Page 67 of Not You Again
Patrick is quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “You couldn’t say it back because you didn’t love her or because you were scared?”
“One hundred percent it was because I was afraid.” I sip on my beer while I sort out my thoughts. “She obviously took that poorly, and I never got to explain myself because …” Emotion rises quickly, and it’s all I can do to choke out the words. “My dad died. Suddenly. And I had to go home. By the time I made it back, Andie wanted nothing to do with me.”
“That’s rough, man.” Patrick agrees. “You were both vulnerable and needed each other, and instead you had to go it alone.”
I can’t believe how succinctly he put that. All I can do is nod. My beer can crinkles under my grip, so I let it go.
“Tell her how you feel about her,” Jamie tells me. “Maybe it’s what she needs to get closer, you know? To know she’s not alone in feeling it too.”
I tap my fingers on the table and look between Patrick and Jamie. They’re both looking at me like they’re worried about how I’m doing. What a concept. My constant travel for work doesn’t exactly help me foster these kinds of relationships. I never realized how important they might actually be. “I need to hang out with you guys more often.”
“Yes, you do.” Patrick tilts his beer can in my direction with a smirk.
“Why are you down here, then?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, glad to be out of the hot seat for a moment.
He shrugs. “Kendra got overwhelmed with … all of it. She asked for some time alone. I am happy to oblige.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not worried she doesn’t want to spend time with you?”
“Nope.” He sips on his beer. “I know what I bring to the table, and so does she. Trust me, her wanting a little alone time is not a reflection of me as a husband, or of her as a wife. Sometimes shit just gets to be too much, man. I’ll be here when she needs me.”
I nod. He makes way too much sense sometimes.
We finish our beers in amiable silence, listening to the breeze shimmy through the trees and the hum of the pool filter.
“Okay.” Patrick is the one to break the silence. “Here’s what’s gonna happen—we’re all going to go back up to our apartments. Jamie, you need to tell Leslie how he makes you feel when he tells you to be more serious. Kit, you’re going to tell Andie you’re all in. With those exact words. And I’m going to tell Kendra I love her, and I’m here when she’s ready to talk.”
Our chairs scrape across the patio as we stand. Patrick and Jamie head home, and I grab my laundry to finish what I started. We’re headed to that wedding this weekend. Maybe it’s time I use the romantic atmosphere to my advantage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTKIT
Andie’s eyes are fixed on the bride’s dress as she dances for the first time with the man who is now her husband. I’m glad I got to see one of her dresses in action. The photos on her website are beautiful, and the fabric draped on dress forms in her loft are intriguing, but if I wasn’t here to witness this, I’d have missed how different the dresses are when they move. My work is static; buildings don’t sway in a slight breeze or wrap around someone’s body like they’re a part of it. Andie’s consideration for movement is nothing short of genius.
And if I wasn’t here tonight, I’d have missed the awed whispers of wedding guests as the bride walked by. Even now, as I sit at a table near the back of a tent with Andie, some guests at the bar are talking about how it sparkles in the light.
Andie’s fingers tap on her thigh to the rhythm of “The Way You Look Tonight,” and she tips a sip of water into her mouth. As the bride and groom spin on the dance floor, utterly enchanted with each other, I can’t help but think about how Andie and I did this mere weeks ago. We’ve gotten so close to something more than a marriage for show a few times now.
Steve and Cassidy lurk in the wings. I catch Steve’s eye, and he gives me a thumbs-up.
Before Cassidy mic’d us upon arrival, I asked him, “You said she hated you at first; what turned the tide?”
Steve smiled, watching as Cassidy fussed over where to hide the mic in Andie’s bodice. “I was there every day, man. The good ones and the bad. Especially the bad ones. When I finally told her how I felt, she couldn’t deny it anymore.”
“It?” I raised a brow.
He shrugged. “That we had something worth fighting for.”
Now, beneath the fairy lights of someone else’s declaration of everlasting love, the mic pack weighs heavy on my waistband under my coat. I’m done waiting.
I’m done hoping we’ll find the right moment, that suddenly all the pieces will fall into place. Much like my work, you can’t argue with the laws of physics. There’s no point. Instead, you find a way to work with them. Andie and I already have our foundation built; it’s time for us to work with it instead of against it.
We’re at a beautiful wedding in Atlanta’s Botanical Gardens, string lights through branches absolutely everywhere the eye can see, and a fountain is lit up just outside the tent. It’s time to make our moment happen instead of holding back.
My fingers brush the small of Andie’s back through the silk of her dress—one she most definitely made herself. She looks over her shoulder, her eyelashes gilded in gold from the string lights around the centerpiece.
Fuck it—I lean forward and rest my chin on her opposite shoulder. She stiffens for a split second before leaning in, her chest rising and falling against her bodice. “What are you doing?” she murmurs, her eyes back on the bride and groom.
“Enjoying the party.” My hand slips around her waist. “Everyone is fascinated by the dress.”