When William saw me, he let out a low whistle. “I have a couple of gorgeous ladies on my hands.”
I shook my head and wrapped him in a big hug, holding on tight for a long beat, savoring this moment. When I pulled away, I held up a black handkerchief. “I thought you might want to put this in the inside pocket of your tux. It was Dad’s.”
He took the gift in his hands, rubbing the silk between his thumb and forefinger, then folded it up and tucked it inside his pocket.
I straightened his tie, remembering the time I straightened his collar before his first day of kindergarten. It felt like yesterday. “They’d be so proud of you, you know.”
Moisture gathered in his eyes.
It had me dabbing at my own.
Before we could get too mushy, I turned to Bridget. But a lot of help she was. Her eyes had filled with tears too. I swiped a knuckle beneath my eyelashes and held out my gift to her. A vintage brooch—sparkly with rhinestones and pearls in the shape of tiny flowers. The perfect size for a bride’s hair. “My mother wore it on her wedding day.”
“Oh”—Bridget set her palm against her chest—“I can’t take that.”
“Sure you can. It’ll be your something borrowed.”
A tear spilled down her cheek.
She turned around, and I slid the brooch inside her hair. Then she hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay, Amelia. I promise to take good care of him.”
I sat in a white plastic chair while George finished his cake beside me. It had been a gorgeous wedding. I wrapped one leg over the other, folded my hands over my knee, and watched everyone on the dance floor. The bride and the groom. Bridget’s parents and her grandparents. My stepsisters and their husbands. Jeanine and the date she’d brought with her from Green Bay. Phil Nixon and Fern Halloway. Wayne and Sandy Sawyer. Their nephew Jake and his wife, Emma—she was Baxter’s vet, and they were the town sweethearts. A whole floor of people who loved each other enough to take a risk.
George set his plastic fork on his plate, stood slowly, and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
I hesitated, wondering . . .
At what point in my life had I stopped dancing? Was it after my mother died? Or maybe after that, when my father followed? I guess it didn’t matter when. What mattered was that I’d stopped. Somewhere along the way, I decided to stay off the dance floor. To watch instead. Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe it was time to get off the sidelines. To stop watching and start experiencing. I looked up into George’s eyes, proof that living life meant pain would be inevitable. But maybe all the pain would be worth the life I’d experience along the way.
I took George’s hand. He wrapped my arm around his elbow. The two of us made our way onto the floor and began swaying to Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me.”
“So whatever happened to your beau?”
“My beau?”
“The one that had love blossoming. Did you decide he was worth the risk?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work out.”
“That’s too bad. What was his name?”
“Nate Gallagher.”
“Now there’s a fine Irish name.”
“His mother is Italian.” I sighed. “Honestly, George, he was too good to be true.”
“We all are in the beginning.” The two of us shuffled back and forth, old George feeling frail in my arms. How much longer until he no longer came into my shop every Monday morning? “The good stuff comes when you decide to stick around long enough to learn each other’s faults. That’s what true love is all about.”
“Hey now, I thought you said you loved Sylvia at first sight. You couldn’t have known her faults then.”
“I did love her right away, but it wasn’t true love yet. It wasn’t that deep-down, feel-it-in-your-bones kind of love. That kind’s a lot messier. A lot better too. And it only comes with commitment and time.” George’s swaying slowed. Something behind me had caught his attention.
“Well, I wish I could have had some more time with Nate.”
“There’s a wish I think I can grant.” He gave a nod over my shoulder.
I turned around and my breath hitched.
It was Nate. He stood behind me looking absolutely disheveled. Windblown hair, skewed tie, shirt front slightly untucked. He was even a little out of breath, like he’d run all the way from Yooperland. And absolutely, irresistibly adorable.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
George patted my hand and slipped away.
“I didn’t get your voice mail until this afternoon.” He tugged at his tie. “And I must say, it absolutely confused me.”
He came all this way to say that my message confused him? “I don’t understand . . .”
“I never got an e-mail from you. I was waiting on one. Hoping for one. But after what happened, I was determined not to pressure you. I mean, it seemed pretty clear to me that you weren’t very interested last Saturday.”