Page 2

Nine Years Ago

Jordan

The Elliots rented out an entire winery in Traverse City for the wedding this weekend.

They wanted the best for their oldest son Michael and for my sister Tangela, so that’s what they got.

The ceremony area is set up on a hill in the back, and it’s overlooking the hundreds of rows of grapes, some ripe for picking.

The wood structure where the ceremony is supposed to take place is decorated with wildflowers in various shades of pink, orange, red, and purples.

All of Tangela’s favorites are neatly woven in through sparkling string lights.

I look away from the window and towards Tangela. She looks incredible in her long-sleeved laced dress and pinned up hair. But most importantly, she looks happy. Our gazes meet, and she gives me a smile that brightens up her whole face. And then it drops as my mom arrives to fuss over her veil.

Oh boy. Time to intervene.

I pick up my pace and get there just in time to hear, “Honey, are you sure about this? Say the word and I’ll get you out of here, you don’t have to marry the white boy.”

I roll my eyes at my mother’s antics and put my hands on her shoulders, spinning her towards me instead.

“Mom, we’ve talked about this. No unsolicited advice, please.”

Our mom can be a handful sometimes and constantly gets in our personal lives.

We’ve had multiple conversations with her over the years, letting her know when she crosses the line.

Like just now. She scowls at me, and her tanned face shows off the wrinkles she’s acquired over the years.

“Don’t get me started on you. Why didn’t you bring a date to your sister's wedding?” she says.

Tangela sighs and shakes her head, but before she can intervene, the wedding planner lets us know that guests have started to arrive.

I say, “I didn’t bring a date because I’m too busy being in the wedding party. And you should go make sure the guests find the right seats, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can take a hint,” she says, and places a kiss on Tangela’s cheek before leaving the room.

The rest of the wedding party files into the room, along with my dad, who looks dapper in his suit and dark red bow tie.

My mom always said I was a carbon copy of my dad, but the truth is I could never pull off a bow tie.

His eyes are shining, and I think I can see some dried tears on his freckled cheekbones.

I need to look away before I start crying too.

As I look around the room, I see Robbie chatting with one of Tangela’s bridesmaids.

After I joined the Manticores last year, Alex and Robbie took me under their wing pretty quickly and we’ve been good friends ever since.

Especially Robbie. When he found out my parents retired and moved to the East side of the state, leaving me to spend Christmas alone, he invited me over. Easy as that.

Tangela was in town visiting, and I decided to bring her along.

I didn’t expect her to be immediately so taken with Michael.

I definitely wasn’t. He’s kind of a doofus in my opinion—almost thirty, working as a bartender downtown, living with his parents.

And yet, he must have some good qualities, because after dating for less than a year, my sister said yes to marrying him.

The last of the rain clouds are clearing up just in time for the wedding ceremony and the people are being ushered to take a seat. We all get into position as the wedding planner instructed us during rehearsal, but my partner in crime for the day is missing.

I look around but don’t see her anywhere. Before I can ask Robbie where she is, the back door slams open and Alice runs in, wincing at the force, and heads straight for my sister, presenting her the large bouquet of flowers she’s holding.

Tangela gasps and says, “You are a lifesaver, Al. I thought I’d for sure have to go out without a bouquet.”

“Please, I would have scrounged something up from all these flowers before leaving you hanging.”

“Thank you.”

“Places, people. We’re on a schedule!” the wedding planner yells out.

Alice quickly takes her spot next to me, looping her arm through my elbow, just like we rehearsed. I frown as I look down at her small hand on my forearm. It’s covered in cuts and scrapes.

I lean in so only she can hear me and say, “Alice, what happened to your hand?”

She looks up, startled, and her dark blue eyes are glued to my face, roaming around like they don’t know what to land on.

“Al?”

“Oh, right. It’s nothing, J. I offered to redo the bouquet because it was coming apart.”

“You should put something on those cuts.”

“I don’t have time right now. Later,” she says, brushing me off and turning to face the other couples lined up in front of us.

I study her profile for a moment. Alice is five feet, four inches of pure sass. Her dark blond hair is styled half down, with a twist in the back and plenty of hair strands falling into her face and eyes. And the bridesmaid dress she is wearing looks like it’s perfectly made for her.

The burgundy material hugs her in all the right places, especially her ass, and I need to shake myself out of it when I realize I’m staring at my best friend’s sister, who is six years younger than me at that.

What is wrong with me?

Maybe I should have brought a date.

Alice

I take a deep breath to steady myself. My hands are itchy and this dress is tighter than I expected, but I got it on the Internet and it came in a couple days ago, so it’s not like I had time for a complete re-haul of my outfit.

On the bright side, I’m pretty sure I noticed Jordan checking me out a second ago.

Someone yells out that we’re next and it’s like I’ve forgotten everything they told us at the rehearsal yesterday. Walk fast to the beat of the music—no, wait—walk slowly to give the people at the front time to get to their assigned places.

My steps pick up without my thinking and Jordan gently holds me back, taking charge of the pace. Good . I’m so nervous, I’m a mess.

Michael is getting married. After being an idiot for most of his life, he’s finally pulled his head out of his ass and found the perfect girl for him.

And I’m so happy. I want this to be the best day ever for them, and if that means taking on some odd chores and fixing up a bouquet at the expense of my manicure, then so be it.

As soon as we get up to the altar, I let go of Jordan’s forearm, but he catches my hand back at the last second. My head whips to him and he gives me a small smile and kisses the back of my hand. The whole thing happens so fast that I’m dumbstruck.

Then he’s shaking Michael’s hand and moving to stand with the rest of the groomsmen. Michael wraps me up in a hug and says, “I know I torture you most of the time, but I love you Al.”

“Wow, not even married yet and already you’re soft,” I say, teasing him and hugging him tight. “I love you too.”

I look back to my parents, who are already in their seats up front, and smile. The wedding planner glares at me from across the pavilion and I quickly move over and take my spot on the bride’s side.

Robbie and Diana, the bridesmaid he’s paired up with, walk down and my two brothers have a long hug. I look over at the wedding planner expecting her to glare, but she’s all smiles.

Rude.

Jordan catches my eye and smiles, subtly running a finger over his throat. It takes all I have not to burst into laughter as he brings up the inside joke from the rehearsal, that the wedding planner is going to murder me for being ditsy.

I don’t have the chance to respond to his antics, because the song changes and Tangela and her dad start walking down the aisle.

She looks incredible in her lace dress with long sleeves and pearl buttons. Her black hair is in an updo, with a few strands falling forward, and her smile brightens up the whole pavilion. She waves at me with the hand that’s holding the bouquet and I smile, happy that she gets her perfect day.

I expect my idiot brother to make some kind of joke or bad-mannered comment, but when I look over I see tears in Michael’s eyes, then Robbie’s. And the next thing I know, my vision is blurry too.

No one tells you how emotional weddings are, especially when you’re part of the family.

I blow out a breath and fan my face, refusing to let the tears fall, and I manage for half the ceremony.

But when they get to the vows and I realize how much they love each other and how incredible their life will be together, I lose it.

And I’m not the only one. There’s not a single dry cheek in the whole wedding party.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause to Mr. and Mrs. Elliot as they take the dance floor.”

“That was one hell of a ceremony,” I say to Jordan, keeping my eyes on the couple as they slow dance.

“Could do with fewer tears,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I scoff, “I think most of those tears were yours.”

Jordan laughs brightly and I twist my head to look at him. His tie is looser and he looks more relaxed than he did earlier. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Oh buddy, I got bad news for you,” I say, and point across the room at the photographer. “That guy captured it all, it’s forever immortalized.”

“Hm, any chance we can ask him to Photoshop us out of the pictures?” he says, jokingly.

“It’ll be one of those memes, where you ask them to fix the photo and they focus on the completely wrong thing to fix. We’ll go viral.”

“Good point. Maybe we just keep these in the family then.”

“Family,” I say, and take a deep breath. “Is that kind of what we are now?”

Jordan shrugs and chews his lip in thought. I’m dying to know what he thinks, and I do my best to keep still but my knee starts bouncing.

Does he see me as a little sister?

That really wouldn't work with the massive crush I have on him.

“In a way,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate further. I deflate a bit and think of something else to say, but before I can, the emcee asks the wedding party to join the couple.

I stand up quicker than I intend and step on my dress. Before my face can meet the floor, Jordan’s hands are there, steadying me against his broad chest.

“Careful,” he says.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Do I need to carry you to the dance floor?” Jordan asks, a little smirk playing at his pink lips.

“I’d like to see you try.” It comes out breathier and flirtier than I intended, but Jordan’s pupils go wide. I’m worried he might actually do it, or worse, that he’ll let go.

Instead, he gently places me back on my feet and takes my hand, leading the way to the dance floor.

His hands find my waist and I step into him, looping my hands around his neck. He’s so tall, almost a foot taller than me, and if I didn’t have heels on I’d have to stand on my tiptoes to even reach him.

The song is soulful and hypnotic, and I don’t take my eyes away from Jordan for even a second. It’s like we’re caught in this trance, and the whole world around us disappears.

I like him so much.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear me.

Jordan looks away from my mouth where his gaze lingered for a second too long, and he bites his lip. “Of course.”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

I don’t know why I ask. It’s none of my business, and I’m terrified of the answer, but I’m dying to know anyway. Jordan is kind and sweet and perfect boyfriend material. Yet, in the year that I’ve known him, he’s never mentioned a girlfriend. Not even once.

His eyebrows scrunch together, and he looks away from me for the first time since we started dancing. “I don’t really have the time for one at the moment,” he says, avoiding my gaze.

I gently squeeze the back of his neck and his attention returns to me. “But if you did, what would you look for in someone?”

Jordan exhales roughly and shakes his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. You’re a really great guy, J. I’m just surprised you don’t have a flock of girls following you around all the time.”

He laughs softly. “I’m too awkward for that.”

“Well, I find it cute,” I say, and hold my breath for his response. Jordan looks at me intently and opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything because the song ends. A pop one starts up and everyone else joins, crowding us in.

Jordan lets go of my waist and backs away from me, a solemn look on his face. The crowd swallows him whole as I stand there, stupefied, in the middle of the dance floor.

“J!” I say, but he’s already too far away to hear me.

What have I done?