Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“I know what you mean,” he says, and there’s a hint of sadness there. Disappointment? He’s also hesitating, his feet planted in the sand like he’s being led to an audit.
With a hand on his elbow, I coax him to turn toward me. “Hey.”
He smiles and I wonder for the hundredth time why he doesn’t do it more often. “Hey.”
“I forgot to tell you something awesome.”
He tilts his head, the stars reflecting in his eyes. “I love awesome.”
“My manager emailed while you were being accosted by your sister-in-law, and three of my pieces will be at a showing in Laguna!”
His smile grows and I screech as he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me from the ground. “That’s amazing,” he says, peering up at me. “Congratulations, Green.”
“Thank you.”
After an awkward amount of what now? eye contact, West sets me down and I’m glad to see that his expression is lighter, his shoulders looser. Mission accomplished. “See? No virgin sacrifice required,” he says.
“Oh, good to know,” I say, grinning. “You were gone so long, I wanted to ask if thanks were due, but it felt like that sort of gift is best left unmentioned.”
“Just your talent, absolutely zero blood spill.”
Music drifts from the restaurant as a band begins to play. “Okay,” I say. “So we are madly in love, are the types to have sex before and after this party, and these suckers can only dream of being this happy.” I reach up, smoothing the front of his shirt. “You ready, Dr. Weston?”
“No, but let’s do it anyway.” He winks. “Champagne’s on me.”
As we enter, we are greeted by a beautiful young woman wearing a Weston’s name tag. “Welcome to the Weston-McKellan welcome reception.” She hands me a heavy white bag.
“What’s this?” I say, peeking inside.
West leans in. “Probably a swag bag.”
I blink up at him. “Like at the Oscars?”
He laughs. “Something like that. Stuff from my parents but probably things from other guests, too.”
“They got sponsors? For a wedding?” I push the tissue paper aside. “West,” I say, and pull out the iconic white box. “There’s an iPad in here.” Next to it is an envelope with a crisply folded sheet of stationery. “Oh my God. Ten shares of Samsung stock… a week at a luxury Canadian resort…” It goes on and on: a canister of hand-harvested gourmet dates, Belgian chocolates, a year’s supply of vitamin supplements, luxury bath salts, several vouchers for skin-care products and… my excitement deflates. “A gift card for liposuction?”
West lifts one weary shoulder, leading me farther inside.
Across the room, Charlie and Kellan greet guests as they arrive, and she looks so genuinely happy that my heart grows four sizes. I want that for West so much. I want him to take what he loves in his family and leave the rest, to build a perfect combination of chosen family and given and finally find some relief from whatever the history is with his father.
He leaves me to grab us drinks, and I scan the seating, knowing Janet will not have left something like a seating chart to chance. I set my gift bag next to the place card with Dr. and Mrs. William Weston embossed across it. Married to a doctor, well done, Past Me.
Mother would be so proud.
I look around, hoping to find Jake, but he doesn’t seem to have arrived yet. Nearby is a banquet table heavy with desserts, each accompanied by a tiny silver label. Saffron poached pears with gold leaf and spun sugar cages. Sheep’s milk mousse, pandan curd, and caramelized puff rice. White chocolate mousse with cardamom espuma and clementine sorbet. Papaya curd with black currant jelly, oatmeal, and mint glass.
I think of the last wedding I went to, of a friend from high school who was married at the Los Angeles County courthouse and had the reception at Level Up Dance Studio in Signal Hill. She ordered Domino’s, and afterward we all shared a chocolate sheet cake she got for free because the bakery accidentally piped Congratulations on Your Weeding. Best cake I’ve ever had.
I reach for a plate, filling it with everything I can carry, and turn to see West on his way back. But he doesn’t just have drinks. He has an older red-haired man with him. “Anna, this is Patrick Lemon. Pat, this is my wife, Anna.”
I set down my plate and shake his hand enthusiastically. “Pat is the chairman of the American Dairy Farmer Coalition,” West adds.
“Mr. Lemon, it’s such a thrill to meet you. I am a huge fan of your work.”
He smiles at me, unsure. “Thank you.”
“I personally think a mixing bowl is the correct serving size for breakfast cereal,” I say, winking at West. “And my best friend, Vivi, is lactose intolerant but will happily polish off an entire pint of ice cream as if she won’t be in my bathroom for the next three hours.”