by Meg Maguire
“I’ll fetch your brother,” her dad announced. He was already in his usual no-fuss wedding ensemble—khakis, with a sweater vest over a dress shirt. He hadn’t bothered with a tie and Steph’s mom had long given up trying to force one on him. It lasted about as long as sunglasses on a toddler.
In the few minutes it took her dad to lure Tim out of the apartment above the garage, Steph’s mom ascertained half of Patrick’s life story and made herself familiar enough to straighten his tie and pick the lint off his shoulders.
“Let’s do this thing,” Tim said as he entered, dressed in a button-up and slacks. He stopped short, spotting Patrick. “Hey, man. Good to see you again. Steph didn’t say she was bringing a date. Not to mention one I’d actually approve of.”
They shook and Patrick told Tim how his new timing belt was faring while everyone got their coats on.
Steph and Patrick took his truck, and her brother rode with their parents—Tim wasn’t the most temperate guy, and given that this wedding boasted an open bar, he’d be in no state to drive himself home by the time it was over.
“Still nervous?” Patrick asked Steph, following her parents’ old sedan.
“A little.”
“I think I passed parental muster, at least.”
She smiled. “I was never worried about that. Everyone seems to love you.” A sad pang caught her as she remembered there was one person who hadn’t—not for keeps. The one he’d exchanged vows with.
For rich or for poor.
Had it been gauche to invite him to a wedding? Was a year long enough to make peace with one’s own failed marriage? It only took a glance at that easy smile for Steph to remind herself this man wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone their happiness. Probably didn’t know the meaning of the word grudge.
Her heart was pounding with hard, anxious thumps by the time they arrived at the venue—a country club whose golf course looked exceedingly majestic, coated in perfect white snow. The entryway was decorated with cool yellow and orange origami flowers, more of the same leading them into a big hall, where dozens of chairs faced a stage draped in white. An official-looking guy was going over a folder of notes with Steph’s cousin Jessie, the bride’s older sister, who looked pretty in her butter-yellow matron-of-honor gown, her four-year-old son busy yanking at its hem.
The hall was lined with tall windows that looked out across the course and its pond, and a string quartet stood off to one side, playing upbeat music.
“Slick,” Patrick said.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”
Steph had vague visions of her own wedding, but they didn’t look a thing like this. At least half her friends were fighters. They’d have much more fun set loose in a state park or at the beach, drinking and joking through a barbecue reception. Steph would, too. But for tonight, dressing up and playing tourist in this kind of elegant affair was fun.
They found Steph’s parents and Tim, and her older brother Robbie was there as well. He’d dressed a bit sharper than the other Healy men, in a black suit. He’d had a rough early adulthood—too much partying, a few legal scrapes. But since he’d quit drinking five years earlier, he’d pulled himself together. He’d earned an associate’s degree and was nearly through his certification to become a licensed social worker. Sobriety suited him. Steph found it difficult to even recall the old Robbie.
They hugged, and she introduced him to Patrick. Robbie wasn’t as chatty as their parents or Tim; more sensitive, more of an observer. He’d be watching his little sister’s date as the night went on, she knew, and carefully weighing his verdict.
“Damn, girl,” he said as he stepped back from a second hug. “Where’d my tomboy sister go, huh?”
“She retired,” Steph said. “Well, no. She hasn’t. But she’s clocked out for the weekend.”
“You look great. Haven’t seen you all dressed up like this since your prom night.”
She blushed at that. “Don’t remind me.”
“Why not? You were a knockout then, too.”
“I was?” Maybe Kristy had only brainwashed her into thinking she’d looked awful.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe the limbs I threatened to break if your date tried anything with you.”
She laughed. That did sound like the old hothead Robbie—the type to get all macho on a guy who looked at his baby sister funny. Who’d embodied the myth of the bad-tempered redhead.
“I could’ve handled that myself,” she said.
Patrick looked between them. “I feel like maybe I should have worn some padding under this suit.”
Robbie pretended to eyeball him with suspicion. “Just keep your nose clean, Doherty, and we won’t have any trouble.”
People began arriving in earnest and the music changed, the quartet switching to more ceremonial-sounding tunes.
“Big wedding,” Patrick said as they edged their way down a row of seats, following Steph’s parents.
“I know. Nearly two hundred guests.”
“With an open bar? Damn.”
“Her fiancé’s some kind of banker or investor or something. I’ve never met him. I haven’t even seen my cousin in person in at least five years. Not since her sister’s wedding.” As best she’d gathered, Kristy’s betrothed was older, and presumably divorced. Before she’d fled Facebook, Steph had seen the smiley pictures of the happy couple, along with two small children she assumed must be the groom’s. He’d looked kind of schmoozy and obnoxious in those shots, with slicked-back hair and a gold earring. The kind of banker who rode an oversize, noisy Harley on the weekend, she’d decided. Kristy was welcome to him.
Damn, she really had to quit with the petty thoughts.
The procession began—a collection of people Steph had never met coming down the aisle, her cousin Jessie and some other bridal-party members; her Aunt Pam; her cousin’s soon-to-be stepsons in miniature suits, corralled by their father. The room collectively giggled and awwed each time he had to aim one of them in the right direction. Steph didn’t get a good look at him until he reached the stage and turned, the children taken in hand by an older woman—their grandmother, likely. The groom looked nervous and excited, fidgeting beside the officiant. He wasn’t the slick operator Steph had pegged him as—just a father approaching forty, with a nice smile, a touch heavy but carrying it well. Finally came the bride and Steph’s uncle John, and everyone swiveled in their seats to murmur and snap photos.
Kristy looked beautiful.
She wasn’t as beautiful as she had been in high school—her looks had an expiration date, not aided by her tanning regimen. As a teenager she’d been a knockout, but at thirty she’d settled into a less dazzling persuasion of pretty. But she had something going for her now that she’d lacked at eighteen—she looked happy.
She was smiling in a way Steph had never seen. Nothing tight or staged about it. And that made her more beautiful than she’d ever been as homecoming queen. Steph didn’t even notice the details of her dress until she was standing before her groom—that smile eclipsed everything else.
The ceremony was brief and sweet, and before Steph knew it, everyone was filtering out in the happy couple’s wake, bound for the ballroom where dinner and dancing and drinking would take place.
Patrick grabbed her hand as they shuffled toward the hall. Whether he was worried about losing her or simply hoping to use that as an excuse to hold her hand...she found she didn’t care.
There was much milling and queuing for the bar, a thousand micro-reunions happening all around them. Steph and Patrick got drinks and found their table, a wide one with the Healys plus a random assortment of distant cousins. A waiter came around to address their empty champagne flutes. Robbie flipped his upside down before it could be filled, smiling politely.
Steph drank her merlot a bit too quickly, steeling herself for the inevitable. She kept her eyes on the mingling bride, and when the crowd around Kristy began to thin, she looked to her parents, then Patrick. “Shall we say congrats?”
“You two go,” her mom said, busy dabbing at her husband’s vest. “Your father’s just spilled beer all over himself.”
Shoot—no chance at diluting this encounter with a wall of family. Tim was nowhere to be found, and when she looked beseechingly to Robbie he just grinned and sipped his iced tea, that cool look telling her, Get your big-girl pants on and bite the bullet.
Fine. She took Patrick’s arm and they got up, dodging servers.
Her heart thudded harder with every step that brought them closer to the bride and groom. What on earth was she afraid of, anyway? It wasn’t like Kristy would say anything nasty to her—not with so many witnesses. Not with her mouth, she won’t. But those eyes. One judgmental sweep of those eyes and Steph could be left doubting herself the rest of the night. Ridiculous what that woman could do, when Steph stared down far tougher chicks in the ring. Tougher, she thought. But not half as mean.
The groom was busy chatting when an opening appeared before Kristy. Her eyes locked on Steph’s with surprise and a smile overtook her face.
“Penny!”
No use correcting her—the last time they’d spoken, that had still been her name.
“Hey, Kristy. You look amazing. Congratulations.” She hazarded a hug that was accepted warmly.
“You look...” Kristy took her in, freezing Steph’s blood in her veins. “You look... Wow. You look so grown up.”
“Oh. Thanks. This is my date, Patrick.”
They shook and Patrick lavished the bride with the requisite amount of flattery.
“Well, isn’t he a handsome one?” Kristy said to Steph, smiling sideways to tease Patrick.
Yes, yes he is. Suck on it.
“Are you still doing that fighting stuff? I always forget what it’s called.”
That fighting stuff? Steph stifled a grimace. “MMA. I’m retired from competing, but yeah, I’m a trainer now.”
“I told my Brad all about it. He just about died. Brad, honey!” Kristy interrupted the man’s conversation, clearly eager to make the belittlement of Steph’s sport a group affair. “This is my cousin, Penny! The one we talked about.”
Brad’s face lit up like a kid meeting Santa. “Penny Healy!”
“Nice to meet you, Brad. Congratu—”
He grabbed her hand, pumping it vigorously. “Oh my God, this is so cool! I saw your last fight, against Kim Lacosta. That was nuts! Are you really retired, now?”
Steph could only blink for a moment. “I am, yeah. Bummer I had to go out on a loss.”
Brad waved the thought away. “That roundhouse you got her with, right at the start of the second round? Amazing.”
Steph felt herself blushing beet-red. She stole a glance at her cousin. Funny, but that wasn’t the grin of a cruel teenage girl, pleased to have embarrassed Steph in front of the cool crowd. That was the grin of a grown woman, genuinely delighted by how excited her new husband was, meeting her cousin. Would wonders never cease?
“Is it true you train in the same gym as Rich Estrada?” Brad asked earnestly. And for ten minutes or more, Steph felt damn-near famous, all her assumptions about this guy flipped inside-out. He was a certifiable MMA nut. By the time people were taking their seats for dinner, she’d invited him to come by Wilinski’s some weekend for a free session. Brad accepted, beaming like she’d offered him tickets to the Super Bowl.
“That is too funny,” Patrick muttered as they made their way back to their table.
“I know.”
He pulled her chair out for her. “And here you were, worried she’d be a jerk to you.”
“I guess marrying a guy with such good taste in spectator sports has changed her mind about me,” she said, faking arrogance.
The toasts went down free of any drunken best-man drama, and dinner service began. When she RSVPed, Steph had assumed her not-yet-procured date would be the steak type, but one look at the envious way Patrick ogled her scallops and she had to swap. His eyes rolled up with rapture every time he tasted one.
“Good?” she asked.
He groaned. “Amazing. Must be like, an entire stick of butter in these. I hope you dance. I’ll need to work this off.”
“I wouldn’t say I dance well, but I enjoy the hell out of trying.”
“Perfect.”
The floor filled up almost immediately once dinner was cleared and the spotlight slow dances wrapped. A DJ had taken the place of the quartet, and the younger generation crammed onto the hardwood to get sweaty to the pop music, the older folks migrating toward the bar.
Patrick danced pretty well for a tall guy. He ditched his jacket in no time, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, face aglow with the exertion. Steph felt aglow from the big, warm hand on her waist during the slow numbers, his thrilling heat seeping straight through the satin, through her skin, right into her bones. He was the best-looking man in the room, she decided, holding him close, swaying to the music. When she stole a glance at his face, she could see dark promises in his eyes. His hand tightened at her waist, telling her, I know what you like. And I know I can give it to you.
They must have danced nonstop for a full hour before Steph finally begged for a break—these heels were killers. Patrick met her back at the table after fetching her a fresh glass of wine. Stuck driving, he was still nursing his first one.
Steph kicked her shoes off under the table and flexed her feet. “This has been really, really fun.”
“Yeah, it has.”
She tossed her head back and sighed her relief for all the world to hear. She met Patrick’s eyes squarely, letting him see her with all her defenses down, just a happy, tired woman, exhausted from dancing and laughing. His stare worked its usual magic, though, and her fatigue was forgotten in a breath. All she could think was, I can’t wait to be alone with you again. And if they left soon, they’d have the house to themselves for a little while.
“Hope you’re not all danced out,” Patrick said. “I’ve still got a few songs in me.”
“Actually, I was thinking maybe we could skip all the cake-cutting and bouquet stuff. Maybe sneak out? Before my folks do...?”
His brows rose innocently. “What on earth are you suggesting, Penny?”
“You’ll find out, if you promise never to call me Penny ever again.”
He laughed. “Promise.”
“After one more dance.”
They stood, carrying their glasses. Steph left her shoes behind—half the women on the dance floor had done the same.
“Whatever you’re suggesting,” Patrick said, “I hope it’s not anything that’ll have your older brother breaking my legs.”
“You’ll just have to wait and—”
He interrupted her, stopping short and holding up a finger. He fished his blinking phone from his jacket pocket and scanned the screen. “Aw, crap.”
“What is it?”
“Sorry. It’s my cousin. I have to get this—it could mean work.”
“By all means.” She took his glass and waved him away toward the quieter side of the room, then watched as he took the call. His face went from nervous to pensive to intrigued, and he was nodding by the time he hung up. His shoulders rose and fell with a gruff sigh. Bad news.
She frowned as he walked back to her. “Not work, to judge by your face,” she said, handing his drink over.
“Could be, actually. If I show up on this site in Danvers, I could wind up with a couple weeks’ contract, wiring an office building.”
“Hey, that’s great!”
He smiled tightly.
“What’s wrong? Are you bummed it’s not carpentry?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to be there at six tomorrow morning. I’d have to leave. Right now.”
She’d never seen so much emotional pain in a man’s eyes, and that was saying something—fighters could be real wrecks.
He took her hand. “I’m really, really sorry.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Why are you sorry?”
“To lea
ve you here, in the middle of a wedding with no date.”
She laughed. “Oh God, that’s fine. So I miss one last dance.” And another night of mind-blowing sex. “So what?”
“I know this meant a lot to you.”
“It did, but it’s been a perfect night. It’s okay if you need to go now, I swear.” She squeezed his fingers. “This is more important. I get it.”
He took a deep breath. “You’ve got to know, there’s nothing I’d rather do than be with you here, with your family. And be with you tonight, just us. And wake up with you tomorrow.”
All at once, her eyes stung.
Whoa.
Steph only ever cried after matches, overcome by frustration or relief or physical pain. What Patrick was saying didn’t even hurt. She might be disappointed, but these words made her feel wonderful. She couldn’t let him see it—he’d feel even worse if he thought she was upset.
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. Work comes first for you right now. And if for some reason you insisted on staying, I’d force you to go.”
“I don’t want you to think you’re less important.”
She laughed again. “Right now, I kind of should be. It’s fine.”
“I don’t...I don’t want to mess up my chance with you, letting you think you come second.”
That one landed like a sock in the gut. This man... He was simply too lovely to be real.
She touched his arm. “You’re not. Doing what you need to only makes me think more highly of you. Okay?”
His lips quirked in a limp smile, and he nodded, letting her hand go. “Okay. I’m still sorry though.”
“I’m sorry, too, but I’ve had a great time. You were the perfect date.”
“And you’ll be able to figure out a ride back tomorrow? Or should I come pick you up, after I finish on site...?”
“No, no. Don’t be ridiculous. I already know how I’m getting home, anyhow—I’ll ask my dad for a lift to the commuter rail, then we’ll argue for twenty minutes until I agree to let him drive me all the way to Boston.”
He smiled a little easier at that and handed her his glass. “All right. Well, thanks again for inviting me. Your family’s great. And tell the bride she looked beautiful, and that those were the best scallops I’ve ever had.”
