"Of course. Why else?"
I laughed.
"Come with me, Liv. It's not a public statement. I'll deflect any questions about our relationship. It'll be as painless as possible, and I'll take you for ice cream afterward."
"Scooter's?"
"Technically, that's frozen custard. But yes, Scooter's. So you'll come?"
"For the custard."
--
In the past month, I'd learned a lot about myself. I might even have matured, though I'm not sure I'd go that far. What I had not done, though, was develop any greater appreciation for charity dinners.
It was worse now, with everyone knowing who I really was. I got cold shoulders. I got sidelong looks. I got stares. I saw matrons in evening gowns whip out their phones, and they may have just been messaging a friend, but I suspect some were tweeting OMG, I can't believe who's here! complete with photos.
But I'd come for James, so I pushed all that aside, and I chatted and I smiled and I laughed. I flirted and I charmed. I even danced.
I was slow dancing with James as he was whispering in my ear. I listened to his voice and smiled at his sardonic commentary, and I felt the familiar warmth of him, inhaled the familiar smell of him, and I remembered why I'd wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man. I was happy.
The feel of his body against mine reminded me of something else I'd missed in the last month and made me wonder why the hell I hadn't dragged him to the nearest hotel last week. And then . . .
I sensed something. James led me off the floor afterward, but I didn't hear a word he said because I was busy listening and looking and inhaling, trying to find what had caught my attention.
I've always been particularly receptive to sensory input. Step into a busy room like this and my brain used to reel, looking for signs in every sight, sound, and smell. Now I know what's happening, and that initial blast fades quickly once my brain realizes no omens need to be interpreted.
Except now something did need interpretation, and I couldn't figure out what it was. It was only a prickle that said, "Pay attention."
"Liv?"
I snapped out of it and forced a smile. "Hmm?"
"I lost you for a moment there."
"Just . . ." I made a face. "The usual."
"All a little too much?" James said, because whatever had happened, he was still the guy who'd known me best.
"We can go outside," he said. "It's a nice night for a walk, and I won't argue with the chance to escape."
"That sounds--"
There. A smell. Wafting . . .
I inhaled. Nothing.
Damn it.
I forced my focus back to James. "I would love a walk. Just give me five minutes in the ladies' room."
He pecked my cheek and said he'd be over by the bar, talking to a city councilor who'd been trying to get his attention. Everyone wanted James's attention. And I had it, even now, as I walked away--feeling his gaze on me, looking back to see his smile, making me feel as it always had, that mix of surprise and wonder at my good luck.
As I walked toward the back hall, I cleared my mind and followed my gut. Sounds easy. Not for me. I prefer to lead with my brain--with mindfulness, intention, and purpose. Now I followed my gut down one corridor and then another until . . .
I caught the distant baying of hounds. I heard hounds, and I smelled horses, and I froze in my tracks as my gut and my brain and my heart screamed, "Get the hell out of here! Now!"
I stood there, fighting the urge to run, just run, before I saw . . .