28. Pearl Davis
28
Pearl Davis
There is a reason I avoid wearing anything taller than two inches. These skyscraper heels might as well come with a proceed with caution sign for me. Forty-five minutes of standing in them has been enough. All I plan to do is to sit at the reception, so I doubt anyone will even notice if I ditch the cocktail hour to slip into my comfy sandals that are in my car. I could use the breather.
Edwin, one of the groomsmen, keeps making unwanted advances toward me. I have a feeling he thinks he’s doing me a favor by showing interest. He’s Kate’s cousin, and there’s no way she could have resisted telling him that I’m single and searching.
But no thanks. I may be single as a Pringle, but my heart isn’t in the game. It’s been taken hostage by Zane, and I’ve tried every trick in the book to move on. At this point, I’ll need divine intervention to even enjoy a nice conversation with a man that isn’t him. Until then, I’m doomed to be the girl with a Zane-shaped hole in her heart .
The cocktail hour is set outdoors, using the same space as the ceremony. The tall tables are decorated with white, gold, and teal tablecloths. There’s a large backdrop with Kate and Duke’s names for photo ops, adorned with flowers. Music fills the air as guests mingle, chatting and sipping on drinks in the pleasant, mild weather—the warmest Massachusetts can offer in April.
I make my way over to Robyn, who seems to be hitting it off with one of the groomsmen. Another casualty of wedding small talk, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. It’s written all over his face—that little crush he’s nursing for her.
“Hey, I’m going to grab a shoe change from the car. Shoot me a text when it’s almost time for the reception,” I tell her.
“Didn’t think you’d last in those heels. I’ll ring you up,” she replies with a nudge.
I shuffle awkwardly through the parking lot. Thank God Duke and Kate decided to host both the ceremony and reception at the same venue. It’s a breathtaking golf course, owned by a member of our church community who generously gifted it to them. I can only imagine how much having a free venue has alleviated their wedding expenses.
The golf course itself serves as a lush green carpet, stretching out as far as the eye can see, dotted with twinkling lights. The wedding arch is draped in cascades of white fabric and intertwined with fresh florals .
“If I hadn’t noticed the cocktail hour serving virgin drinks, I’d be suspicious,” Zane’s voice rings out, instantly recognizable to my heart.
My heart leaps as I turn to find the most attractive man in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a teal tie—Zane. His hair is neatly trimmed, and my heart warms just at the sight of him. If only it wouldn’t complicate things, I’d give anything to run straight to his arms. Every fiber of my being aches with how much I’ve missed him.
Tears threaten to spill at the overwhelming rush of emotions his presence brings.
“Zane, what are you doing here?” I manage to choke out, my voice sounding more robotic than I intended.
“Duke invited me. I couldn’t miss seeing you in that dress for sure,” he replies, flashing me a slow smile that sends heat creeping up my entire face.
Oh no, the dress that shows off all my insecurities.
“Pearl, you look beautiful,” he says, as if he could read the doubts swirling in my mind. Despite my resolve to not seek validation from a man, his compliment somehow manages to silence the chorus of negative thoughts that plague me.
“Well, if only I knew how to walk in these heels, I wouldn’t be totally embarrassed right now,” I reply, trying to deflect the attention away from my self-consciousness.
“I don’t know why women go through that trouble.” He rubs the back of his neck in that familiar gesture.
How I’ve missed every little thing about him.
“That makes two of us.” I feel a rush of warmth as he closes the distance between us .
He extends his arm for me to hook, and I accept without hesitation. Being near him feels reassuring, and it’s not just because of my wobbly heels. There’s a gut feeling that tells me letting him closer in my life could feel just as comforting.
As we stroll toward my car, we take a moment to catch up on the events of the past few weeks. I briefly share a heartwarming update about a client who has recently found a forever home with a wonderful family.
“But how do you get children that have been through hell on earth to actually share what’s happened to them?” Zane asks. “I could never open up to anyone for the longest time. I’d think most kids who never received love would be that way too.”
We reach my car and I pause to reflect on my sessions. “You know, children are just like us.” I lean against my car, facing him. “They crave the same thing we do: to be heard, truly heard, not always being told what to do or what to think, although that also has its place in child rearing. So, my approach with them is all about listening. When they open up, even just a crack, I make sure to echo back their words. It lets them know that, one, I’m following, and, two, this is important to me instead of taking the opportunity and making it about me and what I think. And when they’ve said all they want to share, we unpack it together, and I add a little bit more clarity to their thoughts from being more mature and having life experience, and of course, faith. None of my sessions go without a mention of the Creator who created us as emotional beings. ”
He gazes at me with a smile that lights up his eyes. “You speak about your job with such passion. You really love what you do.”
“I truly do. It’s more than just a job to me; it’s a calling, a purpose. It’s a gift, being able to pay forward the kindness and guidance I received. My old therapist was like a beacon of hope, Christ-like in her compassion. If I can offer even a fraction of that to the children I work with, it would mean everything. In this fractured world, people need safe spaces filled with hope.”
“Yeah, you mentioned her,” he recalls, stirring memories of our late-night phone conversations. I miss those calls every night. “It’s just hard to imagine you as the rebellious teenager you describe yourself as.”
“The transformative power of grace,” I muse, thinking back on the darkest time of my life. “Some of the families I lived with back then wouldn’t recognize the person I am today. All thanks to Jesus.”
He looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, and for the first time, I sense admiration, almost like he could understand or even relate to the impact of Jesus in my life. There’s none of his usual perplexed look or exasperated sighs.
As I swap my shoes, I try to study him, and suddenly, out of nowhere, his face breaks into laughter.
“Those have got to be the smallest feet I’ve seen in a while.”
“Don’t you dare bully me,” I playfully scold, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’re more than eight inches taller than me. ”
I quickly straighten up, using my dress to conceal my sandals.
“No, seriously, your feet are adorable. I bet they could fit in my palm. What size are you?”
I nudge him in the side and I’m met with the unexpected firmness of his rock-solid abs. My mouth mimes a “Wow” that he probably notices.
“I’m a size six. It’s not too small,” I say, feeling my cheeks and ears warm with embarrassment.
Thankfully, my phone rings with Robyn’s call. She tells me that they’re about to head to the reception venue.
“Robyn says it’s time for us to take our seats at the reception. Are you joining us? Or were you planning on heading home?”
“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere.” He smirks. “I think you might need some protection looking like that. Those groomsmen might just try to steal you away.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “And why would that be a problem? I’m a single woman, after all. I should be mingling.”
I know flirting with Zane always leads to the same conclusion—I end up proving to myself once again just how much I like him. Yet I let him lock eyes with me, and despite the inner warning bells, I can’t resist the pull of his ocean-blue gaze.
“You want to mingle out there?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness and tension that wasn’t there before. I notice the subtle tightening of his jaw, his body tensing up involuntarily, as if the mere thought of me mingling with someone else is causing him physical pain .
“You have a problem with that?” I ask, unable to suppress a small grin, though I reign in the squeal that wants out. I’ve never seen him more attractive. Jealous Zane, well, where have you been all my life?
He grabs my hand, sending shocks through my entire body as he inches closer in the empty parking lot. The sun is setting and it’s casting the perfect shadow across his face, and when he opens his mouth, I feel his minty breath tingle down my neck as he gazes at me intently. “What about me? You never wanted to mingle with me,” he murmurs, his eyes full of desire.
A small gasp escapes my lips. Is Zane going to kiss me here and now? And if he is, am I going to let him? Everything in me wants to bridge the gap between us, but up to this point, I’ve regretted all the guys I’ve ever kissed. I definitely don’t want Zane to be another name on that list of regrets. I’m also completely done engaging in meaningless kisses and fleeting moments of passion. My future husband deserves more self-control than this. Kissing Zane would be far from forgettable; it would be a memory etched into my heart forever. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.
I yank myself out of the trance he put me in and say, “I’m a bridesmaid. I can’t be late.” With determination in my steps, I start walking up toward the reception venue. He tries to catch up, but not in the way of someone eager to accompany me. Maybe he felt it too, that electric tension between us .
Something was about to happen. Why didn’t he just go for it? Why did he give me time to think and then chicken out?
No, it’s not chickening out. It’s being realistic. I’m preventing another heartache.
I try to console myself with that thought, even as I can’t shake the curiosity of what it would have been like to kiss Zane.