Chapter 35 Gracie #3
Somehow, I do manage to pick at my heaping dinner plate between my final check-ins with Phoebe, the band, the videographer, the oyster shucker, and the portrait artist who will be painting the newlyweds’ first dance.
Every time I pass Jude or Phoebe, I give them a fresh list of tasks, but I’m still a spinning top in constant motion.
I don’t find a moment for a full breath until the lights lower and Angie from The Love Notes invites everyone onto the dance floor.
Sofia gives me a wordless high five as she quickly passes me with her camera, snapping candid pictures of the dancers.
She knows the heavy lifting of the event is over.
Unless someone breaks an ankle doing the Electric Slide (yes, it’s happened before), I can relax a little until my end-of-night tasks kick into gear.
“One dance?”
I turn at the low, familiar voice, and he’s there, his gaze just as soft as the band’s slow-dance rendition of “Fly Me to the Moon.” As a wedding planner, I never dance at my clients’ receptions.
But Jude is looking at me like he’s been waiting for this moment all night, and as I glance around the joy-filled room, I know no one will miss me for a few moments.
“I can’t dance with the guests,” I tell him.
He smiles and takes my hand. “I know the perfect place,” he says, leading me to the very same potted plant I got caught in when we first met.
When he tugs me out of sight behind it into a small, shadowed alcove, my breath catches as he pulls me flush against his body.
“If you’re trying to be romantic,” I say, staring at the bladelike leaves, “we could always just pretend we met somewhere less deadly.”
“And sacrifice authenticity?” he chides as his warm hands find the bare skin of my lower back. “I’ll accept the risks.”
“Even crushed toes? Agatha never made me learn the waltz,” I warn, automatically looping my wrists behind his neck.
The swirl of pink and orange lights is muted in our shadowed corner, but his smile is bright. “No doubt one of her only major life regrets.”
I tilt my head back to meet his eyes as the music pulls us into swaying movement. “At least we’re dressed for the occasion,” I say as his solid warmth begins to permeate my thin silk. “She would have loved our outfits.”
“Mm, I think she would have preferred if we were both wearing something… louder.”
I smile. “Maybe she was onto something. I’d love to see you in that purple sequined bolero sometime.”
He points a thumb over his shoulder. “I could put it on now if you want,” he offers. “It goes great with the gold lamé leotard she gave me for my birthday last year.”
I grin up at him as he turns us in a slow circle. “And have you upstage my dress? I don’t think so.”
“Audrey Hepburn herself couldn’t upstage you in that dress.” His hand slides low and gives me a rough squeeze. “She doesn’t have the ass for it.”
I would laugh if his grip weren’t deep-frying all my abilities beyond mouth breathing.
“Do you like it?” he asks, trailing his fingers up the curve of my cheek to the small of my back.
My eyelids dip as I arch into his touch. “Yes,” I breathe.
“Good to know, but I meant the dress,” he says with a chuckle.
My face becomes a magnet for all the blood in my body. “I knew what you meant,” I lie.
“So that’s a yes,” he says carefully, but I can hear how much he wants me to agree. To tell him that yes, I enjoy receiving as much as he loves giving.
“I like it,” I confess.
I feel his physical reaction in the flex of his hands and his short exhale against my bangs.
“Thank you for wearing it,” he says, like I’ve endured a hardship.
“It’s the least I could do,” I tell him. “You’ve helped everything go perfectly today.”
He shakes his head. “I’m just the vomit squad.
This whole event… everyone’s happiness…” He looks beyond my shoulder at the party before finding my eyes again.
“That’s all because of you, Gracie.” He shakes his head.
“No cynic would stand a chance in this room tonight. You could pull love from a stone.”
Love. The word is heavy and jewel-bright in my mind, spinning in time with our own slow rotations. My heart begins to rise, crowding my throat as it pulses with a question I’m suddenly too afraid to ask directly.
“So maybe weddings aren’t quite as despicable as you imagined?”
His hands pull me closer as his eyes roam over my face. “You make it easy to imagine spending the rest of my life with one person.”
“Jude,” I whisper as my arms tighten around his neck.
He kisses me, and it feels like the rebirth of every part of me that wanted to stop believing in love.
For the first time in so long, I feel something like real hope radiate in my chest. That maybe love isn’t just for people in movies and novels—but finally something warm and solid I can hold onto for myself.
I tilt my face, needing him to know how close I want him.
I feel the vibration of his groan in the ends of my hair as our kiss slides into something too feral for a polite jazz standard.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m being unprofessional.
I’m on the job. But he just gave me the closest thing to a love declaration I’ve ever received, and unless there’s a major accident, no one is going to miss me for a few minutes.
And so I break free and say the only two words I can manage: “The pantry.”