Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I’m starting to feel uneasy for her. Apparently I’m not the only one, because a slender guy with a wave of perfect hair scurries up and starts waving his hands near her face.
“Breathe, sweetie. Give me some deep yoga breaths.”
“There aren’t breaths deep enough,” Jess insists. “If I’m jailed for murder, will you visit me?”
“Obvs,” the guy coos, kissing her cheek. Then he extends a hand to me but laughs when he realizes I can’t shake it because I’m holding something like a hundred balloons.
“I’m Blake Riley,” I offer.
“Dyson Hart.”
“Dyson, like the vacuum?”
“That’s right.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Want a demonstration?”
“Dyson,” Jess snaps. “What did we talk about?”
The guy chuckles.
“Blake, this is Dyson. My boyfriend.”
Dyson chuckles again, and she elbows him. He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, hon.”
Jess sighs. “Okay, so we have half as many white balloons as we need. I’ll just make do.”
“What about these blue babies?” I look up at them glinting in the sunlight.
“They can go…by the porta-potties,” she grumbles.
“All right.” If it’ll cheer her up, I’m all for it. “Then it’s a real shame that some of ’em don’t say We’re Number Two.”
Dyson lets out a loud laugh-snort and holds up a hand, which I try to high-five. But we get tangled up in the balloon ribbons, and Jess has to free us. She does this while rambling on and on about how difficult I am and that she’s never planning another wedding again as long as she lives.
I’m obviously going to have to calm her down with some nookie later. This much stress isn’t good for anyone.
***
Jess
“So tell me about Blake,” Dyson orders, licking his lips. “Why are we trying to make him jealous?”
“We’re not,” I snap. “You’re just the buffer.”
“Uh-huh,” he says with a wink. “I’d let Blake buff me.”
I clamp my jaw shut because the urge to spill my guts is strong. But I’m saved from that disaster by the appearance of my brother, the groom.
“Wow, look at all this.” Jamie looks so handsome in his suit and tie that I have to restrain myself from running over to ruffle his hair. There’s a smile on his tanned face, and now I know why I’ve been working my ass off these past few weeks.
“You look so amazing,” I tell him, my throat closing up a little. “Wes is a lucky man. I hope he knows.”
Jamie grins. “He does. Hey there, Dyson. How are you?” My brother holds out a hand for Dyson to shake.
My friend hesitates for a second, a hurt look in his eyes. Then he pulls a startled Jamie into a full-body hug. “I’m so happy for you,” he says shakily.
Jamie shoots me a confused look over Dyson’s head. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Dyson pulls back with a shuddering sigh. “I’ll just…go powder my nose,” he mumbles, walking off toward the main house.
“Is he okay?” Jamie asks, pointing over his shoulder at my friend.
“I’ll check on him in a minute. But in the meantime, is there anything you need? Guests will start arriving in an hour. Is Wes here? Is he dressed? I should really check on the musicians.”
Jamie puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me right in the eye. “Calm down. You’re making me tense.”
“I am?”
He gives me another big baby-brother smile. “You did a great job out here, Jessie. It’s going to be a terrific party. I love the menu.”
We’re having barbecue—brisket and ribs, corn salad, two different kinds of slaw on the side.
“And those balloons by the bathrooms are hysterical.”
Sigh. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. So stop freaking out, and have a glass of wine or something, okay? You deserve it.” He squeezes my shoulder one more time, then walks away to greet our grandmother, who has been relocated to a shadier spot and handed a cup of strong coffee.
Right. I need to calm down. And I’ll do that, just as soon as I check on the musicians I’ve hired. Jamie is right—I’m so tense about the wedding that I hardly recognize myself. I know I need to relax, but I can’t seem to do it. It’s too important to me that my family thinks I’ve done as good a job as anyone could.
They think of me as their hot-mess kid. But now I finally know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. And when I tell them after the wedding, they’ll still roll their eyes.
***
Ninety minutes later, I’m still a wreck, but it isn’t my own fault.
A couple hundred guests, including some of the most celebrated athletes in the NHL, are seated in tidy rows of wooden chairs on the lawn. My older brothers have just finished seating Nana and the rest of my siblings in the front row.
In the back, under the tent, I stand with the grooms and my parents. A pair of musicians up front play the first descending chords of Pachelbel’s Canon in D on an electric cello and an electric guitar.