At a Stone’s Throw

The wedding is over.

The pictures are done.

We are enjoying a toast to the happy couple in the middle of a glorious old bridge that stretches the harbor in the warehouse district. The clouds have begun to roll across the sky, obliterating any chance of starlight this evening. Turning back to the task at hand I meet his steady gaze. A warm flush creeps over my cheeks and neck, but I don’t look away.

A splash behind where I am standing turns my attention to Kian, the best man, skipping stones a few yards away.  As I excuse myself to go talk to him, a slight wind picks up the hem of my gown, sending it floating around my knees. God, I feel electric tonight. I don’t know if it’s the champagne going to my head, the dress, or the tucked away memories fluttering to the surface.

“Do you want to tell me what is going on?” Kian asks without taking his eyes off the water. The interlude is met with a backdrop of nearby laughter filling the warm air. The reception doors bust open in front of us, spilling the sounds of jazz and cheerfulness into the harbor as the bride is beckoned into the festivities.

The twin brick buildings separated by the bridge bookend one remaining broad-shouldered figure looking our way.  I marvel at the way the footlights illuminate the architecture bringing to life its intricacy and charm. The blue and green shutters and windows shine like emeralds, reminding me of the way his eyes sparkle in the first morning light.

Parting my lips to take in a sip of champagne, I instead, find an empty glass. “There’s nothing to tell,” I say with a smile. Kian studies me for a few moments. I swear I see him peer over my shoulder and I instinctively square up.

“Ok, I’m following your lead,” he says instead, stretching out his hand.

We walk in silence.

My peace forever held.

 

 

 

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