Page 81 of Heal For Me

“How do you feel about purple, like a lavender? Oo! Or maybe sage dresses? The guys are wearing black? You know that blue is totally in right now. Blue would bring out Ash’s eyes. But he has a warm undertone so brown would also look amazing. Oh my gosh, I was looking for inspiration and saw the cutest center pieces. Remind me to send them to you.

“Oh my gosh! What about your dress?” Janelle has been nonstop with the wedding talk since I proposed. It was about a ten-minute walk here, and since we’ve sat down. I’m not sure she has taken a breath. I appreciate her excitement, but with each passing moment, the excitement dwindles in Payson. I’m not sure what is eating her, but it’s obvious, to me at least, that she’s not in the wedding-planning mood. I would prefer we marry tomorrow, but I also don’t want to rush her, much.

“Janelle.” I keep my voice low.

She stops midsentence, her mouth hung open.

Without wanting to draw too much attention, I flick my eyes to Payson. She’s not paying any attention though. Her eyes are glassed over, and she’s picking at her thumb.

Janelle’s eyebrows knit with worry, and she places a hand over Payson’s. “You okay?” she asks softly, but Payson quickly looks around the table, and her tanned cheeks pinken.

“Uh, yeah. I just, uh. What were you saying?”

“Um . . . I was asking what kind of dress you think you’ll want.”

I can’t see Payson’s face with her looking at Janelle, but her voice wobbles. “Oh, I haven’t thought about it.”

A heavy silence settles, and a pregnant pause later, Mum looks at me with a pinched face. She is on that side, so she can see Payson’s face meaning whatever is happening, isn’t good.

“I, uh, need to use the bathroom.” Her chair drags across the wooden floor and she stands.

“I’ll come with.” Janelle throws her napkin onto her place and stands, but Payson is already walking away.

“No, no I’ll be right back.”

I catch Janelle around the wrist, stopping her from following, and she frowns at my hand on hers.

“I’ll do it.”

“I didn’t mean . . . I’m just excited.”

“It’s okay. You know how Payson is, she doesn’t enjoy this kind of attention, that’s all.”

She slowly nods a few times and lowers back into her seat. Wanting to get to Payson as fast as I can, because I watched her head the opposite way of the bathroom, I shoot a help me look to Mum, who nods, understanding what I want.

“Can you tell us again what you are going to school for, Janelle?”

Thank God for my mum. I give Janelle’s shoulder a quick squeeze because I don’t want her feeling bad. I understand her excitement.

I think I saw Payson head toward the front doors, but when I break into the warm evening air, I don’t see her. Like always, people crowd the streets, but there is a bigger crowd surrounding a street performer singing something by Queen. After a quick look around and getting nowhere, I head toward the crowd. She’s short, it’s not like I could easily see her, even at my height. I circle the crowd once and when I come up empty-handed, my blood pressure is through the bloody roof and I’m wondering if I missed her inside. Then my eyes catch on a head of curly brown hair and a sad face across from me.

Hurrying back around, I push through people until I’m directly behind her. She’s unaware of my presence, lost in watching the performers. They are good, I see why she wandered over here. A guy on guitar and a woman singer. They are one of the best street performers I’ve heard in my time.

They start playing a new song I recognize as “Stand By Me,” and I take the moment to wrap my arms around Payson. She jumps but looks down and must recognize my hands because she relaxes against my body.

I’m in no rush to move, and neither is she, so we stand like that through two more songs before she turns and hugs my center. The guy walks around with a cap flipped, and I dig in my wallet and drop a twenty in. I really should start carrying smaller notes.

I use their break as the perfect time to drag Payson back toward the restaurant but stop off to the side where no one is. She’s refusing to look at me, and when I take her chin and tilt her head up, I see why.

She’s crying.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. What’s wrong?”

It’s breaking my fucking heart seeing her crying like this. Crying on her proposal night, no less. If I knew what she was feeling, I would have never agreed to come here. We could have spent the rest of the night in our room, and if she needed to cry, she wouldn’t be embarrassed because we are surrounded by people.

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