Page 93 of The Best Men
Such a simple, throwaway word.
A word we use for the weather, of all things.
Maybe that’s the right usage, since there’s a storm brewing inside me from that word and the way he delivers it, like that’s all he wanted from me last night.
But possibilities ofniceare doing all sorts of crazy things to my head, so I slam the drawer on those when we reach Ramon, and he shows us around the tent.
“It’s the tent of our dreams,” Asher declares after the brief tour.
“Perfect,” Ramon says, then tells him the final price.
And it’s a bit too high. I’m positive that’s not the number Asher agreed to before, though.
I nudge Asher. Just a little. His eyes flick to mine as he chews his lip.
“So, uh, you quoted us a number about ten percent less, man. I could find the email,” I say.
Ramon stops. He frowns slightly. And Asher opens his mouth, probably to tell him that it’s fine. That it doesn’t matter. “We’re going to need ten percent off that,” he says instead, leaving no room to argue.
“But . . .” Ramon begins.
Asher straightens his spine. “That’s what we agreed to, Ramon. This stunning, beautiful tent we’re going to post pictures of and rave about . . . at a slightly lower price.”
And just like that, Ramon smiles and nods. “Yes, of course. I’ll make the correction.”
When the man heads off to grab his tablet, I put a hand on Asher’s back. “You know what? Negotiation turns me on too.”
“Does it now?” he asks in a silky voice. “I think you’rerubbing offon me.”
“Oh, you can bet I’ll do that later.”
But there’s no more time to flirt, because once we finish with Ramon, Hannah scurries over and asks me to help review the reception seating.
I do that poolside for a few hours, stealing glances at the time, hoping I don’t miss my last chance tonight.
But this is the world’s longest planning session.
It never ends as vendors rush by, as flowers are delivered, as caterers set up for the rehearsal dinner in four hours, as the day thins, and the hours disappear. It continues even as I take a quick dip in the pool with Rosie, then I return right away to the planning table.
As the clock races toward three, Hannah, my mom, and I are knee-deep in seating charts and I want to stab myself in the eyes.
But this is Hannah’s one and only wedding, so a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
Including trying to keep my eyes off the guy who thinks last night wasnice. He’s stalking toward the table, phone to his ear. “Yes, Simone. I understand.”
That’s the wedding photographer, and Asher’s voice sounds heavy. “Sure, things come up. But . . .”
His jaw is tight as he paces along the pool.
“And you’re good with the Steinbergs here?” my sister asks my mom.
Mom answers but I pay no mind. My ears are on Asher. If the photographer is bailing...
My shoulders tighten.
“Your apprentice? Hmm. Well, I’d have to see her work,” Asher continues.
I stand, cross over to him. “Have them send a portfolio now,” I hiss.
