Chapter 12
TWELVE
Lauren
The next day passes in a blur of room service, ice packs, and either Kate, Max, or Ginger checking on me every couple of hours. Ginger — Max’s mom — is hilarious, telling me about all of the gossip in her coven.
By afternoon, my sides hurt from laughing and I've changed into a soft cotton dress for the rehearsal. My ankle fizzes with pain, and I suck in a sharp breath as I navigate the crutches.
“How does it feel?” He’s asked me this three times already this afternoon.
I shrug. “When I move a certain way. I'm not used to these yet.” I lift one of the crutches.
We're standing at the altar during rehearsal.
Well, Max is standing, and I'm propped on the wooden sticks.
Yesterday, the first day after the accident, wasn't so bad because I'd spent most of it in bed or on the balcony.
Today I've been forced into activity and I can feel it in every nerve of my ankle.
We both look toward the garden's far end, where Kate and Damien are having an animated conversation with Ginger.
Max's sister and Kate's mom are milling around, pointing at decorations, moving chairs, and laughing.
Angus has a screwdriver in his hand and appears to be tightening something on the gift table.
Remy's grabbed a beer, and it looks like Tate's chatting up the catering manager, a pretty woman in her forties.
“Why were we the only ones to walk down the aisle? I thought we were rehearsing. What are we doing, exactly?”
Initially, Max had managed to corral everyone around the altar. Then things disintegrated into controlled chaos, leaving Max and I — and my crutches — standing around.
“My family tends to get distracted. It's remarkable we get anything done.” He pauses. “The ibuprofen isn't working?”
I shake my head. “I took one this morning.”
He turns to me. “This morning? It's three in the afternoon. You should take a pain pill.”
“I'm managing.”
He frowns, steps down from the platform, and grabs a chair from the front row. Sets it next to me. “Sit.”
“No, I'm okay.”
“They'll talk for a while. I know Damien when he starts making those hand gestures.” We both look over, and Damien and Kate are deep in conversation. She's listening to him, rapt. She stands on her tiptoes and strokes his face. He pushes her hair back.
“We've got our part down. It's everyone else who needs to rehearse.” He pats the back of the seat. “There's no need for you to stand there in pain.”
He steps down and pulls up a second chair next to mine.
Groaning, I ease myself into it. The pain eases immediately.
“Better?”
“Yeah. It is.” I let out a breath. “Thank you.”
He sits beside me and we both face Damien and Kate, who are now kissing. Again. They do kiss an awful lot.
Ginger calls across the garden. “Angus, have you seen Steve?”
“He's with Tate,” Angus says without looking up from his screwdriver.
Tate rips himself away from the woman. “Steve’s sleeping up in Kate’s room.”
Max sighs. “This will definitely take a while.”
I turn to look at him. “Are you the only organized one in your family?”
He chuckles. “Me and Dad. It's why he wanted me to handle the renovation and sale. If it were left to everyone else, it would be a very charming disaster.” He glances at Damien and Kate, who are now rubbing noses. “Although Damien's got his own very particular distraction now.”
We look at each other and laugh.
He rests his hand on the back of my chair and strokes my hair, and I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and let the Florida sunshine wash over my face.
“You don't have to carry me everywhere, you know.”
Max sets me on the sofa, then climbs on and arranges pillows behind me.
“I know. But it was faster.” He gestures. “Here, lean back.”
I scoot to the pillows and sink against them.
He'd been like this all day — steering me through the rehearsal, managing my crutches at the barbecue, fixing me a plate, appearing at my elbow whenever I needed something before I'd had a chance to ask. I'm not used to this. I'm not sure what to do with his attention.
I’m also not sure how to handle the feeling that I really like all of Max’s attention.
“You're being so kind to me. Why?”
He grins and shrugs, which is not really an answer, but as I’m coming to understand, it’s a very Max answer.
“I need to tell your mother she did a wonderful job raising you.”
“She'll be pleased to hear it.” He perches on the end of the bed. “You going to be okay alone tonight?”
“I'll be fine. Go! It's your brother's bachelor party. You can't miss that.” I reach for his hand and squeeze. “Night fishing sounds genuinely cool, though.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe once you're on your feet in a few weeks we can get Remy to take us out. It's even better in summer when the heat breaks at night.”
“I'm in.” I pause, aware I won't be here in summer — aware that by the time I'm capable of going on a boat, Max will probably be back in New York. “Just don't let me hang off the side while I’m taking photos. I’ll probably fall in and get eaten by a gator.”
He laughs. Then he brushes my hair back from my face and leans in for a kiss. Soft and unhurried. My stomach unknots.
“I've wanted to do that all day,” I say against his mouth.
“Same.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I wasn't sure if you wanted everyone to know.”
“I don't mind if they know.” I look up at him. “Do you?”
“Not remotely.”
We kiss again, longer this time, and when we finally break apart I have to catch my breath.
“You'd better go,” I whisper. “It's nearly seven.”
He stands, reluctantly. “I'll text you later.”
“Is there cell service on the river?”
“Spotty. I'll try.” He leans down and presses one more kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest. Tomorrow's the big day.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “No strip clubs.”
He scowls. “Absolutely not. I can't speak for Remy, but that's not my thing.”
Because a man that good-looking doesn't have to pay for attention. I grin. “Go.”
As he reaches the door there's a knock from the other side.
“That’s probably Kate,” I call out.
Max opens it, and several people spill in at once. Kate, her mom Carolyn, Ginger, Natalia, and a woman I've never met. She’s carrying a large jug of Cuervo Gold tequila by the handle.
“Looks like a party,” Max says, stepping aside. He catches my eye and smiles. “Have fun, ladies.”
The door closes behind him and I watch five women bustle into my suite.
“What is happening?” I say to Kate, who takes my arm and guides me to the sofa.
“We thought we'd bring the bachelorette party to you.” She tucks a pillow under my cast. “And this is Sadie Greco — we went to high school together. I told you about her.” She points to the woman I don't know, who has strawberry-colored hair, the most charming freckles, a nose ring, and a black tank top with a female pirate on the front.
A pirate with a knife in her teeth. “She's about to open a pirate river cruise here in Cypress Grove.
She's got a captain's license, found a boat, and everything. Sadie spent months finding the perfect pirate themed vessel for the river.”
“Salty Sadie's Pirate Ship,” the woman says, setting the tequila on the table and extending a hand. I notice her black matte manicure embossed with tiny skulls. “No need to get up.”
“Great nails,” I say immediately. “Can I photograph those for my Instagram story?”
“I knew you two would get along,” Kate says, rubbing her hands together.
My brain kicks into gear. “A pirate cruise is genuinely perfect for social media. The possibilities—”
“Exactly what I thought,” Sadie says, grinning.
Kate flicks on the TV. Carolyn pulls a blender out of the kitchenette cabinet. Ginger produces an entire charcuterie board from a canvas tote bag.
“Kate, you didn't have to do this,” I say softly. “You could have gone out.”
“Why would I go out when all my favorite people are in one room?” She settles onto the sofa beside me. “Lift your leg. Like a dog.”
I giggle and raise my leg and cast, and she helps settle it on the coffee table pillow.
Over the next four hours we chat and snack and laugh. I have one virgin margarita, and actually enjoy the tangy lime flavor. We watch Bridesmaids and cackle. We don't play cheesy games. There are no male strippers (although I have to admit, I’d pay to see Carolyn and Ginger with male strippers).
Sadie and I spend a solid half hour mapping out a social media strategy for the pirate ship, and she promises to take me out for a sunset sail when my ankle is stronger so I can shoot the river from the water with my good camera.
The moms hold court with town gossip that gets increasingly outrageous as the tequila level drops.
“Wait.” I shake my head. “The mayor runs a hot dog cart?”
The laughter peaks and then mellows into casual conversation. Kate slips into the kitchenette while the moms chatter, and I don't think much of it. She emerges a few minutes later with a small mug and sets it on the coffee table in front of me.
“Drink this.”
I lean forward and smell it. It’s something familiar — chamomile, definitely, and perhaps mint. Back in Chicago, Kate used to leave tinctures on the kitchen counter for menstrual migraines and hangovers.
“Is this one of your blends?” I ask.
“Drink it,” she says again, and reaches for a Dorito.
I wrap both hands around the mug and drink.
The full effect hits me in about ten minutes. The pain in my ankle doesn't disappear exactly — it's more like it moves to the background, like a radio turned down in another room. And that hollow feeling I'd noticed earlier, the one I couldn't quite name, eases without my permission.
It's as if the six of us have been friends for years despite the age differences and the fact that I arrived in Cypress Grove approximately forty-eight hours ago. At one point, as everyone chatters and laughs around me, I feel tears prick the back of my eyes without warning.
Kate's so lucky to have this. This town, these women, this warmth.
I've only ever really had Kate. Most of my other friendships have been transactional and transient, because at my core I'm shyer than I look.
Strangely, I don't feel that way here. There's something about Cypress Grove that makes me want to slow down.
As if people might want to know me for who I actually am rather than what I can post or promote.
Nobody had ever thought to take care of me the way these women are doing tonight. Growing up, I was the caretaker.
Or maybe it's simpler than that. I never stayed anywhere long enough to let people in. And before I started moving, I was too busy holding everything together to notice I was lonely.
“You okay?” Kate murmurs.
I nod and blink the tears back.
She squeezes my hand and doesn't push, which is why she's been my best friend for a decade.
For the rest of the night I let myself pretend that Cypress Grove is my home, that all this laughter and warmth is my life, and that these women are all my friends.
It's a very good pretend.