Chapter 1

“Get ready,” I called to the wedding party and the rest of our family and friends outside the church. The bridesmaids and groomsmen lined either side of the church stairs.

We waited patiently for the photographer to finish taking pictures and for Felicity and Warren to come out of the church. I passed out small bags of rice and birdseed along with bubbles. The rice was a nod to my parents who insisted that only rice was a sign of good luck. I argued that birdseed was better because rice was bad for the birds. Felicity had tried to solve the problem by asking for bubbles to be blown when they came out of the church. Somehow we ended up with all three.

I had paid the altar boys twenty dollars each to sweep up the stairs after we left. That way no birds would be harmed.

“Here they come!” George Grayson, Warren’s best man, shouted.

Everyone cheered as Felicity and Warren stepped out hand in hand. We tossed the seeds and rice and blew bubbles as they stopped at the top of the steps and kissed. Their shiny new rings caught the evening light. Felicity’s veil fluttered in the wind and they pulled back, ducking from our pelting, and ran to the waiting limo. The rest of the bridal party jumped into waiting cars and chased them through town, honking and waving.

I sat in the back of George’s Lexus next to Warren’s sister, Whitney, and her boyfriend, Carlton, while George’s girlfriend, Kelli, sat in the passenger seat. I felt like a fifth wheel without a date. My new boyfriend Gage’s mother had fallen this morning and broken her ankle. He’d been so sorry to miss the wedding, I told him I completely understood. Besides, George was supposed to be my “date” for the night. It was weird how they always matched the best man and maid of honor even though they were rarely a couple in real life. Tradition, I guess.

“That was the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever attended,” Whitney said.

“And she’s attended a lot,” Kelli said with laughter in her eyes.

“Wait for the reception,” I said. “Our families went all out.”

“Wedding traditions are so much fun,” Whitney said, and looked at Carlton with love in her eyes. “Don’t you think so?”

“Sure,” he said, and patted her hand. “Especially the open bar.”

“And the garter toss,” George added.

Kelli smacked his arm.

“What?” George said, and everybody laughed.

My parents had asked if I wanted to ride with them, but I really wanted to be around the cool kids for once. When else could I do that except when I was part of my little sister’s wedding party? It didn’t matter that Warren and his friends were all trust-fund kids while my dad was a plumber and my mom taught piano lessons. We were all a cobbled-together family now.

“Kelli, Pepper’s the one I was telling you about,” Whitney said with a wink.

“Oh, the one with the business?” Kelli asked.

I frowned, not sure what they were trying to say. “Are you talking about Perfect—”

“Yes,” Whitney said, cutting me off and touching my arm with a second wink. “Kelli and I are really interested in that thing that you do.”

“You mean plan pro—”

“Parties,” Whitney cut me off again. Her blue eyes twinkled.

“Really? What kind of parties?” Carlton asked.

“The kind of parties girls like,” Whitney said.

“Oh, you mean like lingerie parties?” Carlton’s expression perked up.

“No,” I said as I felt my cheeks turn pink.

“Princess parties,” Whitney said. “Felicity told me you did a little mermaid one recently.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yes, yes, I did.” This time I nodded. I wasn’t sure why they were not simply stating what I really did—plan wedding proposals—but I went along anyway.

“Is there delicious cake?” George asked. “I like delicious cake.”

I could see his blue gaze in the rearview mirror. “Yes,” I said. George was Warren’s best friend, and since Warren helped me start my business I knew that George knew what I did. It didn’t take much deduction to understand that Carlton was the only one not in on the full conversation.

“Well,” Carlton said. “I’m for any party with delicious cake.”

“So am I,” Whitney said, and patted Carlton’s hand. “We’ll talk more later. Kelli has a friend who needs a princess party.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said, and smiled.

It’s tradition to drive around town with your “Just Married” decorated cars and honk and wave at the locals. We drove around for a good half hour. Long enough for the rest of the guests to arrive at the swanky country club Warren’s parents had insisted we use as the reception venue. My parents had argued over it for a full month. There was no way they could afford the country club, and my father’s pride was not going to let Warren’s family pay. It was the bride’s family who paid for the wedding.

I tried to tell my father that times had changed. But there was no getting around his devotion to tradition. Finally Warren and Felicity had brought both families together and announced that they were paying for the wedding. Period. At that moment I saw relief on my mother’s face and a wide smile and nod on Warren’s mother’s face. Meanwhile my father’s face turned red. I held my breath. I thought for sure he was going to have a stroke.

Felicity, in her gentle way, took my dad by the hand and pulled him into a corner and spoke to him one-on-one. Finally, my father relented and the wedding was on. The compromise had been that Felicity and Warren would get married in the big old church where my parents and grandparents had gotten married.

My family was nothing if not traditional.

We pulled up to the front of the club and valets rushed out to take the car. Doors were opened for us and we gathered our coats around us as we stepped out into the cool Chicago night. My sister was born under a lucky star. Not only did she meet and marry a millionaire, but the winter weather had stayed away for her special day. It was relatively warm for early December at 50 degrees. Still, I could smell snow in the air as I stepped toward the double doors of the club.

“Hurry in,” Whitney said. “The bride and groom are right behind us.”

I followed as the rest of the wedding party laughed their way inside. We shucked our winter dress coats, handing them off to the coat check girls. Then we gathered at the mouth of the ballroom, which was brightly lit with twinkle lights and candles. There was a three-piece orchestra playing in what would later become the dance floor.

Warren’s mother had hired a wedding planner with big plans. Luckily Felicity loved the woman. The planner was brilliant. She took my sister’s ideas and turned them up ten notches. I stepped farther into the ballroom to see my mom and dad already standing near the head table with champagne in their hands.

“Here they are,” the wedding planner, Donna, said as Warren and Felicity slipped into the foyer. Warren wore a black wool dress coat over his tux. His dark hair was cut close with a seemingly effortless look of prep and class. His black shoes shone in the twinkle lights that covered the entrance to the country club.

Felicity wore a pearl cashmere coat with ermine fur trim and white kid gloves that came up to her wrists. Her blond hair was done in a French twist. For the reception, she had changed into a shorter veil. She took off her coat and handed it to the coat check girl. Her dress was a lovely abalone-colored silk that shimmered in the lightest of blues and pinks and whites. The top was a delicate pale bluish white lace that covered the strapless part of the pearl silk and formed a portrait collar and three-quarter-length sleeve. The gown narrowed at the waist then flared slightly, falling to the ground.

The skirt was in two parts: an overlay of satin and lace that fell at a diagonal to reveal a panel of white embroidered flowers on silk. The same flowers were embroidered on the bottom of the long train. Donna hurried behind Felicity to button the train up. The buttons were designed to create a shorter bustle effect that allowed the bride to sit and dance without dragging the train behind her.

“Okay,” Donna said with a smile. “Here we go, folks. Bridesmaids and groomsmen first, then best man and maid of honor, then the bride and groom.” She gave a sign to the orchestra and they paused. The DJ stepped up and made the announcement as we entered the ballroom.

Everything was perfect, from the food to the dancing to the traditions of cutting the cake and tossing the garter.

It was tradition in my family for the bride and groom to leave the wedding reception first. They were supposed to sneak away for their big night, but usually the sneaking was seen by everyone and they were followed out by catcalls, whistles, and congratulations. After Felicity and Warren had left, my dad took his tux coat off and undid his tie. Mom still sparkled with joy and tears. The orchestra had been replaced by the DJ, who currently played slow songs as couples danced.

Having nothing much to do but watch others dance, I offered to get Whitney a drink from the bar.

“Sure, a Cosmo, please,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” George said. “Kelli’s in the little girls’ room and I know she’ll want something when she gets back.” George was handsome in his custom tux. His hair was cut in a neat preppy style that was longer on top and shorter near his neck and ears. Even though it was winter in Chicago, George, Kelli, and Whitney looked golden with tans that didn’t come out of a spray booth. Everyone in the bridal party had flown to St. Bart’s the week before to rest up before the big event.

I had begged off. First of all, I didn’t have the money to spend a week on a tropical island. Secondly, I had a new business to nurture. Perfect Proposals had had a slow but steady stream of clients. Planning proposals and engagement parties was a lot of fun and hard work. This kind of business needed consistent word of mouth, and that meant I had to find every opportunity to work. So I had stayed home.

I knew that I practically glowed in the dark in comparison to the rest of the wedding party. After all, I had redhead skin, which was pale to begin with, but winter pale was blinding. Luckily I sort of sparkled in the low twinkle lights the room was decorated in.

“Hey, George, how’s it going?” A man who looked to be in his early fifties came up and shook George’s hand. He was dressed in a black tux cut to fit his mid-sized frame. He had short black hair with gray at the temples. “Is this your new girlfriend?”

“Hello, Judge Abernethy, good to see you,” George said smoothly. “No, I’m still with Kelli. This is Pepper Pomeroy. Pepper, let me introduce Judge Winston Abernethy.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and shook his hand.

“Part of the bridal party,” the judge said, his dark blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes, you are the maid of honor. Are you related to the bride or the groom?”

“Felicity is my sister,” I said.

“Beauty runs in the family,” the judge said, and stepped closer.

“It does,” George said smoothly, and put his arm around me, gently moving me forward in the line. “How’s your wife and kids?”

Judge Abernethy chuckled. “Anne’s fine. Beatrice’s at Brown University and Joe’s at MIT.”

“Sounds like you have bright children,” I said.

“They’re good kids. They have their heads on straight,” the judge said.

“Excuse me, dear,” a thin, older woman said to catch my attention. “Are you Pepper Pomeroy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Mrs. Fulcrum,” she said and held out her hand. I shook it on instinct. Her handshake was firm and in charge. “I understand you planned Warren and Felicity’s proposal event.”

“Yes,” I said. “Besides being Felicity’s sister—”

“And maid of honor,” George added.

“And maid of honor,” I said and sent him a sidelong look to tell him I thought he was being silly. “I’m the owner of Perfect Proposals. It’s a high-end proposal planning business.”

“Good,” she said and ran her hand over her perfect hair, flashing a massive diamond encrusted wedding ring set. “Do you have a card? I am looking for someone like you to plan a proposal.”

“Yes,” I said and dug a business card out of my clutch. “Is this for yourself or a friend.”

“Oh, dear no,” she said with a well-practiced laugh. “It’s for my son.” She took my card and slipped it in her Dior clutch. “I’ll call you next week.”

“I look forward to it,” I said.

She turned and waved at another woman who was also very thin and dressed in a designer outfit.

“Oh, Mrs. Fulcrum,” George whispered near my ear. “You’re in the big money now.”

“What can I get you?” the female bartender asked. She was about five foot four and scary skinny. Her black slacks and white shirt hung on her frame. She wore simple makeup, but compared to the other female bartender beside her, she looked as if she’d lived a rough life. In fact, she seemed just a little out of place for waitstaff at a wedding.

“We’d like a scotch neat, a Cosmo, a glass of white wine, and . . .” George paused and looked at me.

“I’ll take white wine, too,” I said. Ever since I’d broken up with my longtime boyfriend Bobby, I’d tried to remember that there was more to adult beverages than beer. So far I had ventured into the wine territory and sort of stuck there. Wine was a safe choice. I felt it made me appear sophisticated, hiding my ignorance of alcoholic drinks, and I liked it most of the time.

I watched in fascination as the bartender—her name tag said Ashley—created the Cosmo. She poured from two bottles at the same time into a shaker, adding cranberry juice and a fresh-squeezed lime, and shook the concoction for thirty seconds before straining it into an elegant martini glass. I made a mental note to think about 1950s cocktails for the next engagement party I planned.

The bartender handed me the two white wines while George took the Cosmo and scotch, and we said good-bye to Judge Abernathy and threaded our way back through the growing crowd.

“Here’s your wine,” I said, and sat the drink down next to Kelli, who had returned to sit next to Whitney. “George has your Cosmo.”

“Oh, yum!” Whitney said, and took the drink from George and sipped.

“How is it?” I asked, sipping my wine. I didn’t want to sit down. The music had picked up to a fast happy dance.

“Cosmos are great!” Whitney said. “Haven’t you ever had one?”

“No,” I said with a short shake of my head.

“You poor thing,” Kelli said. “We need to educate you.”

“Speaking of educating,” Whitney said, “Kelli’s got a friend who wants to propose to her boyfriend.”

“Really?” I turned to Kelli.

“I know it’s sort of different,” Kelli said, “but my friend has been dating this guy for five years and he’s clueless about how and when to propose.”

“Have they talked about getting married?” I asked, worried. The last thing I wanted to do was plan a proposal for a couple that wasn’t all in. Toby—my friend and onetime oblivious client—had taught me to be cautious. Poor Toby had assumed that marriage was like a business merger, and all he had to do was propose and a smart woman would say yes because he was a billionaire. Luckily, I had been able to show him that romance was a huge factor in the proposal business.

“Oh, yes, in fact, my friend is pregnant,” Kelli said. “She thinks it would be great to propose and then let him know she is in the family way.”

“We couldn’t talk about this in the car because of Carlton,” Whitney said. “All this wedding talk makes him nervous. We’ve only been dating a year and I don’t want him to think I’m pressuring him.”

“Okay, it all makes sense now,” I said, and dug my card out of my clutch. “Here’s my card. Have your friend call me to set up an initial appointment. You can come, too, Kelli, if that will make her feel more comfortable.”

“Is this friend someone I know?” George asked.

Kelli laughed. “No, she’s a girlfriend from the aid society downtown where I volunteer.”

“Whew,” George said with a twinkle in his eye. “You had me worried for a moment there.”

Kelli smacked his arm. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want to be the one who does the proposing,” George said. “Even if you are knocked up.”

“Stop,” Kelli said. “We’ll have this discussion another time.”

George grinned and reached down, planting a kiss on her lips. “I’m simply letting you know I want to do the guy thing when the time comes. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kelli said. She turned to me with concern in her eyes. “It’s not crazy for a girl to propose, right?”

“No,” I said. “I just pulled off a successful proposal for a girl who wanted to surprise her man.”

“See, I told you,” Kelli said.

“Seriously, call me on Monday and we’ll set up a time to meet and talk about some of the things I’ve done.”

“Great!” Whitney said. “I told you Pepper could help.”

Carlton approached the table. “What’s great?”

“That you are here,” Whitney said, and stood. She took one more sip of her drink. “Come on, dance with me.”

“Okay,” Carlton said as Whitney took his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor. George and Kelli went out to dance as well. I wandered over to the bar to see if the bartender made any other cocktails I could use at one of my engagement parties.

Mom stopped me on the way.

“Your dad’s gone to get our coats,” Mom said. “We’re going to take Aunt Betty home. It’s been a long day.”

Aunt Betty was my father’s sister. She was ten years older than my father and lived in a nearby suburb. My mom’s family was much larger. She had six brothers and sisters scattered all over the United States. Warren had offered to fly them all in and put them up at the W Hotel downtown so that Felicity had a good showing of family on their special day. When you have a family as large as mine, there are the inevitable family feuds. That said, we all come together when there is a family crisis or a wedding. My aunt Sarah had come with her husband, Bill, and their three teenagers. Then there was Uncle Tom and his wife, Chrissy. Their two kids were ten years older than me and hadn’t come. Aunt Karen brought her partner, Sue. Uncle Alan brought his wife, Emma, who he had met and married in the UK. Uncle Joseph came alone because Aunt Lilly had left him for a doctor. Finally, Uncle Lee was a confirmed bachelor. My uncles left within fifteen minutes of Felicity and Warren leaving. Aunt Karen and Sue were in the far corner talking with some friends of Warren’s family. They loved to talk politics, and from what I could see they found people who agreed with their political views.

“Where are Aunt Sarah and Uncle Bill?” I asked, looking around.

“Sarah and Bill left right after Felicity,” Mom said.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

“They’ll be at the house tomorrow for brunch,” Mom said. “You’ll see them then.”

Dad walked up with Mom’s coat in his hands. His own coat was thrown over his rented tux. “Ready?”

“Where’s Aunt Betty?” I asked looking around him.

“She’s waiting at the door. The music is getting to her,” Dad said as he helped Mom into her coat.

“It was a wonderful wedding,” I said, and gave my parents a hug and a kiss. “Felicity looked so happy.”

Dad ran his hand over his bristled hair. “Who would have figured we would be part of high society?”

“I think we fit in just fine,” Mom said, and patted Dad’s hand. “Did you say good-bye to the Evanses?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “They want us to come for dinner in two weeks.”

“Wonderful, I’ll talk to Emily tomorrow. You did remind them we are having a brunch tomorrow at the house, didn’t you?”

“Yes, they said they wouldn’t miss it.”

“Perfect,” Mom said, and turned to me. “Well, honey, we’ll see you in the morning. Are you bringing Gage?”

“I’ve asked him,” I said. “But his mom just got out of the hospital, so I don’t know if he’ll make it or not.”

“That’s right, poor thing. Terrible to break your ankle so badly you need surgery.” Mom hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Tell him hi for us.”

“I will.”

Dad gave me a bear hug. “See that you get home safe.”

“I will.” I hugged Dad back. He was a solidly built man, and at five feet ten inches, he was just two inches taller than me.

“Text when you get home,” Mom said over her shoulder as they left.

“You’ll be asleep,” I called after her.

“Text anyway.” She waved at me.

I shook my head and glanced at the time on my phone. It was only ten P.M. There were still two hours of party left. I was not old or dead. I needed to try to mingle some more. But first I wanted to text Gage and see how he was.

I made my way back to the bar area. There was only Ashley tending the bar. There were two guys ahead of me. I pulled my phone from my clutch and did a quick check. Gage had texted at eight P.M. to say he hoped I was having a good time. I texted back. “Wish you were here.”

“Hey, lonely lady,” Ashley said. “Can I get you something?”

“What?” I said, and looked up at her.

“You look like you could use a drink, and here I am, a bartender with lots of free booze. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh.” I put my phone away, embarrassed to be caught texting at a wedding reception. “I don’t know,” I said with a sad shake of my head. “Do you know any good 1950s cocktails?”

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” she said, and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Are you looking for a martini? Or something classic?”

“I’m sorry, that was vague,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m Pepper, the bride’s sister.”

“And maid of honor,” Ashley said, and eyed my bridesmaid’s gown.

“Oh, right,” I said. “You’re very observant.”

“It’s part of being a bartender,” she said. “I’m Ashley Klein, by the way. Now, martini or something classic?”

“Surprise me,” I said. “I don’t know anything about cocktails. I’ve been sort of stuck in beer for most of my life.”

She eyed me knowingly. “Well, then, let me fix you something better than beer.” Ashley pulled out a shaker and filled it with crushed ice, gin, cherry brandy, lemon juice, and club soda She shook it and strained it into a martini glass, then pushed the glass toward me.

“This is a Singapore Sling.”

I picked it up and took a sip. “Wow!” I said as I let the tartness tingle my taste buds a second time. “This is awesome.”

“Thanks,” Ashley said with pride. As I sipped my newfound favorite drink, I noticed that she looked to be in her mid- to late thirties, but when I talked to her she seemed as if she might be in her mid-twenties like me. Maybe she seemed older because of how scary skinny she was.

“Do you bartend at weddings often?” I had to ask. She really didn’t seem the type that was hired for such events. Her stained teeth and the lines in her lips gave away that she was a heavy smoker. Her hair was dull blond and thinning, but her eyes were bright.

“I’ve done a few weddings. Some higher end ones, but this is my first gig here,” Ashley admitted. “I usually bartend at the Elks Lodge or when someone gets married at the fire station. When this opportunity came up, I had to take it. Christmas is coming up.”

“I know,” I said, and sipped my drink. “A girl has to work.”

“That’s right,” Ashley said. She glanced around to ensure the other bartender was gone and leaned against the bar. “What do you do for a living, Pepper?” she asked me. “Or is that a bad question. I mean, considering the crowd.” She waved her hand. “You don’t seem like a trust-fund girl.”

I laughed. “What gave it away? The hair or the shoes?”

Ashley laughed. “You’re the only one here all night who talked to me like a person.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. I mean, they are my family, and we’re not trust-fund people.”

“Oh, gee, now I’ve gone and offended you,” she said and straightened. “I’m sorry. It’s just that most of these people don’t seem as nice as you.”

“It’s all right. It’s a wedding. Most people get nuts at weddings,” I said. “Right?”

“There’s truth in that,” Ashley said, and leaned on the bar. “So your sister married into society?”

“Warren’s a great guy,” I said, not sure why I felt the need to defend him. “He actually got me started in my business. I’m an event planner. I plan engagements and engagement parties.” I pulled out one of my cards and handed it to her. “Perfect Proposals.” I sipped my drink.

“Huh. People plan proposals?” Ashley said. “You mean like flash mobs and airplane banners and such?” She looked up and something seemed to catch her eye. She paused a moment. “What was I saying?” Then suddenly she gripped the bar and closed her eyes. “Whoa.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” I set my drink aside. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“It’s nothing,” Ashley said with her eyes closed as she rubbed her left temple. “Just a minor spell. I get them sometimes. You see, I had a head injury once. Sometimes flashbacks come up when I see a certain color or even smell something. My doctors said they were triggers and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Was it a bad injury? What happened?”

“I don’t really remember,” Ashley said. She slowly opened her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. “I woke up in the hospital. The last thing I remembered was riding in a homecoming parade—”

“Wait, homecoming parade,” I said. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five,” Ashley said, and tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know people think I look older.”

“So you were at college riding in the homecoming parade and what happened?” I asked, trying not to let her see that I thought she was older, too.

“Apparently, sometime between the parade and when I woke up, I was attacked. Shot, actually.” She lifted her lank hair and showed me a thumbprint-sized scar just above her temple. “My best friend was killed that night. They tell me we were together. I survived and she didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “It was a couple of years ago and I can’t remember what happened. It’s usually no biggie except when I have one of these spells. It hurts like a lightning bolt went off in my head.”

“Like just now.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Weird, but it’s the third time it’s happened in the last hour. It usually doesn’t do that.” Ashley scanned the crowd as if she were looking for someone.

Maybe she was looking for the trigger for her flashbacks.

“Is it someone who’s here that’s causing it?” I asked. “Or a smell, maybe? Maybe it’s the dance floor lighting.”

Ashley merely winced, clearly preoccupied with whatever was going on in her head. A young guy and a girl made their way to the bar and I stepped back to let them order their drinks. I slipped two dollars into Ashley’s tip jar. She seemed to really need the cash.

The guy was really young, but very wealthy. I noticed he had a preppy haircut and was wearing a Valentino tux. His shoes were highly polished soft leather, surely from Italy. If I knew anything, I knew my designers. I sighed at the fact that someone so young could dress so well. Clearly they came from Warren’s side of the family.

“I’ll take a martini,” he said with a snicker. His blue gaze was rowdy, his mouth pulling into a sneer. “Shaken, not stirred.”

“Stop it, Clark,” the girl with him said, and frowned. “He wants a Coke.”

“No, I want a martini.” He ran his hands down his lapels. “I’m wearing a tux. I should get to drink a martini.”

“You know I can’t serve you,” Ashley said. “You aren’t old enough to drink, so stop coming over here and pretending that I should serve you.”

“Aw, come on, one martini is not going to hurt me,” Clark said.

“It can hurt you,” Ashley said sternly. “It kills brain cells.”

“It kills brain cells,” Clark mocked. He turned to Ashley and narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to tell my mother that you talked back to me and refused to serve me. She’s a Fulcrum. Everyone knows you don’t mess with a Fulcrum. You’re going to find your butt out the door faster than you can down a shot of whiskey.” Clark stormed off.

The girl stayed. “Don’t mind him,” she said. “I’ll take that Coke.”

Ashley poured cola over ice and the girl sipped it from a straw, chatting with Ashley. The music had turned from a slow waltz to a fast swing beat, and I couldn’t really tell what they were talking about, but it seemed like Ashley knew the girl and the boy who had stomped off.

I perused the room, but saw that there was no opportunity to mingle. I checked my phone but Gage hadn’t answered my text. Sighing, I pulled my attention back to Ashley. The young girl had left and we were alone again. “I thought you said you hadn’t served here before,” I shouted over the loud music. “But you seemed to know those two.” I nodded my head in the direction of the table where Clark had flung himself into a chair next to a woman who looked like she was in her early fifties.

“Oh, yeah, no,” Ashley said. “This is my first time here. I met Samantha Lyn and Clark when I was bartending Clark’s cousin’s wedding in October.” Ashley grabbed a bar towel and wiped down the bar. “Samantha Lyn was bored and came over for a cola then and we struck up a conversation—sort of how you and I are talking now. I have a sense for people, and Samantha Lyn has her head on straight. She’s a nice kid.”

“Oh,” I said, and sipped my drink. “Funny how you saw them at two weddings in a few months’ span.”

“It’s a small world,” Ashley said. “With a country club scene this expensive, it’s a little inbred, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” I said, and shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“There are only so many people in the area who can afford the fees. That means that whenever you attend one of these functions you tend to see the same people over and over again. It’s sort of like attending a small college. After a while everyone knows everyone else.”

“Huh,” I said. “Sounds like you attended a small college.”

“I did,” she said, “but before you ask, I didn’t graduate.” She pointed to her head. “Graduating sort of got blown away.” She tried to make light of her injury but she failed and could tell I saw through her. “Really,” Ashley said. “Bartending weddings brings in good money, and the people aren’t all bad. Take Samantha Lyn—” She pointed toward the dance floor where the young girl was dancing with a reluctant Clark. “It’s too bad that she’s mixed up with Clark. He’s trouble—a real momma’s boy. I don’t know what she’s doing with him. If you ask me, she’s out of his league.” Ashley shrugged.

Ashley took the half-full glass out of my hand and mixed me another drink. “This is called a Moscow Mule. It was created in the 1950s and uses vodka, lime juice, ginger beer, and a few drops of bitters. Try it.”

I took a sip and it was good. “I like the ginger,” I said. “But there’s no way I can drink all this on top of the last drink you made me.”

She winked and poured half of my drink into a glass of her own.

“Wait, should you be drinking?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. No one here notices. To us,” she said, and raised her glass and clinked hers to mine. “May we both find what we’re looking for.”

That was something I agreed with, so I lifted my glass and said, “To us.”

Ashley tossed down the half a drink and then pressed her fingers to her head again and bit her lips. “Ugh. Excuse me for a minute,” she said, and headed toward a nearby door. As if on cue, the second bartender with a name tag that said Tracy came out of the hallway and took her place near the bar.

“Hi,” Tracy said. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I said, and turned to watch the dancers. My cousin Bethany, Aunt Sarah’s girl, came up to me.

“Come on, wallflower,” Bethany said, and took my hand. “You won’t get anywhere holding up the wall.”

“I wasn’t holding up the wall,” I protested.

“No, you were holding up the bar,” Bethany said. “I was being nice. Come on, the maid of honor should spend the night dancing.”

“Oh, right,” I said, and let her drag me toward the dance floor. After all, the night was young and my sister had just married one of the richest men in the country. I should dance to that, right?