by Maggie Riley
When Allie walked down the aisle, Reagan’s smile was one of admiration and pride. When Shane and Allie read their vows, tears welled up in Reagan’s eyes—magnified by her glasses—the love so evident that even I got a little choked up. And when Shane kissed Allie— his new wife—Reagan applauded so hard that I couldn’t help but do the same.
Which is why, when I swung Emily up into my arms after the ceremony and we all followed after Shane and Allie, I still found myself craning my neck just to watch Reagan for one more second and found her beaming down at her partner for the ceremony.
His name was Mike something or other, a friend of Shane’s from school, and while he was probably a very nice guy, I couldn’t help feeling a weird combination of jealousy that he was the recipient of such a luminous smile and also a smidge of dumb male pride that he was a few inches shorter than his tall, lean partner.
“Who are you looking at, Uncle Josh?” Emily asked me, squirming in my arms.
“No one,” I told her, directing my attention frontward.
“Were you looking at the bridesmaids?” she asked, smart kid that she was.
“Nope,” I lied. “Ready for a party, Emy-bean?” I tried to redirect the conversation.
“Yeah!” she waved her fist in the air. “You’re my dance partner, right?”
“You bet,” I told her.
Knowing Emily, that meant some pretty enthusiastic spinning for a good fifteen minutes and then she’d immediately crash from all the adrenaline and fall asleep under one of the tables.
“Hooray!” she said, sliding out of my arms before grabbing my hand and pulling me over to the table that was now being set with appetizers.
REAGAN
Was there anything cuter than a hot guy dancing with a little girl? Especially if he was twirling her across the dance floor, her tulle skirt flying up like a ballerina’s? I couldn’t take my eyes off Josh and his niece, Emily, as he spun her in fast circles, her face bright with happiness.
It was almost as cute as the image the two of them had made walking down the aisle together. When I saw that, the giant pink flower on Josh’s lapel made sense, because Emily was wearing a matching one in her hair. Even though she was the flower girl and he was the best man, Allie had the two of them walk together so her maid of honor, Megan, Shane’s sister, could walk with him since their parents had both passed away years ago.
It had been a wonderful ceremony. I had barely kept it together, but managed to keep the tears at bay by remembering the sight of Josh and Emily walking together, her clutching tightly to his hand, her basket of rose petals forgotten, while he escorted her with pride, even picking her up for the last few steps and whispering something in her ear.
Then the two of them had emptied the basket of rose petals together, in a heap at the altar. It wasn’t traditional, but it was damn adorable. And then afterwards, he had swung her into his arms and the two of them had gone off, whispering and smiling at each other.
He had glanced back a few times, looking around as if he was searching for something, his eyes landing briefly on me before snapping back to the front. It seemed as though his frown seemed to grow whenever he caught sight of me, but I was happy to see it return when he looked at his niece.
Emily was a lucky kid. It was obvious she was adored by her entire family, all of whom seemed to support and encourage her. I felt a strange twinge of jealousy. What would it have been like to grow up in a family like that?
But entertaining such thoughts were an exercise in futility. I couldn’t change my past. The only thing I could change was my future. And that immediate future involved dancing and drinking and having a good time.
JOSH
“Wait, what?” Allie stared at me as if she hadn’t heard my response.
“You told me to go ask Reagan for a dance,” I reminded her, even though she had asked literally five second ago. Even though her confusion was valid. “And I said ok.” I had no idea why.
“Yeah, I heard you,” she told me. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re not pouting or making up some excuse why you can’t.”
“First of all, I don’t pout.” I held up one finger and then another. “And second, it’s your wedding, you’re my sister, she’s your friend and it’s one dance. Don’t get all weird about it.”
Allie blinked at me.
“Are you drunk?” Then she shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t care. Go find Reagan and have fun.” She pushed me towards the dance floor. “Tell her about the time you dressed up like Elsa and sang ‘Let it Go’ for Emily.”
I flipped her the bird. It had happened once and I told her never to speak of it to anyone.
Searching the crowd, I finally found Reagan standing over by the buffet table. She was squinting up at the lights.
“They look fine,” I told her as I approached.
She gave a little start and then relaxed into a smile.
“Am I that obvious?” she asked.
“You’re the only person looking at them,” I said.
“I just keep thinking that if I put another blue gel on that one over there it will be perfect,” she pointed to a light at the other end of the room. “It will only take a minute.”
It took me a second to realize that she was planning on making that adjustment now, but I managed to snag her arm before she got too far in the direction of the storage closet.
“It looks a lot better from the dance floor,” I told her.
She blinked up at me. “The dance floor?”
“You know, where everyone is right now.”
Reagan looked past my shoulder to where I knew most of the guests were getting down to the music. There was a lot of flailing arms and out of beat hip bumping, so it would be pretty easy to blend into the crowd. Not that I planned on embarrassing myself the way that Mike something-or-other, Reagan’s wedding partner, was doing towards the center of the group. It seemed to be some sort of combination of the Macarena and a form of line dancing.
I had expected him to be dragging Reagan onto the dance floor with him, but I found that I was glad that he hadn’t. Reagan was still looking up at the lights.
“I don’t think it could look that different from over there,” she adjusted her glasses.
I sighed. “Why don’t I show you?” I gave her elbow a little tug.
“But wouldn’t we be in the way of all the dancers?” she asked.
I sighed. I really had lost my touch. Six months ago, I could have just smiled at a woman and she’d be in my arms. Now I couldn’t even get one of my sister’s bridesmaids to dance with me. Weren’t bridesmaids genetically wired to want to dance with groomsmen?
“We won’t be in the way if we’re dancing as well,” I clarified.
Her eyes got round. “Are you asking me to dance?”
“Yep,” I gave up on subtly. “Come on.”
Before she could argue with me, I put my hand on the small of her back and led her towards the crowd. Of course, the minute we stepped onto the dance floor, the song switched from a fast pop tune to some old-fashioned crooner.
Fantastic.
I took her hand and placed my other one on the curve of her hip. I tried not to notice how nicely my palm fit there. She put her hand on my shoulder, but didn’t move.
“You know,” said Reagan. “I love to dance, but I’m really lousy at it.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Just follow my lead.”
“I can do that,” she smiled up at me.
I had learned long ago that a really good way to get close to a woman was dancing. And usually I enjoyed it, because it involved lots of touching. Slow dancing was close dancing. Thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest.
But I couldn’t dance that way with Reagan. Especially when I was trying so hard to keep from lusting after her. So I kept a respectable amount of distance between the two of us. Emily’s giant paper flower helped, as I couldn’t get too close without crushing it. It acted almost like a tissue paper cha
perone, but even so, I felt acutely aware of Reagan. Maybe more than I would have if we were dancing the way I usually did. This was clearly a bad idea. When I had agreed to dancing with her, I had assumed the music would stay upbeat and just standing in the vicinity of the dance floor would have been good enough.
Instead, she was in my arms and giving me that sweet, guileless smile of hers. I was, once again, inappropriately staring at her. This close it was hard not to. Until now, I hadn’t really looked past her dramatic hairstyle and large glasses. But now I did and I could see just how gorgeous her eyes were. Big and brown, they drew me in. Captivated me. The rest of her features were equally lovely—her high cheekbones and smooth skin. Her mouth. Her lips were full and bow-shaped, like a silent movie star. It practically begged to be kissed.
“You were right,” she said. “About the lights,” she clarified when I gave her a confused look. “They do look better out here.”
From her smile, I could tell that she was humoring me. Then, because I was woefully out of practice when it came to conversing, we fell into an awkward silence as the world’s longest slow song went on and on and on.
“The ceremony was nice, wasn’t it?” she finally asked.
Small talk. I could do small talk.
“Yep.”
“Allie looks so beautiful.” Reagan looked over her shoulder at where my sister and Shane, the newly minted husband, were dancing.
They, too, were just swaying on their feet, but unlike Reagan and I, they were so close that I was pretty sure a piece of paper couldn’t have fit between them. But Reagan was right. My sister did look pretty.
The suspicious lump in my throat showed up again. It had made another appearance earlier during the ceremony when Shane had read a list of things he loved about Allie as his vows. It was cheesy as hell, but still kind of sweet. Because if a guy had to be sappy and shit, he might as well do it on his wedding day.
“Thanks again for the save earlier,” said Reagan. “It probably would have been really bad if I had broken my neck right before the wedding.”
“It might have been a bit of a buzzkill,” I agreed, belatedly wondering if that was the wrong thing to say, but Reagan just laughed.
“I know, right?” She adopted a lower pitched voice, jutting her jaw out. “Sorry, sis, I told her the lights were fine, but she wouldn’t listen. I’ll just toss the body in the alley and you can get on with the ceremony.”
“Is that supposed to be me?” I asked, not sure if I was supposed to be offended.
“Sorry, was it not grumpy enough?” she asked.
“Funny,” I said sarcastically, even though it was a little funny.
She flashed me a grin. I almost smiled back. Almost.
“How’s your apartment? You’re in the Upper East Side, right?” Reagan asked, directing the conversation back to small talk. “That’s a nice neighborhood.”
I shrugged. Despite my former manager’s attempt to totally fuck me, I’d caught him before he made too much of a dent in my sizeable bank account and could easily afford a swanky apartment on the Upper East Side. Allie called it my boring bachelor pad whenever she came to visit. I couldn’t argue with her considering the only thing in it was a bed, a couch and a TV. I kept meaning to buy more furniture, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t muster up the energy or the interest in furnishing my place.
“Where do you live?” I asked, realizing that while she seemed to know a decent amount about me, I really didn’t know that much about her.
I hadn’t really been a very good conversationalist during our past interactions, barely answering questions and definitely not asking any in return. Still, I tried to imagine what kind of place someone like Reagan would live in. Probably the exact opposite of my place—likely crammed full of stuff and decorated however her latest dream had dictated.
“Greenwich Village,” she said.
“Why am I not surprised,” I said. I didn’t know much about New York neighborhoods, but I knew enough to know that Greenwich Village was known to be an artist’s haven.
She shrugged. “It was my Great Aunts’ place,” she said. “I inherited it when they passed a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “I miss them, but I see their deaths as a gift.”
“A gift?”
I must have had a shocked look on my face because Reagan quickly clarified.
“What I mean is that they always wanted me to pursue my directing career. And I’m able to do that because they gave me a place to live when they passed.”
For the first time since I’d met her, she didn’t look completely happy. She actually looked a little sad. Not surprising given the subject matter, but jarring nonetheless. Almost like seeing behind a curtain I hadn’t even known was there.
Reagan looked down. “I could continue to mourn them, or I could see their lives—and what they left behind—as a gift. And I choose to focus on the good, even if it’s the result of something bad.”
Then the sadness was gone and her perky smile was back.
“There’s always something good to hold onto,” she said. “Even when life throws you a curveball.”
“Must be nice to believe that,” I said before I could stop myself.
The words came out gruff and bitter. Reagan’s face fell, and I could have punched myself in the face. She had been talking about the death of two women who she obviously cared deeply for. But I had been thinking about my baseball career. Like the self-centered asshole I was.
“I’m sorry,” Reagan said quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It’s not your fault,” I told her, pulling back.
Apparently, I couldn’t even be decent for one whole song.
“But I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, and then took off across the room before she could reply.
Chapter 5
REAGAN
Stupid, stupid Reagan, I scolded myself. “Sometimes life throws you a curveball?” Why hadn’t I just said, “sorry about the end of your baseball career and the complete devastation it caused in your life, and by the way, how’s your shoulder feeling?”
I was supposed to be helping Josh, not making him feel worse. Ugh. I needed a drink. But when I got to the bar, the only thing left was champagne and wine. I needed something a little stronger than that to numb this embarrassment a little bit. Luckily, Joanna always kept a bottle of whiskey in her desk in her office.
I kept berating myself all the way into the lobby. We had been having such a good time, too. At least, I thought we had been. Josh had seemed to loosen up a little bit, and I even thought I caught a little smile at one of my jokes. But no, I had to go and put my foot right into my mouth.
It made me feel just like I had when I would go to my parents’ parties. I could never do anything right. After each one, I’d get a lecture. “Reagan, why are you lurking in the corner like an interloper? You need to socialize.” Or “Reagan, can’t you have a normal conversation like a normal person? No one wants to talk about whether or not Shakespeare should be performed in a period-accurate accent.”
It wasn’t until I met Joanna that I began to consider the possibility that maybe I wasn’t the problem—that just because my parents’ friends hadn’t appreciated my conversation, that didn’t mean that I wasn’t interesting or good at socializing. In fact, most people I met lately seemed to really enjoy my company and I didn’t have that much trouble engaging people in discussions. Josh clearly being the exception.
The party seemed to be winding down, but I was planning on staying afterwards to get a start on the clean up, so I told myself I’d only drink a little bit of the whiskey in the office and then go back to the theatre once everyone had cleared out. Pulling out the bottle, I took a seat at Joanna’s desk and tried to figure out how I could fix this. After all, Allie was counting on me to help her brother out of his current funk.
It probably didn’t help that
he was so damn cute. Maybe that was the reason I had managed to put my foot in my mouth so swiftly. I had a long history of being awkward when it came to the opposite sex. And after a few incredibly disastrous incidents, I had done my best to avoid men—at least, the men I found attractive—at all costs. It wasn’t that difficult, considering that those men never really paid me much mind anyways. There was a reason I hadn’t had sex in a really, really long time.
Something that wasn’t likely to change given the fact that all my attention needed to be focused on the theatre and our next production. And my business partner would probably not approve of me wasting my time getting all moony-eyed over some guy. Especially some guy who appeared to barely tolerate me on a social level. A romantic one was obviously out of the question. And I might have been many things, but a glutton for punishment was not one of them. Not anymore. Not when it came to men and relationships.
Joanna kept insisting that women were stronger and more focused when they didn’t have sex and while that definitely seemed to work for her, I was clearly getting itchy. And it was now playing havoc with my promise to Allie. If I wanted to help Josh, I’d have to find a way to work around my innate awkwardness, no matter how hot he was. I had to keep my feet on the ground and out of my mouth.
I finished off my small glass of whiskey and feeling kind of loose, but not drunk, grabbed one of the notepads that Joanna kept in her desk. Allie was a huge proponent of writing out problems. She said that sometimes it was a necessary step in fixing them. That if you could see them in front of you, oftentimes you’d be able to see the answer as well. I wasn’t sold on the technique—I preferred a more instinct-driven style of problem solving.
So instead of a list, I put Josh’s name in the center of the piece of paper, closed my eyes and let my subconscious guide me.
Apparently my subconscious was feeling very romantic, because when I opened my eyes, I had surrounded Josh’s name with about a billion little hearts. Even though I was alone, my face got hot. I told myself that my subconscious was obviously still thinking about the wedding and that I should probably work on something else. I pushed the paper away to the other side of the desk. Josh was hardly the only problem I had to deal with.