31
As much as my gaze travels to Anders throughout the wedding, and how much he always takes up space in my head, I finally have enough of a distraction to think of something else.
Valerie, as she promised, with her makeup and hair done—half up, half down—looks radiant as she listens to John’s shaky, nervous but genuine vows.
Even when she cries at them and her cheeks become speckled with mascara, the happiness in her eyes—made brighter when John wipes the tears away—makes her an ethereal being.
I pat my own cheeks dry as the officiant, Bethany, pronounces them wife and husband, and I let out a half sob when they kiss.
Officially married.
How it was meant to be, always, even when I thought differently.
We cheer for them as they walk out of the hall hand in hand, and the party follows them down the aisle before the rest of the guests clear out for the reception. Somehow, I get paired with Anders as we walk, and our arms bump each other twice as we make our way out.
He apologizes swiftly, and I shrug it off, pretending each physical touch doesn’t make my heart pound and my head spin.
Like we promised, when we make it out the doors, the bridal party steals Valerie away to a separate room and helps her change into a sexier minidress that shows enough cleavage to make John pass out.
She keeps the veil on when we’re done, and during their first dance. She tosses it to the ground as soon as it’s over, turns to the crowd, and screams, “Let’s party!”
And the night really begins.
As soon as I’m clear of any bridal party duties, I grab the nearest wineglass and chug it. Nerves have killed my appetite, and the liquid burns as it slides down my throat, settling at the pit of my stomach.
I’m seated between Jennifer and Taina—Taina already up and flirting with one of the guests—and I don’t care that Jennifer is reaching into my clutch, because while she steals my second-best lipstick, I steal her wineglass and down that too.
My gaze scans the room and immediately lights on Anders, who is standing by the round tables, talking to a woman I don’t recognize. It’s not exactly jealousy that runs through me, but it’s too unpleasant to be anything close to neutral, so I take Taina’s left-behind glass and drink that too.
In my head, I was going to approach Anders immediately, clear things up, strike up a conversation, ask him how he’s been, tell him how I’ve been, mention, I don’t know, that I think about him way too much to keep to myself, and I’m regretful for ignoring him and leaving, not trying harder to stay when he’s spent his whole life worried people will leave so he makes himself as small as possible to prevent that in the first place.
Easy, light stuff.
I groan and slam my head on the table. Where is the courage that brought me back to Charleston? That let me face everyone I feared, leaving behind New York and what I thought I wanted, and start something different—similar, but different.
Does my courage apply to everything but love?
No, I’m in a different place now. I have a job I love and my own space, and I’m not exactly where I want to be, but I’m on the way. I love where I live. I love having an honest start. I love my life here, my friends, my sister, and I’m happy.
Nearly perfectly happy, too—but that’s impossible right now, anyway. Not when I’m missing one thing, one person.
I suck in a breath, fortify myself, and stand. I move forward toward Anders, and his head turns slightly toward me.
And I whirl around and bump into another table. Amazing start, honestly.
After a few minutes, I try again, and as soon as Anders makes a move to turn in my direction, I pivot. It happens enough times that Anders and the woman finish their conversation, and he walks away talking to a man with blond hair.
Instead of trying again, I find an empty table and sit down for a quick time-out. I need to get it together. There’s no need to be nervous. I told myself weeks ago I was going to face Anders head-on when I saw him. It’s not like I’m doing anything difficult. It’s a conversation, for God’s sake.
I get up, my knees buckle, and I immediately sit back down.
“You’re the worst,” I mutter to myself, dropping my forehead onto the table once, twice, several times in punishment.
Something soft blocks my headbutt, and his words make my body pulse with warmth as he says, “Are the tables here upsetting you? I’ve seen you bump into several.”
I move my face back from his palm, and when I turn, my nose is pressed against his; he’s so close. Every part of me stills, and my heart races hard enough that the vibration reverberates throughout my rib cage.
“You’ve seen me all this time?”
“I, well, yes,” he admits, pulling away to stand, and my body instinctively misses his proximity. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me or if I kept catching you trying to avoid me, so I thought I’d just ask you directly.”
Too desperate to have dignity, the words tumble out of me. “I don’t want to avoid you.”
Finally, a glimpse of Anders appears. His dimples press into his cheeks as his smile slowly takes over his face. “That’s good to know.”
“I also didn’t want to avoid you yesterday,” I explain, “but I was—you caught me at an inopportune time—I wanted to, I don’t know, not look ridiculous.”
“You were as beautiful then as you are now.”
I frown at him. “You’ve become a better liar.”
His smile falters—maybe the reminder of the time we spent apart upsets him as much as it upsets me.
“Can we talk?” We ask at the same time, mirroring each other’s smiles.
Anders holds out a hand as the band plays a slow couples’ dance. I take it, and he leads me to the dance floor. His hands snake around my waist, and I press my palms to his chest, let my hand feel his heartbeat, and notice its rhythm speeding to match mine.
He leads me through the first half of the song, and I lay my head on his chest, letting myself get lost in the moment without any baggage or hurt or anything in between. Just the comfort of Anders, of us.
Anders breaks the silence. “Why did you leave?” he asks. “And why did you ignore me when I reached out?”
I tilt my head back to face him. “I wanted to stay with you, but I didn’t want to either,” I answer. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Then make it,” he says softly.
I suck in a breath. “I think I was worried that what Mathew said was right. That everything I touch gets ruined. That somewhere deep in my subconscious, there was someone who used people, and if I was using you, then I couldn’t do it anymore.
I didn’t want to. But then I wanted to be with you so much, so badly, and wished that it was all real, of course, but if it was and I ruined it, how could I forgive myself?
And after what I did, I wondered if you could forgive me at all anyway? ”
He doesn’t falter as the melody changes to another slow ballad, but his hand travels to my face as he cups my cheek. The act is sweet, tender, but his words are hot. “That pisses me off,” he says, “that you thought he was right, that you assumed how I would feel without coming to me first.”
I try to look down, but he pulls my face toward his.
“I thought,” I explain, “it was better not to know than to risk finding out that you couldn’t forgive me. That it would hurt less if I left it all open instead of letting you shut the door between us.”
“But that’s not everything,” he notes.
“No. I needed some time to try to figure myself out. To try to heal a little of what I didn’t even know was broken.
Honestly, I’m not sure if I fully have. I’m probably still a little broken right now.
So maybe it’s wrong to be here with you, like this.
You’re supposed to love yourself first before anyone can love you, right? ”
“Even if you haven’t figured out how to love yourself fully,” Anders says, “I have fallen in love with you easily and fully, so no, you don’t have to love yourself for someone to love you.
I already do.” When my legs buckle, he wraps his arms around me and leans down.
“But I’d like for you to see yourself the way I do. ”
“Anders, wait”—I hold out my hands—“this is not what I was planning. This is not my vision. We’re skipping steps.
I need to say sorry, and then also make a humiliating mention of how many times I stopped myself from reaching out to you, how I called you to hear your voice.
Then I was hoping, you know, you had some equally, if not worse, embarrassing moments for me, so that way I don’t feel like such a moron for not just reaching out. We can equally just realize that—”
“Please”—Anders grips my face with both hands—“take a breath, Lucinda.”
He’s so focused on me that we bump into a couple of dancers nearby. Anders pulls away, one hand remaining on my waist as he apologizes.
This close, I see it’s the blond man Anders was talking to earlier. Then, a bulb flickers so bright in my head it burns. I hold out a finger toward him. “You’re the sexy plumber!”
“Excuse me?” both he and Anders say at the same time, the latter very much annoyed by the statement.
I wave him off, then push the finger to Anders’s chest. “You know him?”
“Yeah,” he says, then immediately shakes his head. “I mean, not well. We went to high school together. We haven’t spoken in a while.”
He’s not looking me in the eyes. “So you’re actually not a better liar.”
When his lips twitch and he pulls away so I can’t examine him closely, I know he’s lying.
“You’re my luck,” I say, more and more pieces forming into warm, jagged, sweet pictures. “You told him to give the shelter a discount.”
“Lucinda, I don’t know—”
“I bet if I called all our vendors, they’d say they know you, like you, and have spoken to you about K9 Friends.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He fully steps away, looking around like someone can save him.
“Anders.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to feel like I was overstepping, or taking anything away from all you worked for.
I just thought, you know, even if I couldn’t help directly, I wanted to try and ease some burdens for you.
It’s a lot, owning a business, and you moved down to a new place on your own, and you barely have any staff. ”
“Anders”—I hold my hands to his chest—“you have been keeping tabs on me this whole time? It hasn’t been just me?”
“Of course, Lucinda, how could I ever get you out of my head?”
I grip his face, pull him down to me, and press my mouth to his.
As soon as I feel the softness of his lips, the warmth of his touch as his hands wrap around me and press me closer to his body—harder and harder until there’s no space between us—my heart races so fast I’m sure it’s leaving tire marks in my chest.
The feel of him, his very presence, fills every gap of happiness that has been left open since he’s been gone.
I pull away, my chest pounding, heat rushing through every muscle in my body. “Anders, I’ve missed you.”
He presses a hungry kiss over my lips in answer.
I pull away again, and he groans.
“Anders,” I say, “I love you.”
“Lucinda.” Anders presses a kiss on my cheek, my neck, my chin, my mouth, like he’s trying to kiss every exposed inch of skin as he speaks. “I love you too.” More kisses, more fingers clinging into my skin, pulling me closer. “Stay with me. Don’t leave again.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I answer with my own spread of kisses. “This is my home.”
His gaze softens, and his lips move to the side of my head. At that, a round of applause thunders around us. Anders’s family, my family, smile our way, and Valerie and Taina make kissy faces as they do.
No glaring, no lies, no baggage.
Just love, all around, for everyone.