Marcus and Jamie produced their vows in preparation of reciting them, Andrew couldn’t help but laugh along with everyone else.
Jamie’s were laminated.
Marcus’s were written on a napkin.
“I guess I should go first, huh?” Marcus said with chagrin, looking down at the ocean where it swirled around his calves. “In case I drop mine and lose it forever.”
“You’d find a way to say the right thing,” Jamie said.
Marcus touched his fingertips to Jamie’s face. “Thank God for that.” He dropped his hand away and coughed, not bothering to look at the napkin. “Jamie Prince. I’m still pretty sure this is all a dream. You stuck with me when…it wasn’t easy. When it wasn’t easy for you and I was scared. Every time I hold your hand for the rest of my life, I just want you to know it’s not some small thing. I’m thankful for the way your hand feels in mine. I’m thankful for the way it makes me feel. Right here.” He pressed the napkin to his chest. “I’m going to love you and feed you potstickers and make sure you’re never lonely or afraid. Not for a single day. Ever again.”
Jamie used a shoulder to wipe his eye, quickly and efficiently. “Jesus. What did you have written on the napkin?”
“Roses are red, violets are blue…” Marcus deadpanned.
Everyone laughed, including the grooms.
“My turn.” Jamie tossed his laminated vows out into the ocean where they were swept up and carried to shore on a bubbling wave. “Marcus, looking back, sticking with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You weren’t the only one who was scared. But if I was scared, it was because I thought I’d have to be without you one day.”
“Never going to happen,” Marcus said gruffly.
Jamie nodded. “I believe you.”
Marcus kissed his groom before it was allowed, and through laughter, the minister rushed through blessing their union. Andrew and Rory looked at each other, realizing simultaneously their own eyes were wet, and hurriedly wiped away any evidence of emotion. Rory shoved Andrew and told him to fuck off, but he was smiling—and after that, the whole day was a blur for Andrew.
When Marcus and Jamie decided to give everyone a week’s notice that they were getting married, Andrew had scrambled to find a place that would hold around fifty people, had a little more class than the Castle Gate and most importantly, boasted a fully stocked bar. Both sides of the family had Irish blood, not to mention the guest list included CrossFit enthusiasts and sanitation workers. If they made it through the afternoon without a brawl…well it wouldn’t be an Irish wedding. Bottoms up.
Andrew had gone ahead to the reception venue while everyone took pictures on the beach. He was giving final instructions to the wait staff when Jiya walked in carrying a bubble-gum pink box containing the wedding cake—which, thanks to the time constraints, would be enough for two bites per person, at best. “Hey,” she said, handing it over to the staff to be refrigerated. “Can I do anything for you?”
His chest tightened at the question. He was usually the one asking it. “Ah, there are a couple of nut allergies. One of my younger cousins and the CrossFit guy—you know the one with orange hair who kept scratching his nuts during the ceremony?”
“Check. And double check.” She turned in a circle, nodding her approval over the decorations. “You want me to speak with the kitchen staff about what they shouldn’t eat?”
“Please.”
“What else?”
“Isn’t there supposed to be seating cards at a wedding reception?”
Jiya winced. “I don’t know half of their names.”
“Then we drink and hope for the best, sweetheart.”
“Andrew?”
He stopped adjusting a place setting and looked up, his breath catching at her appearance for the ninth time in under an hour. “Yeah?”
“No one could have pulled this off but you. It’s going to be great.”
He had to glance away. It was that or kiss her. “Thanks.”
She leaned down to admire the floral centerpiece and Andrew greedily gobbled up the smooth line of her neck, the heavy fall of her hair, the swell of her hips. “If we sense something going wrong, we’ll give each other the signal.” She straightened and he quickly schooled his features. “Classic ear tug strategy.”
They both demonstrated.
“Cool.”
His hands itched to touch her so he curled them into fists. “Cool.”
The door opened and guests started to arrive. Loudly. Andrew and Jiya gave each other a conspiratorial look as she floated off to consult with the kitchen and he advanced toward the door to shake the hands of their first arrivals. But he couldn’t help a quick glance back over his shoulder to watch Jiya vanish into the kitchen.
She was looking back at him, too.
Enough. You can’t have her.
For the thirty minutes, Andrew ignored the twist of need in his gut every time Jiya passed through his peripheral vision and greeted guests, including his mother who insisted on dancing with him as soon as Jamie and Marcus were finished with their first. He was more than happy to oblige her and couldn’t help marveling at how easy she smiled now. How quick she was to laugh.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Andrew made sure everyone had a drink and if they didn’t, he signaled one of the waiters. Finally, Jamie and Marcus deigned to make their entrance and brought the house down with a slightly pornographic kiss—not that he was judging. Music started and everything fell into the familiar rhythm that lived in Andrew’s bones. Laughter, food, drinks, the hum of small talk that eventually turned to deeper topics with the aid of alcohol. Lowered lighting. These were things he’d perfected over the years to transform The Castle Gate from a dusty relic into a Long Beach destination.
As the oldest, Andrew had grown up helping his mother clean the house, cook, make sure Rory and Jamie’s homework was done. On those days she’d spent resting in bed, too hurt from a run-in with their father to make meals, Andrew had stepped in. He’d kept stepping in until he’d taken over those duties from his mother completely, whether she was physically capable of performing them or not.
With their father gone now, his responsibilities were a lot different and had far bigger consequences when they weren’t done right. So he didn’t let a ball drop.
He spent a lot of time exhausted, a lot of time worrying about payments on the credit card debt their father had left behind. But working himself to the bone was preferable to sitting around and remembering why the responsibilities of his father were now resting on his shoulders. When he slowed down, that’s when the guilt crept in.
Andrew forced his dark thoughts to change direction. Another fifteen minutes of the cocktail reception and they’d be sitting down for dinner and he wouldn’t relax until everyone gave their verdict on the food. He’d just taken a sip from his first and only beer of the evening when someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Andrew.”
He turned to find Jiya’s mother watching him with a serene smile. There was a particular kind of tension that struck him when he spoke to Mrs. Dalal. She’d been a constant in their lives as children, having them over for dinner on nights Andrew couldn’t scrounge up enough money for groceries. In the Dalal household, the Prince brothers had been introduced to the world of Indian cuisine and Jiya’s mother had always made a plate for them to bring home to their mother. Andrew would forever be grateful to this woman for her compassion. Not to mention, she’d brought Jiya into the world.
But he couldn’t pretend she didn’t make him nervous as fuck.
It was in the way she watched him, like she knew every thought in his head.
Considering his mental fantasy land starred her daughter, God help him if that was true.
“Mrs. Dalal.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
“Yes.” She inclined her head. “Very well done on a week’s notice.”
The rare compliment made his chest expand. “I appreciate you sayi
ng that.” In silence, they both watched Jiya entertain a group of Jamie’s professor friends with a story across the candlelit room. “Look at her hand gestures. She’s telling them about that customer who rubbed vindaloo sauce in his eye on accident. Instead of using water to soothe the sting, he accidentally dipped his napkin in hot tea and made it worse.” He smiled. “It’s a good story.”
When Mrs. Dalal cleared her throat, Andrew realized he’d been staring at Jiya.
What else was new?
“Yes, my daughter is a good storyteller.” She sighed. “Perhaps you can convince her to display some of that charm next week when our friends bring their son to meet her.”
Dizziness hit, the walls of the room looming closer. Mrs. Dalal continued, sounding like she spoke to him from another time zone. All the while, his head burned.
“We’re trying to find someone who interests her. Though she’ll need to put in some effort as well. Much more than she did on her first date. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was being less charming on purpose. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.” Jiya’s mother sipped from her small glass of white wine. “Maybe she doesn’t truly feel free to let herself find someone.”
What did she mean? That Jiya was giving dating less of an effort because of him? No. But the words he’d spoken to her last night echoed in his ears and he admitted…there was a chance Mrs. Dalal could be right.
You’ve always been my best friend.
We won’t have this if you start dating someone seriously.
Was their friendship holding Jiya back?
Was his secret love bogging her down, even though he couldn’t express it? Christ, it was possible. They shared a brain. He could barely keep his feelings for Jiya at bay and some of them might have escaped. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she didn’t even realize she was putting in less of an effort into dating because Andrew had a hold on her.
A hold he couldn’t maintain. A hold he had no right to keep.
“I promised her we’d stay friends,” he murmured to himself.
Andrew didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until Jiya’s mother patted his arm. “And you should. Friends who want what’s best for each other.”
CHAPTER SIX
A bonfire on the beach was the perfect cap on the wedding day.
They made it through the reception with only one teeny fist fight—between a personal trainer and a math teacher who disagreed about the best Avengers movie. Andrew had intervened, bought them a round of drinks, and they’d ended up shaking hands. Jiya had been firmly on the side of the math teacher—the best film of the franchise was clearly Thor: Ragnarok and anyone who said different could suck it.
Some revelers bailed and went home to await their eventual hangovers, others made their way back to the beach. A bonfire billowed and snapped against the black nighttime sky, the tips of the flames kissing the stars like lovers. Olive sat in Rory’s lap, lazily roasting a marshmallow while he whispered in her ear, giving the bonfire competition in heating her cheeks. Jamie and Marcus had told everyone they were going for a walk an hour ago and never come back. Alcohol had done its job and melded several different crowds into one, leaving teachers, trainers, sanitation workers and lifeguards strewn about the beach, staring out at the white caps that lapped at the cooling sand.
A perfect end to a beautiful day.
Jiya was the kind of tipsy that made her think she was capable of writing poetry. The kind of tipsy that made her truly believe a conversation with a stranger could lead to the discovery of the meaning of life. With the amount of hours she worked at Spice, she rarely had time to get her drink on, so she’d decided after her third one that she’d earned a fourth.
With a relaxed sigh, Jiya slid her bare toes into the sand and swept the crowd for Andrew.
They’d both stayed behind at the restaurant to clean up and wish everyone a safe journey home while Rory and Olive had gone ahead and started the bonfire. She’d hoped with Andrew’s hosting duties out of the way, he’d take some time to relax, but he was still watching the proceedings like he might need to save the day at a moment’s notice.
He’d been kind of quiet since the reception. Nothing new there. But after recapturing her weightless mood with the help of her fourth drink, she became determined to poke Andrew until he loosened up.
With that plan in mind, Jiya rose to her feet and crossed the beach to where he stood. Any red-blooded female would take a moment to appreciate the outline of his strong body braced against the star-studded sky. The night breeze tousled his dark hair and plastered the white T-shirt to his thick rolls of muscle. His five o’clock shadow made him look kind of dangerous, but the rolled up jeans and sandy calves made him the guy she’d known forever.
“Hey you.”
“Hey,” he said, without looking at her, as if he’d been aware of her approach. “Drink number four, huh? Should I warn everyone we’ll be getting an impromptu poetry slam tonight?”
“No, thank you. I like to catch my audience off guard. It makes their reactions more authentic.”
His lips twitched. He still didn’t look at her, but the softness around his eyes told Jiya he was thinking of the time she drunkenly wrote a poem on a bar coaster at the Castle Gate on her twenty-first birthday and thought it was a masterpiece, reciting it to anyone who would listen. It had turned out to be the lyrics to “Blackbird” by the Beatles.
“Thanks for your help today,” he said.
“Any time. Always.” A trench formed between his brows but smoothed itself before she could comment. “Will you take me for a walk?”
The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “A walk?”
“Yes. On our legs.”
When he didn’t immediately say yes, it was probably unfair of her not to let him off the hook, but sometimes Andrew needed to be dragged away from his responsibilities. Their goodnights were when he usually relaxed, but they probably wouldn’t have one tonight, since he’d be making sure everyone got some safely.
“I guess I could go by myself…”
She’d only taken two steps when he caught up with her. “Sure, just stroll off alone in the darkness in your princess dress, Jiya.” He shook his head. “You don’t play fair.”
“Is that why none of you will play Uno with me anymore?”
“You always slip extra cards into the discard pile.”
Jiya gasped. “Lies.”
“You do,” he drawled. “Every time.”
“I have small hands! I can’t be expected to hold all those cards.”
His crack of laugher echoed down the dark beach. “You carry trays of food bigger than you, sweetheart.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“If you can’t handle the truth, don’t ask.” He reached over and started to ruffle her hair, but dropped his hand away at the last second, making her frown. “You, uh…you’ve got those flying lessons starting up next week, right?”
“Yes,” she breathed up at the sky, forgetting Andrew’s hesitation and the fact that she’d been branded an Uno cheater. “It might be a little soon, but I’m trying to decide on the best name for the airplane I’ll eventually own. Any ideas?”
His thoughtful hum surrounded them in a private bubble as they moved farther away from the bonfire, the sounds of revelry fading away. “How about ‘Wings of Bling’?”
Jiya’s laughter propelled her sideways into Andrew’s side where she nudged him off balance. “I love that. But I need something that’s going to make my mother nervous. Like, the ‘Crash Mobile’ or ‘Splash.’”
“Your flight school hasn’t had a single student-related accident,” he said offhandedly. “Not in twenty-two years.”
“How do you know that?”
Andrew shrugged a shoulder. “You told us the name of the school. It’s all on their website.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Anyway, your mother is the one who bought you the lessons, so she can’t be that concerned about the risk.”
He cut her a sideways laugh. “I still have the one you made me in sixth grade. When you least expect it, I’m going to cash in the coupon for one free dishwashing session.”
She snorted. “I’ve washed your dishes a thousand times.”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t collect the coupon.”
Up ahead, a lifeguard tower came into view. It didn’t even occur to Jiya that she shouldn’t climb it. Not in her current frame of mind. She was floating, the night air was the perfect mixture of cool and warm, the sand was heaven on her bare feet—and dammit, she felt pretty. Most of her days were spent in a stifling work uniform and walking the stretch of beach in a dress with a handsome man made the moment dreamlike. Unreal enough that she hooked her feet one by one in the rungs until she’d climbed all the way to the top of the six-foot structure and plopped into the chair.
Andrew smiled up at her from below, but his eyes held a sharp intensity. “Are you angling for a job next summer?”
“Do I need to be a good swimmer to be a lifeguard?”
“Mmm. Kind of a requirement.”
“Then for the tourists’ sake, I better pass.”
He rested a hand high on the chair and she got the impression he was holding it steady, even though it was firmly rooted in the ground. “Is that why you don’t go in the ocean very often? Because you’re not a great swimmer? I can…” His eyes closed briefly. “I mean, if you wanted to swim, I’d make sure someone I trust was watching out for you.”
“You wouldn’t delegate that,” she murmured, without thinking. Thank you, vodka.
Andrew watched her in silence a moment, before shaking his head. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Not in a million fucking years.”
Don’t think about Andrew shirtless and heinously sexy in his red shorts, watching you swim with that single-minded focus. Don’t do…it. Too late.
Sink or Swim Page 5
