Page 80 of Not Safe for Work

Once we’ve polished off every last crumb of cake, we lie on our respective lounge chairs, enjoying a comfortable silence. Something irrevocable has changed between us over the span of a single conversation that feels like it’s been building to this moment for years.

As the sun sets, squeals from below draw me up from my seat. I hang over the railing to see a wedding party making all the noise. A bride in a fluffy white dress hangs off the back of her groom, surrounded by bridesmaids in diaphanous mint-green dresses and groomsmen in dark suits with satiny green ties.

Rafe stands next to me, leaning his elbows on the railing. He’s close enough that our arms press together, and I notice every inch of him. Every breath and every slight shift. We watch as the wedding party poses for photos, shrieking and laughing.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket, noticing it’s a text from Andy. I look up, and Rafe quickly averts his gaze. He was totally looking at my screen.

“I forgot there’s an event tonight,” I say. “Some kind of mingling thing.”

Rafe glances at my phone and then at me. “If you want to go with him, you should.”

I snort and shake my head. “He was already a two at best, but after what you just told me, he’s a minus ten.”

Rafe laughs. “He’s a what?”

I snicker and tell him about Brian and the question he asked me on the day of the retreat announcement.

“He called himself a seven?” Rafe asks with a laugh. “Nah, he’s a good guy.”

“He is,” I agree.

Rafe grins, his eyes sparkling. “What did you rate me?”

My cheeks heat. “No way, we’re not doing this.”

He laughs and nods at my phone. “Do you want to go to the thing?”

“Not really.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. “You?”

Rafe shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Our gazes meet and then pull away. Maybe neither one of us wants to admit we want to hang out here alone.

We return our attention to the wedding party, still taking pictures on the sand.

“We should crash the reception,” Rafe says casually, his eyes bright with mischief.

My mouth falls open. “Could we do that?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Couldn’t we?”

“That would be very devious.”

He smiles. “But also really fun.”

“Have you ever crashed a wedding before?”

“No. Have you?” he says in an accusing way that’s half teasing and half serious.

“This was your idea! I’ve never crashed a wedding.”

The bride and groom move towards the shoreline, where the bridesmaids gather their dresses around their knees and run into the surf, kicking up water. The harried photographer follows behind, snapping pics with one of the two giant cameras strapped to her body.

“It does sound much better than another boring WMC event. How would we do it?” I ask.

He tips his head in consideration. “We’d need to dress up a little. Do you have something fancy to wear?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course. Do you have something fancy?”