Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I don’t remember us talking about movies. “Sounds fun.”
“Yeah? Only if we’re up for it. Thought it could be fun. We can play it by ear. Friend of mine used to work at the theater, so I have a permanent hookup.” He reconsiders. “Well, sometimes, depends on if Mr. Lemon’s there or not. He’s a stickler for no freebies.”
I keep weighing back and forth whether I should tell him that Samuel and I kissed last night. Cole said many times that we’re not committed or anything. He’s made it a point specifically. Despite that, it still feels wrong somehow.
Maybe I’ve just been out of the dating scene too long.
I don’t know how any of this works.
Maybe Cole doesn’t want to know. Maybe it doesn’t matter to him. Maybe it’ll just throw an unnecessary damp blanket over the night, ruining any potential we could have together.
“Let’s do it,” I decide. “Movie date after the dinner.”
“Yeah? Great! I think it’ll be fun.” Cole flashes a bright smile that could outshine any flash of lightning the sky dares to make.
The rain grows heavier.
I hope the gods didn’t take that for a challenge.
“I’ll put on some music,” he decides after we’ve been driving for five or so minutes in silence. “It’ll help drown out the storm. Makes things a bit less dark and terrifying, too.” A pop song comes on. He grimaces, seems to consider switching it to something else, then says, “Nah, this’ll do the trick,” and smiles again.
Thank you, nameless Britney-Spears-derivative pop star.
Surprisingly, the music does help pass the time and the gloom of the storm. Before I know it, Cole is pulling into a parking lot of an old church, which partially wraps around two sides of the lot and is lined with trees that look like shimmering black obsidian in the night rain. He hops out first with the umbrella, comes around to my side, and together we hurry to the long covered awning that stretches from the church’s entrance, beneath which hangs a wide wooden sign with the church’s name engraved: Spruce Fellowship.
My eyes run up to the high vaulted ceiling as soon as we pass through the small lobby and enter into the main chapel, which looks far nicer and updated inside than I expected. A thin strand of bulb lights are strung along the whole perimeter of the room, dangling from fiery bursts of holly, which look beautiful against the white walls. The crowd that has gathered for this rehearsal dinner thing is unexpectedly big. I don’t know many faces here, as I’m not close with any one of them, but I imagine Bobby’s parents are here, as well as his closest friends. Jimmy’s, too, no doubt. I’m sure the entirety of the Strong family who matter—which is likely all of them—are scattered around the church. From the looks of it, the wedding rehearsal part just ended, and everyone is restlessly looking forward to the dinner.
“I thought it was just friends and family,” I mutter as Cole and I inch our way through the crowd.
Cole shrugs. “I guess when it comes to the Strongs, everyone’s friends and family.”
A wide, decorative archway opens to another large room. The tables are thoughtfully arranged and decorated, far more spruced up than is normal for any church-related event that takes place in this room. The centerpieces on each table seem to glow, even in the dim romantic lighting, with matching tablecloths, plates, wine glasses, and fancy-as-all-get-out silverware. Not a damned thing in this room was skimped on or overlooked, and we all know who to thank (or blame?) for that.
We take a seat at an inconspicuous table in the back bearing no nameplates—and is thus unofficially designated as the “others” area. Fine with me. Many others have taken their seats and are busy chatting and laughing with each other, everyone in this room clearly belonging exactly where they are, among family and close friends. For the longest while, Cole and I just sit there in an awkward silence—Cole being pleasant and polite, me looking like the Grim Reaper’s bastard son.
Soon, the wine comes around again, and I can’t fill my glass fast enough. I make an aside to Cole, then belatedly realize he isn’t old enough to drink. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone here would notice or care,” he admits with a cute chuckle, “but … I think I’ll pass anyway.” He smiles pleasantly.
He’s always smiling pleasantly.
For one freaky second, I want to see what Cole looks like when he gets mad. Furious. Totally blows a gasket. Would it be comical or downright terrifying?
Or beautiful?
Probably beautiful.
It’s when I take a sip of wine that my eyes seem to turn into machines, instantly zeroing in on two people at the other end of the room where the important people belong. Jimmy has his foot propped up on a chair like a pirate, holding a bottle of beer up in the air like a cutlass, and he appears to be in the middle of telling a boastful story to his friends. He delivers a big punchline, and all of them burst into laughter.