The ceremony is heldat the massive, towered church in the center of town. The bells could be heard ringing from Jess’ home, so after I deliver the flowers and make sure there’s nothing more I can do for the bride, I follow the musical chimes and drive across town.
I have to park two blocks away, since cars spill out from this wedding as though the couple were royalty, but the sun is out and perfect, the birds sing and compete with the bells, and when I walk inside as quietly as I can manage and try my best not to be noticed, I do a happy little dance in my head when I see my work laid out along the sixty feet of church aisle.
My flowers adorn the end of every pew. They frame everyone in, and at the top of the aisle, massive urns overflow with my art and provide the perfect backdrop for the wedding photographer to capture the couple promising their forevers.
Love is in the air, and every single person in attendance today feels it just as surely as I can.
The pews are segregated, so the beautiful blonde people sit on one side. They include emergency responders — EMTs, but not Mitch, firefighters, but not Nixon — cops, school teachers, band members, and fighters.
And on the other side, tattoos.
It’s the best way I can describe it.
Of course, those on Jess’ side aren’t as bare-skinned as I am, but those on Kane’s side are more obvious about it. Those on the left have inked arms hidden by coat sleeves. Those on the right have tattoos everywhere, so not even their fancy suits can hide it.
But the most obvious of all these are the men who stand with Kane at the front.
The Bishop brothers stand side by side in handsome black suits and ties. Kane wears a white pocket square, where the rest wear silver. Hair has been combed and gelled, faces have been shaved. Jay Bishop, who looks eerily like his brother, just a less serious version, bounces on his toes and holds Kane down when the ceremony’s three p.m. start time ticks over to three-oh-five, and then three-ten.
I study each of the men standing with Kane, but my eyes invariably stray back to one in particular.
Of course they do. He’s the largest of them all, the widest, the only one besides Kane who radiates anything but happiness.
I felt his gaze the moment I walked in and sat down, but I’m far too terrified to meet his eyes. I’m a coward, I’ve been here for twenty minutes, and not once in that time have I looked further up than his collar.
Spencer’s glare makes me sweat. It makes me squirm, and that’s a strange sensation for me. His tattooed hands peek out from the end of his suit jacket. His thick thighs are almost strangled in black dress pants. Shiny black shoes look entirely too long, but he’s tall, so I guess clown feet are proportionate.
Spencer Serrano makes me nervous, because he’s the first male who isn’t my brother to ever look just a tiny bit closer at me, or act like he cares about my well-being.
Spencer doesn’tcareabout me, as such, but he cared about my strength, about my weight, about a man he suspected was toxic for me. While my brothers being on my case kind of annoys me now after so many years of hearing the same thing over and over, having a stranger say the same things feels, I guess, exciting and new.
And for the girl who spent so much of her life in a little bubble, so shielded by brothers and shyness that not a single guy has ever looked longer than a second, I haven’t been able to shake off my meeting with this man.
I have no doubt that, in his mind, I’m just a stupid little gnat who can’t stand up for herself. But in my mind, he’s the guy who cared enough to make sure I was okay, even if he did it in such a crude way, I thought I might be sick from nerves.
Church bells eventually give way to music, though I have no clue who signaled the organ player to begin. The atmosphere in the large church changes, and Kane’s dark eyes burn holes into the heavy wooden doors that will open and reveal his bride in just a moment.
It’d be just his luck if Jess went into labor on the way here.
Poor Kane looks so stressed.
The doors open a full twenty minutes after three, allowing the perfect, middle-of-the-afternoon sunlight to filter through and light the aisle for a half a dozen rows. The organ’s tune picks up in speed until bridesmaids in silver file past the guests, making their way to join the group at the top of the room.
A heavyset man in robes waits by a microphone. He carries a worn bible, tattered and loved, as the women move with sneaky grins and bright eyes.
Jess’ maid of honor enters in her aqua gown, and because I know who her boyfriend is, I cast a glance back to the front, and watch Angelo’s eyes eat her up until the beautiful blonde almost passes out from blushing. She’s one of the beautiful people, one of the elite who should never be shy, but she can’t help but drop her gaze to the floor. Her shoulders come up, and her hair curtains her face as the pressure of so many onlookers batters at her.
But she smiles.
The music changes again, giving the signal for everyone to stand.
I know I shouldn’t look away from the doors. I know I should be watching the bride, but I can’t seem to help myself. I take a quick peek at the bridal party with the excuse that I’m going to watch the groom’s expression as Jess walks in, but in reality, I stop on Spencer. Just one peek, one single second before I turn away, but I look too high, and my eyes are caught in his while he glares.
He’s not looking at the bride, either.
I swallow a solid lump in my throat and try to turn away.
Icouldcall what Spencer is doing a stare. I could say he’s just curious, which would be understandable, considering I keep looking too. But stares are more about curiosity, right? Perhaps it’s a subliminal compliment about one’s hair or dress.