Page 52 of That Reilly Boy
That’s my cue to make sure I’m beaming with joy when Lorene also turns her attention to me. Thinking about the french fries I’m about to order definitely helps, though I’m not as smooth a liar as Hayden. Hopefully anybody who notices it will chalk my wavering smile up to pre-wedding jitters.
“Incredibly happy,” I say when it becomes obvious Lorene expects me to chime in. I don’t really know what else to say.
Hayden comes to my rescue—again. “Wedding planning really works up an appetite, though. Thinking about your burgers and fries was the only thing that got us through picking a cake flavor.”
“Had dessert first, did you?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just the debate without the tasting, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, since we have plenty of room for fries now.”
Once Lorene has taken our orders, I can relax my face a little, but I’m still conscious that half the people in the diner are talking about us. And I’m also aware I can’t accidentally say anything that might give us away—especially a snarky comment about how good Hayden is at working cons.
It’s a lot of pressure, so I don’t say anything at all while Lorene drops off our sodas and moves on. But when I reach for my straw, the diamond on my finger catches the light, mesmerizing me.
My breath catches in my chest when Hayden’s fingers brush mine, his fingertips skimming over my knuckles in a way I don’t think should be exceptionally sensual. And yet a shiver runs down my spine before he pulls his hand back.
“Relax,” he whispers, handing me my straw.
That’s easy for him to say. He’s not the one sitting with the knowledge our hands touching is enough to make me squirm in my seat, and craving salty french fries is one thing. I can’t be craving Hayden, too.
“I’m not used to getting so much attention,” I say in a low voice because it’s the truth, but would also make sense to anybody who might overhear me.
“All the attention will be on you Saturday.”
“Great,” I say with overly exaggerated excitement. “That helps so much!”
He laughs and relaxes against the booth. “What song should we play for our first dance?”
I freeze in the act of sucking soda through the straw and it’s a good thing it hadn’t reached my mouth yet, because I probably would have choked.
I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the fact I’m marrying Hayden at all. That he’ll be taking me in his arms and holding me close, swaying to music, while everybody watches hadn’t even occurred to me.
It’s too much.
My expression probably gives away my thoughts on the matter because Hayden shakes his head. “Even with a scaled-down reception, there are milestones we don’t want to skip. And our first dance as man and wife is one of them.”
“Fine. But no songs from high school.” Almost every love song made back then was a song I cried to in my room. We didn’t have an “our song” because most of our time together was spent by the river, rather than at dances or in cars with radios, but it was a solid six months—at least—after homecoming night before I could listen to any song about love or heartbreak without crying.
“Challenge accepted,” he says, pulling out his phone. After a list of popular wedding songs is on his screen, he turns it so I can see.
I skim the list and laugh. “I’m absolutely here for the ‘Chicken Dance’ being our first dance as a married couple.”
“I should probably specify first dance songs.”
“Less fun, but sure.”
We spend thirty minutes going through song lists, and it actually is fun. We laugh together over some of the most frequently listed songs, many of which were probably contenders for our grandparents’ first dances.
“Just surprise me with something,” I finally tell him, because reading lyrics about love and marriage when I’m only getting the marriage part is starting to give me a headache.
“Okay, how about this,” he says, dragging a fry through the puddle of ketchup on his plate. “Let’s see what favorite movies we have in common and maybe one of them has a song we can use.”
Not a bad idea, but Hayden has terrible taste in movies, and I spend more time laughing at his choices than coming up with any of my own.
“Wait. Did you see Armageddon?” he asks.
“Only eleven or twelve times.”
“That’s a good song.”
