Page 2 of Wilder’s Mistake

“Our room key?” I ask.

“In my bag,” she replies.

“Your passport?”

“Also in my bag.”

“Your husband?”

Caleb raises one hand. “Present.”

“Then my work here is done.” I kiss her cheek. “Go enjoy being married.”

Her smile softens. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She hugs me for one extra second, then leaves with Caleb through a tunnel of drunken applause.

I watch until the ballroom doors close behind them and the day is over. For the first time since six this morning, nobody needs anything from me. The DJ announces a final dance. Wilder stops in front of me and offers his hand.

“Dance with me.”

“You ask beautifully, but…” I hesitate and remember exactly why this is a bad idea.

“You saying no?”

I put my fingers in his. “Apparently not.”

His palm settles at my waist as we move onto the thinning dance floor. My other hand rests on his shoulder. He is warm beneath the suit, solid enough that one careful breath brings the front of my dress against his shirt. He dances well. That surprises me more than it should.

“Did Nora teach you to dance?” I ask.

“Before her senior prom, she made me her practice partner.”

I smile at the image of Nora ordering a younger Wilder through the same turn he guides me into now.

“She told me you rode your bike to the venue behind her limo.”

“Didn’t trust the driver.”

His thumb moves once against my side. “You back at work Monday?”

“Wednesday. I booked two days after the wedding.”

“Two days to recover?”

“That’s the plan.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “Might not be enough.” My next step catches against his shoe. Wilder steadies me, his hand firm at my waist.

“You somehow managed to make everything sound filthy.”

His eyes return to mine. “Only when I’m talking to you.”

The song ends. His hand leaves my waist slowly, and the absence feels more intimate than the dance. The ballroom empties in stages. I confirm with the hotel that everything has been organized as planned for Nora and Caleb’s luggage. After that, I have nothing left to fix.

Wilder stands at the bar with Caleb’s uncle, listening more than he speaks. His suit jacket is folded over one forearm. He looks up as though he felt my attention and holds my gaze until the space between us becomes its own conversation. The men I date would cross the room and ask whether I wanted another drink. Wilder waits to see what I will do. A man from Caleb’s side of the wedding catches me near the bar. His bow tie hangs loose around his neck, and I can’t remember his name. He gives me the creeps with his overconfidence.

“Come have a drink?” he says.