Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lily
L et’s blow this popsicle stand!” I yell the words, the feeling of freedom within my hands.
It’s the feeling of three of my dearest friends in Birch Borough—Sparrow, Ivy, and Grey—deciding that we’re going to make Sparrow’s wedding day the best day ever. My heart is light. My man (my man!) has been texting me our favorite quotes from The Man is a Rake all morning, and I’m ready to sing like those little birds that have been screeching outside my window each day. For once, they didn’t annoy me this morning.
We just left Train Car Diner after a special breakfast complete with pancakes dressed in wedding gowns due to the whipped cream piled on top. After stopping at Angie’s Pies to grab a box of desserts and coffees, we head to the church, where Sparrow will make the final preparations for her wedding day. The spring air is cool at the edges this morning, promising warmth when the sun has more time to shine.
Leisel is going to meet us to finish Sparrow’s hair and makeup. Gladys promised she’d come by to give Sparrow something “old” (whatever that means). Cricket is meeting us to take behind-the-scenes photos of us all getting ready. While Ivy and Grey aren’t officially in the wedding party due to the limited number of groomsmen, they’re here with us for the morning.
While we planned to have a wild extravaganza for Sparrow’s last night before getting married, the truth is, none of us know how to stay out much past eight at night. Everything in town closes early. Sparrow and I know all too well what it means to occasionally have to temper chocolate or make yet another batch of croissants before others have hit the brew button on their coffee pots. Grey has incredibly late nights, but it’s because she reads until she’s convinced herself that one more chapter truly will be the end of her. And Ivy has been on a set sleep schedule since high school for optimum dance training and performance. She has never relinquished the habit.
So, last night, we ended up at Ivy’s dance studio, huddled on the floor with blankets spread out, surrounded by wall barres and memories. Ivy keeps the studio strung with twinkle lights, and they added to the cozy ambiance as we reminisced about the days when we all took lessons together as kids. Even considering the updates Ivy has made, the studio is still the place where my underwear ended up sticking out from my leotard and halfway down my thigh (I have pictures to prove it). I was traumatized to know that when your hands don’t look graceful, they can be called spider hands .
I only lasted in dance lessons until the spring recital, when I went rogue and started doing my own rendition of break dance moves. I didn’t even know what I was doing, and I blame High School Musical (the original, thank you very much) for the delusional idea of what can happen on a stage. Needless to say, I was kicked out of class. Grey lasted one more year until she sat in the middle of the stage, pulled a book from behind her, and began to read during practice.
Ivy and Sparrow were the only ones to stay with it. Sparrow danced until she was injured in her senior year of high school. Ivy went away for a bit, did a stint with a company in New York City, and then moved back to Birch Borough to open her dance studio. She’s owned it for five years or so now, and it’s clear to everyone around her that this is what she was meant to do with her life. This is her life calling, even when I see the familiar hint of sadness around her eyes and hear the way she jokes about dating apps but without giving her full smile. Sparrow is the only one of us who has found her person so far—correction, was the only person. I know there’s more to Ivy’s story than she lets on.
“Lily, tell me,” Ivy begins this morning as we unload our makeup and supplies in a room at the back of the church. “How do you feel not being single anymore? I mean, now I’m going to have to find someone else to suffer through the dating apps with.” She gives a frustrated growl, but she is smiling. We all cringe.
“I don’t envy you the struggle, my dear. That’s for sure.”
“You’ve fought well. I’m glad you made it through to the other side.”
I nod as she and I clink our champagne glasses. We’ve earned the celebration after enduring so many men and their mostly questionable choices for putting the best version of themselves on their dating profiles. Ivy is not yet in the clear, but I have hope for her.
“Grey, you’re not going to join Ivy on the apps?” I stuff my face with a cracker and French Brie from our makeshift charcuterie board.
Her cheeks tinge a light shade of pink at the question. “No, I don’t think those are for me.”
Ivy and Grey exchange a look that I note.
“Wait—what was that?” I ask, attempting to cover my mouth while still chewing.
“Honestly, Lils. Leave Grey be,” Sparrow whispers, always trying to be the peacemaker.
I swallow and point frantically, like I’ve just discovered a new way of applying nail polish that doesn’t involve fumes and a fan. “They shared a look!”
“I have a better question.” Sparrow redirects the conversation, aware that I’m oh-so-close to embarrassing myself and my friends. “Tell us more about who you’re bringing to my wedding.”
The smile on her face tells me that she’s asking because there is someone, and Grey has RSVP’d accordingly. She’d never call her out if it weren’t true.
“Boston.”
“You’re bringing a city to Rory’s wedding?” I ask skeptically, my eyebrows trying to meet my hairline, hoping she sees amusement on my face rather than an actual question. “Is he just your friend, or do you love him endlessly?” I’m clearly unable to keep the conversation light.
Grey’s skin shifts shades of red like a color-changing lava lamp. “I—” she begins, “I mean, I’ve known him since summer camp in sixth grade—literary camp.”
“Let’s get lit!” I mutter. Thankfully, she doesn’t hear it. Ivy stifles a laugh.
“I’ve seen him every year since . . . I mean, so, I love him, but . . . I mean, besides all of you, he’s my best friend.” Grey shrugs her shoulders as if that wasn’t the most awkward explanation for a male friend that I’ve heard in a while.
“That sounds lovely,” Sparrow exclaims, giving me a look that tells me to quit before I get deep into trouble with these people I love.
I turn back to Ivy instead, riveted by the turn this conversation is taking. “And who are you taking as your wedding date, Ivy?”
Her eyes widen as she takes the biggest bite of a brownie that I’ve ever seen.
“Ives, have you even met the man you’re taking?” I grin, using my nickname for Ivy—the one I’m not sure she loves but she knows she’s going to get anyway.
In reply, she nods and then stuffs the rest of the brownie into her mouth. If she’s hoping we move on without asking her any more questions, I want to give her an award.
“Okaaay,” I drag out the word.
She swallows, a hint of chocolate crumbs thrown in the air as she rubs her hands together. “It’s not worth dancing about,” Ivy says in her deep and sultry voice.
I’ve always been so jealous of her voice, which naturally sounds like the real-life equivalent of a bowl of rocky road ice cream. All elegance and grace, she’s everything sweet with this gritty, gorgeous speaking voice. How I wish it didn’t make mine sound like a chipmunk in comparison .
“Besides, you have a gorgeous man who is in love with you. A man who happens to be best friends with your best friend’s fiancé. A man who knows how to dance , Lily. Do you know what I would give for a man who loves me and can also dance with me? I mean, honestly.”
“But I—” I begin before she puts up her hand. Now I can understand how she wrangles all those tiny dancers in each and every class with such grace. She’s got the heart of an angel and the discipline to whip little terrors into shape.
“Besides, Graham may look like a billionaire, but something tells me he kisses like a rake.”
My mouth drops open in both surprise and delight at her statement.
“Knew it,” she concludes, her nose scrunched, fist lifting in a subtle pump of victory.
“Ladies!” Rafe’s voice carries through from the other side of the door.
I fight the urge to grin at Sparrow’s instant blush. It makes sense that they couldn’t keep away from each other for the entire day. She most definitely sent him a sneaky picture of the charcuterie board. The man is French after all. He can’t avoid wine and cheese even if he wants to.
“Stand back, D’Artagnan!” I yell toward the door. “Can’t be getting any bad luck over here—I don’t need those vibes!” He chuckles audibly as I mutter, “Graham and I have been through enough.”
I know Rafe has been spending the hours leading up to the ceremony with Graham, which means he’s somewhere nearby too. The train whistle sounds throughout the space from the nearby station, and Sparrow looks at me with a grin before looking at the door .
“Hear that, Sugar?” Rafe croons with a smile in his voice, no doubt thinking of how they first saw each other on a moving train. “That’s all the good luck we need.”
Gracefully, Ivy rises, her feet naturally turned out, dance training evident in every move. She glides closer to the door. “And is your Hallmark-worthy friend with you too?”
A deep chuckle I recognize as Graham’s makes me rush to the door.
“Ivy, Grey—you’re on Sparrow duty,” I say, excitement lacing my voice. “Close your eyes, Rafe!”
With that, I’m through the door and standing in the hallway. Rafe is startled by my sudden appearance, but Graham gives me a smoldering look hot enough to cook the pancakes we ate this morning.
Pulling away my attention, Rafe hands me an envelope with his handwriting on the front. It’s addressed to Sugar . I nod to him, already knowing he wants me to give it to Sparrow.
“I will,” I assure him without being asked. In an uncharacteristic move, I throw my arms around Rafe and hug him. I hug him because he loves my friend so well and because he cares for the man I love so much. And I’ve come to love him as a close friend too.
“Thanks, Lils,” Rafe says, his warm return hug comforting. He is so much like how I imagine the brother I always wish I had would be. When he releases me, he looks between Graham and me, giving us a nod. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
With a wink, he’s gone.
It’s just Graham and me in the tiny hallway of the stone church. I want to hold him close and never let go. I’m in my trusty “Maid of Honor” sweatshirt and jeans, but he looks at me as if I’m already wearing my silky gown.
“Hi, honey,” he says, his voice rasping with the perfect amount of grit.
“Hi, Graham.” I use his name with deliberate intention. Graham deserves to never be called George again (although, I’m sure I’ll find other terms of endearment for him soon).
Slowly, he tucks his arms behind his back. I’ve never seen him in the posture before, and it’s the stuff dreams are made of. It’s maddening and even more so when he shifts his weight to one side so that his other leg is relaxed. Graham’s casual pose is the stuff women faint over, to be honest. The draw is the pull of confidence when a man stands as if he is utterly relaxed and without a care in the world while he’s at your side. And, of course, at the sight of it, my hormones throw a rager.
I know what it means to see someone you want and not be able to find the words you need to express what you feel. There have been moments when I couldn’t find the courage to show him what he meant to me, even when he was right in front of me. There is a dread that hits in the deep of night after you’ve mulled over your relationship a while and are caught between regret and wondering if you’re the only one walking in a haze of your own making while everyone else gets to see their path with clarity. I know what it means to sit across from someone at a dinner table and wish it was someone else. And now, here he is in real life.
I reach for him, my hand alighting on his shoulder. But I pull my hand back, still getting used to the fact that I can touch him anytime I want.
“You all right?” Graham asks, such concern etched into his brow that it almost makes me want to laugh or cry. I can’t decide.
“Hand fell asleep,” I reply quickly.
“We touched for two-point-five seconds.” His eyebrow arches.
I want to roll my eyes at his smugness—and for his accuracy with time. “I’m warming up.”
“Warming up for what exactly?” The hint of playfulness in his tone sends me back to LA. In the memory, we’re eating tacos from a food truck and riding the Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. We’re visiting studio sets and attending tapings for some of our favorite shows.
And I realize it’s just him and me once again. It’s the way I’ve always wanted it to be. I step forward and wrap my arms up and around his neck, the tips of my fingers grazing the ends of his hair. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead down to mine, expecting me to meet him halfway. Instead, I press gentle kisses at the edges of his mouth, the scent of his beard oil and the promise of tomorrow pulling me closer.
Sharply, he inhales. Without opening his eyes, his hand cups the edge of my jaw. His breath is sweet peppermint, warm and welcoming as his lips hover over mine. Graham brushes them softly, passing agonizingly and deliciously over my own. The electric current between us sends chills down my spine. His arms wrap tightly around my ribs, pulling me closer before he gives me one final kiss, his fingers gently tugging the hair at the base of my neck.
“I’ll see you at the altar,” he says slowly near the shell of my ear. His voice ruins me for any other words because nothing could mean as much to me. We’re not getting married today, but that was everything I needed. A promise of a beautiful future to come.
By the time I gather myself enough to move again, Graham is halfway down the hall, walking back to the room he is hanging out in today with Rafe.
Inhaling, I open the door to the bridal suite to find all three of my friends looking at me with knowing grins. Holding out the card from Rafe to Sparrow is all I can manage, my body still reveling in the cocoon of Graham’s affection.
“Okay, Rory.” I smile, tears suddenly brimming in my eyes. “Let’s get you married.”
For today, the fear I’ve held close for far too long is a memory instead of a companion. I told Graham he makes me want to soften. What he doesn’t realize is that his love is also what makes me strong.