Page 9 of Good as Gold
Weddings last forever.
At least it feels that way. After I spot Leila in the crowd, time slows down to a crawl, and it’s a struggle not to stare at her. I can’t stop cataloging all the things that are familiar—like her high cheekbones and thick brown hair with soft waves that tighten into curls when it rains.
The Golden Girl is still the most beautiful thing in the room.
Then my eyes dip to the low neckline of her dress, and I want to slap myself. Partly because she’s married to the guy who used to be my other best friend. And partly because I packed those feelings away a long time ago.
Some things just weren’t meant to be, no matter how badly your teenaged self craved them.
I made my choices. I left town, thinking I was the smart one. I craved success and validation. And it worked for a while. I had a big life, full of shiny new adventures. But look how that’s turning out?
Rory was the smarter man all along. He stayed behind and married the best woman in Vermont.
It hurts me to think about it, so I try not to. The two of them as a couple will never make sense to me. Some of that is simple jealousy. I’ll admit it.
Okay, alotof it is jealousy. But still—I never considered myself good enough for Leila. My eyes find their way to her pretty face one more time. She’s sitting perfectly still, her back straight, her eyes alight. There’s just an energy to her that I’ve always been drawn to.
A decade and a half hasn’t dimmed that. Nor my attraction to it.
It’s going to be a long night.
* * *
My plan for after the wedding is to find Leila and to find the bar, not necessarily in that order.
I didn’t count on photos. In fact, I had no earthly idea that agreeing to the last-minute request that I stand up for my brother in his wedding meant that I’d be posed in eighty-seven different shots afterward.
“Stop scowling,” the bride says, poking me in the ribs. “Just two more, and then you can have some barbecue and a beer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Where did Grandpa go?” she asks, looking around.
“He escaped after the first group shot,” my brother tells her. “Sorry. He mumbled something about appetizers and hitched a ride down the hill.”
“Smart man,” I say under my breath.
“All right.” May claps her hands. “I changed my mind. We’re done here! Let’s party.”
A whoop goes up among the bridesmaids and groomsmen.
“See? I always knew you were cool,” I mumble as I loosen my bowtie. And my brothers laugh.
She smacks my arm. “Interesting timing you’ve got, showing up in Vermont now.”
I have no idea why people keep saying that to me.
But at least it’s time for beer.
* * *
Alec’s reception is at hisotherbar. Speakeasy is less than a quarter mile downriver from the Gin Mill, and it has an upstairs space that’s meant for parties. There’s a dance floor and a band on the second floor, and they’re setting up a meal downstairs in the main bar and dining area.
“Goddamn, this place is cool,” I say as I eye the converted mill with its brick walls, heavy wooden floors, and original beams. “Must have been a pricey renovation.”
“You own, what, eight percent of this place?” Benito asks me. “Don’t you get the quarterly updates?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I read them.” My investment is small. “Looks like Alec is doing fine without any input from me.”
