Page 40 of Born for Starlight

God help me.

Chapter Thirteen

Little Grandma waited until the quartet started the prelude and the seats around us filled in. Then she had me trapped, and we both knew it.

"For five weeks I've fed you," she said. "Corner booth. Black coffee. You watch doors, you count people, and you carry something. I don't know what it is, and I'm not asking. I raised boys who came home from wars. I know the look."

My heart rate stayed level. Sixteen years of training held it level. Everything else in me went very still.

"Ma'am," I started slow, getting ready to say God knows what.

"Don't ma'am me, I'm not done." She looked up at me, and her eyes were pale with age and not one bit soft. "That girl who's about to sit down next to you. The whole world's wanted a piece of her since she left for California, and every one of them came smiling. It's why she trusts slow. And that girl bit your cinnamon roll where the whole county could see her do it. That's fast for her." She patted my arm once, and it wasn't gentle, it was final. "So here it is, son. You get one shot. Whatever you're carrying, it never lands on her. Betray her trust, and you lose her forever, and not a soul in this town will ask her to reconsider. Me included… and I like you."

The music changed.

Every head turned toward the back, and so did we. Little Grandma with her hands clasped and a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression, as if we’d spent the last three minutes discussing the weather. Meanwhile, I sat there staring at a flowing white curtain, with her words lodged somewhere between my throat and my chest.

Angelica dropped into the seat on my other side four seconds before the first small figure appeared at the head of the aisle. She was flushed and triumphant and smelled like the flowers she'd spent an hour fixing.

"Made it," she whispered.

"Never doubted it."

"Liar." She squeezed my hand, one quick pulse, and let go before I could decide what to do about it.

Carrie's little girl came first, flinging petals with more enthusiasm than aim, and the town cooed on cue.

Then James.

He came down the aisle carrying the ring pillow. He walked with the extreme care of a man transporting a bomb. The pillow was empty, and I was sure it was for some very good reason, that made sense only to a four-year-old. For Adam and Zoe’s sake I hoped there were rings somewhere.

The bridesmaids followed, one at a time, and I did what I always do with a line of people. I read them. Trenda first, who found Simon's face up front immediately and didn't look anywhere else the whole way down. The brunette who had been chasing Lawson and Zephyr. Maddie, who I had been introduced to earlier. Then Chloe, Zoe’s twin, carrying her flowers like she barely knew she had them, her whole face already wrecked and the ceremony not even started. Piper, the youngest Avery sister, with a radiant smile. Then came Bella, walking the aisle last, grinning like she had organized the whole event—probably she had.

The music changed again.

Everyone stood.

Then we saw Zoe. It was true what they said about brides. She was stunning, and I thought that even standing next to a movie star. Zoe glowed as she held her brother’s arm and started down the aisle. I looked at Drake Avery.

I'd met the man an hour ago. Granite face, SEAL to his last breath with advice worth keeping. That man was gone. The one walking his baby sister down the aisle had his jaw set so hard it had to ache, and about halfway down, Zoe leaned her head onto his shoulder without breaking stride, and Drake Avery, who I'd have called uncrackable, cracked everywhere at once and kept walking anyway.

Beside me, Angelica had both hands pressed to her mouth.

At the arch, Drake lifted Zoe's hand and put it in Adam's. He said something too low for anyone to hear. Adam nodded like it was an oath. Then Drake kissed his sister's cheek and went to sit with Karen, who took his hand without looking at him, the way long-married people do.

The officiant let the town settle.

"Dearly beloved," he began, and started the ceremony, then he turned to Adam. "Adam, do you take⁠—"

"I do. But."

The officiant stopped. The town stopped.

"Adam." Zoe's voice carried, dry as August. "Of all the words available to you right now, you picked but?"

"Butt is a bad word," James announced, from his post.

"Not now, James," both of them said, in perfect unison, and the whole crowd broke, and even the officiant had to look down at his book for a second.