Forty-Five
Rowan
The sun is setting over the lake, turning the sky deep shades of rose and amber. The glass doors of the reception hall are wide open, letting cool evening air drift inside to cut through the heat of the dance floor.
Madison’s wedding has been, predictably, an exercise in military efficiency.
Every napkin fold was inspected. Every floral arrangement scrutinized. Every member of the wedding party received a detailed itinerary that Noah claimed was longer than his medical licensing exam.
And yet, sitting at the table in my blush pink dress, I have to admit she pulled off a miracle.
She looked breathtaking as she walked down the aisle. Beckett looked like a man who’d just won every lottery.
It’s been such a beautiful day.
My feet, however, are killing me.
Between photographs on the lawn, standing through the ceremony, and several hours in heels designed by someone who clearly hates women, the familiar ache has settled deep in my joints.
I’m reaching beneath the table to slip off my shoes when the DJ’s voice fills the room. “All right, everyone! Let’s get the wedding party out here!”
The room erupts.
Griffin is already pulling Piper toward the dance floor. Noah is out there too, spinning one of Madison’s friends.
I look at the dance floor. Then at my feet.
Shit.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hudson stands beside my chair in his black tuxedo, his tie loosened and his jacket open.
God, he’s hot.
“I was thinking about making a run for the exit,” I say. “I’m done. My feet are on fire.”
He holds out his hand. “You owe me a dance.”
I stare at it. “You heard the part about my feet?”
“Yes.”
“And your response is dancing?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Trust me.”
On the dance floor, one hand closes around mine. The other settles on my waist. He pulls me closer and gives a subtle lift, taking enough of my weight through his arm that the pressure on my feet eases almost immediately.
I blink. “Oh, sweet fuck.”
“Better?”
I just keep making noises in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I rest my head against his chest as we sway. His arm stays solid around me, supporting my weight without making a spectacle of it. No one around us notices, which might be my favorite part.
I tilt my head back. “This is alarmingly hot.”
“Dancing?”
“You’re carrying me. My feet are very grateful.” I press against his ear. “I’m extremely turned on right now.”
He misses a step.
I burst out laughing.
“Rowan,” he groans.
“What?”
He shakes his head, though a smile breaks through. “Why can we never have a serious moment?”
I smile and loop my arms around his neck.
Around us, the dance floor is full. Madison is laughing in Beckett’s arms, her veil long gone and her hair starting to fall from the clips. Piper and Griffin are swaying near the edge. Noah is still making a public nuisance of himself.
Dad sits beside Mom at their table, their hands linked as they watch everyone.
Nobody is watching me. Not because they don’t care, but because they don’t need to.
I’m safe here.
My feet hurt. My hip is tired. Tomorrow will probably involve painkillers, oversized clothes, and doing nothing.
None of that has ruined tonight. It doesn’t make Madison’s wedding less beautiful, and it doesn’t make me a problem.
It’s just part of me.
Hudson’s thumb glides slowly against my waist. “You disappeared into your head.”
“I’m assessing.”
“That’s my line.”
“I steal a lot of your things.”
“My shirts.”
“Your food.”
“My bed.”
I smile softly. “Your heart.”
He gives me a flat look. “Jesus Christ.”
“That was good!”
The song changes to a slower rhythm, but neither of us moves away.
“My feet still hurt,” I tell him. “You planning to hold me up all night?”
“If necessary.”
Resting my head against his shoulder, I let him carry the weight, and we keep dancing.