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“There,” she says, adjusting the flower until it sits just right. She removes her hands from my chest, and I instantly miss her touch. Gentle, but knowing. “Now don’t mess with it again.”
“Pinky promise.” I offer her my right pinky, and she takes it. I don’t miss the way her face pinkens again, highlighting her freckles, or the warmth of her finger. After she drops her hand, she goes back to the box of flowers, and I can’t help but let my gaze track her. I try to multitask, and make sure none of the other guys are staring at her ass in those tight black leggings that hug her every curve as she bends down to pick up her stuff, but of course they are. And I, of course, can’t say anything, because for one, she’s not my girl, and two, I don’t want to make a scene by punching them out.
Instead, I grit my teeth, watching as she straightens her back and walks toward the main building.
We follow Marley around for the next forty minutes or so, taking pictures in every combination imaginable. When cars start to pull into the parking lot, Megan is led back to the building to hide out until all the guests arrive and she can make her grand entrance. Isaac walks around, greeting the guests, getting lots of hugs and back slaps from friends, extended family, the whole works. The rest of the girls head in with Megan until we are set to go down the aisle.
I’m walking with the Maid of Honor, Fallon, Megan’s best friend from college. She’s super nice, and has a daughter named Presley. She’s the flower girl. She looks cute as shit in her white tulle dress and mini bouquet. Last night at the rehearsal, I could tell she was nervous, so I offered to walk down the aisle with her, and toss a few flowers.
I could tell she wasn’t sure what to say, until she turned around and saw her mom holding up a thumbs up for her. She’s a pretty cool kid. I think she’s maybe five or six, though I’ve always been terrible at guessing ages, so she could be twelve for all I know.
I follow everyone inside, using my spare time to take a leak. Marley is standing guard outside the doors to the girls dressing room, which is right across the hall from the men’s bathroom.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Marley stops me with a hand on my forearm.
“What’s up?” I answer.
She drops my arm, stepping back into her post. “I’ve been tossing around the idea of doing something called a stranger photoshoot.”
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, my brows raising, and an immediate concern for her safety sputters out my mouth. “You better not be meeting up with dudes from dating apps or some shit to photograph them, Mar.”
Marley scoffs. “No, you dimwit. Just let me finish.”
I wave my hand in a “go on” motion.
“It’s essentially a blind date. You fill out a few forms, and I set you up with someone based on compatibility. From there, we set up a date where the two of you can meet, and we do a cute photoshoot. I’ve seen ones ranging from a cute engagement like photoshoot, to a couples boudoir shoot.”
“Boowhat?” I pause, taking in her words again. “Hey, why do you keep saying ‘you’?” I ask, shoving my hands in the pocket of my slacks.
“Boudoir,” she reiterates. “Look it up. I’m not explaining that to you. I keep saying you,” she pokes her finger into my chest, “because I was going to see if you could be my first victim.”
Ummm, what? I cough out a laugh. “Funny,” I say.
“Not joking.”
“Why do you even want to do this?”
“I’ve seen it going around on social media, and it looks really fun. The pictures always turn out incredible, and the chemistry between the two subjects is so fun to see develop through the pictures. It would be a really fun addition to my portfolio. And,” she adds on slyly. “I’ve also seen that a lot of the time, the couples set up for the blind date sometimes end up together. I even saw one couple that got married.”
Okay, I admit it. Now, she might have my interest. What can I say? I want to settle down, find a partner. I’m a lonely motherfucker.
“Fine. I’ll fill out the forms. But this better not be some kind of prank that Beau set you up to do.”
“I swear on my grandma’s grave, this is all my idea. Beau doesn’t even know.” Marley waves her hands in surrender.
I let out a shudder. “You really had to swear on your dead grandma? Now I’m thinking about her funeral, Marley.”
“You’re the one that chose to get up close and personal with her casket,” Marley accuses. She giggles at me, wiping a hair from her eyes.
“I was seven years old, Marley. I thought your dad was handing out butterscotch candies to everyone. He kept shaking everyone’s hands, and I know how much your grandma loved that candy, so I put two and two together.”
Now, she’s fully laughing, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks at the shared memory. “God, Andrew, I still can’t believe you looked in her casket for candy.”
“I didn’t know she would actually be in there! I was short back then, okay?”
“Alright, fine, fine.” Marley stops laughing and holds out her hand. “I promise you, this shoot is with the best of intentions. I want you to meet someone.”
I shake her hand firmly. “What about Beau? You gonna set him up with someone too?”
