Page 107 of The Wedding Favor

“We make a pretty good pair.” Abe stood and set his guitar back on its stand. He held out a hand to help me up. I took it, bracing myself for the electrical charge that traveled through me every time we touched. He pulled hard and I found myself flying up and into him. For a second, I feared we’d end up on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Please let that happen.

He steadied me. “We’ll practice once a day. You’ll have it down by the pageant.”

We were standing very close and I realized his hands were still on my shoulders. Morning Me had been smart enough to wear a tank top. His thumb brushed back and forth with a featherlight touch. I shivered.

“I probably owe you a lot of favors now.”

“I’ll have to check the list.” His eyes dropped to my mouth and slowly rose to my eyes.

“You should probably start cashing in on those,” I murmured.

One of us, or both of us, leaned in closer. The whole world slowed. My limbs grew heavy. His brow furrowed, eyes dark and intense. And then…

“Can I show you my magic tricks?” Hallie yelled as she rushed into the room.

I practically jumped halfway across the room and flashed a winning smile. But when I spoke, my voice was too loud. “Yes, I’d love to see them.”

“Come to my room where all my stuff is.” She scrambled through the doorway without waiting for us to follow.

“Thanks, again, for your help.” I glanced over at Abe. He stood there, hands on his hips, staring at some spot on the ground. “I’ll go check out Hallie’s stuff and head home.”

I was almost at the door when he said my name.

I didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

He took a long time to reply. “You’re welcome.”

FORTY-TWO

“Everyone has secrets. It’s figuring out which ones need to be told that’s the hard part.”

—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,

Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes

“What are you doing?” Mae asked as she leaned over my lounge chair.

“Nothing.” I hastily tucked the phone under my thigh. “Thanks for inviting us over.”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were looking at houseplants.” Mae plopped down in the chair next to me. Her enormous red sunhat matched her red polka-dot bathing suit. It had a 1940s pin-up girl feel to it. I was kind of jealous. My bikini was predictably black.

“I can’t keep houseplants alive,” Ellie said, on the other side of Mae. She sat up and pulled her sunglasses down her nose. “I once killed a cactus. Forgot to water it. Do you know how long you have to forget to water a cactus before it dies? Months. Months and months.”

“But you’ve done a very good job of keeping Oliver alive.” Mae gestured to the pool. Hallie squealed as the boy in question, Ellie’s nine-year-old son, dumped a whole bucket of water on her head.

“Good point.”

Mae applied another thick layer of sunscreen, the third in an hour. But she was a redhead and the sun loved her. “Are you thinking of getting a houseplant?”

The woman would not be distracted when she wanted answers.

Over her shoulder, Ellie pointed at Mae and mouthed, Tell her about school.

I pressed my lips together and shook my head quickly.

“It’s not for me.” I grabbed Mae’s bottle of sunscreen and smeared it on my legs.