I say, “You look beautiful.”
She steps back and runs a hand down my lapel. “You fix up nice yourself.”
“Who do we have here?” Mav says, reminding me we aren’t alone.
I paste a neutral expression on my face and turn to the groomsmen. While I grab my drink from the bar, I make introductions. “Guys, this is Drew’s sister, Gretchen. Gretch, these are the groomsmen. Aaron, Maverick, Dylan and Trent.”
Most of the guys offer a kind head bob or “nice to meet you.” But Mav— fucking Mav— steps right into her space, man on a mission.
“This can’t be the brace-faced girl from that picture Drew kept in his room at the frat house.”
I’m ready to intervene, when Gretchen replies, “Ahhh yes, nice to know my brother really values my self-confidence by keeping wretched pictures of me on display well past their expiration date.”
She turns to me with a shrug, completely unaffected by Mav’s advances. Mav, unfortunately, doesn’t get the memo .
“My friends call me Mav.” He extends his hand and Gretchen politely accepts it. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
I chuckle into my highball glass as I survey the room. Drew stands at the other end of the bar, death glare aimed right at Mav.
“Oh come on, we’re celebrating your brother tonight,” Mav insists, blissfully unaware of a certain friend with the homicidal eyes. He ignores her request and orders a glass of champagne.
I give Gretchen a wink and grasp Mav by the shoulder. “Dude, she doesn’t want a drink.” Then, I turn to the bartender and add, “Can I get a Diet Coke, please?”
A dinner bell rings, calling for everyone to find their seats.
Confession: I may have swapped a couple of place cards behind the wedding planner’s back earlier.
In my defense, the swap put me next to Gretchen. I’m not sorry. I’m counting on the fact this gathering is large enough that nobody will notice what I’ve done.
Gretchen takes the seat next to mine, an I see what you did glinting in her eye. “You think you’re so smooth.”
I set the Diet Coke next to her plate and reply, “I’d say I’m very smooth.”
With guests settled at their tables, salads are served, the hum of dozens of small conversations form the cacophony of sound that fills the dining room.