crazy, kids!” he declared and some of them giggled.
Upbeat accordion music began playing, and the groom, Jim, came to tap Robert on the shoulder. “Time to dance,” he told Robert, and Dana motioned me up, too. People stood and began clapping along to the traditional Horah dance as we all formed circles on the dance floor. The flower girl, I noticed, slipped right beside Robert but he reached out for me, clasping my hand.
I had to admit, I didn’t mind the contact. His hand pressed against mine, warm and protective. He smiled at me once more, brown eyes sparkling, as we danced our way in a circle to the beat. Groomsmen brought chairs, and suddenly, the crowd lifted the bride high in the air as Robert and I moved to the side. We still kept time, clapping with the beat, but even the music couldn’t drown out Dana’s glee as they raised her up and she declared, “Can you believe it? I’m married! I’m officially Mrs. Dana Schmointz!” Then she let out a long, joyful shout that people probably heard in Idaho.
Robert glanced down at me, eyebrow raised. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, imitating Dana. I had to laugh as I let out a high-pitched squeal of my own, and Robert did, too, as a waiter came by and offered us flutes of champagne.
Oh, I liked Robert more by the minute.
I took a glass of bubbly and then made my way back to the table, a little out of breath from dancing in heels. Robert followed me, and we sat in our seats, the chairs around us mostly empty, the kids off somewhere else.
“You dance a mean Horah,” Robert told me, clinking his champagne flute against mine. I laughed.
“Well, thank you. You dance a pretty mean Horah yourself, Mr. Zappia.” Despite only knowing him a hot five minutes, I felt relaxed with him. There was something conspiratorial in the way he looked at me, something I liked.
The waiters came and served dinner, and as we ate, we chatted. He’d met the happy couple in college, and he told me how meeting Dana had changed Jim’s life for the better. I told him about Dana, and how Jim had changed her life, as well—and everybody else’s in the office, since we’d all been subject to the high-pitched squeals of happiness since they’d gotten engaged.
A few more couples whirled on the dance floor.
“They look like they’re having fun,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne.
“It’s great, but dancing is only the second-best part of a wedding.”
“What, pray tell, is the first-best thing?” Robert leaned in, and I became hyper aware of how broad his shoulders were, how low his voice. I leaned in, too, and I inhaled the scent of his aftershave, something spicy and sweet with just the hint of vanilla. The man smelled good.
“The cake—clearly!” I’d been eyeing that beautifully frosted beast from across the room since I’d gotten here. I eyed a waiter that delivered a piece of that deliciousness to the table next to us. When was it our turn?
“Speaking of cake…” Robert turned to our left, and we saw Dana and her new husband feeding each other frosted bites. Lucky ducks. “They really are the perfect couple.”
It was obvious how happy they were—sickeningly happy. I thought of my parents for a moment, back when Mom and Dad used to sneak kisses in the kitchen when they thought we weren’t looking. Nadia and I always found it so gross, so icky, and Nadia asked often why they couldn’t be like other parents, the ones who could—and did—keep their hands off one another. Nadia liked to tell them they were ruining us for any hope of a real relationship as adults. Because, after all, what chance did we have of finding what they had? We all knew relationships like that were as rare as a perfect diamond.
My stomach tightened, as it did every time I thought about Dad.
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “If you’re into that I’m-going-to-be-so-happy-for-the-rest-of-my-life thing.’”
“Yeah, who wants that?” Robert joked along with me. “Blech. BOR-ing.”
“Boring!” I echoed and laughed a little. Boy, I could stare at those brown eyes all night. Handsome didn’t begin to cover it, but there was something else there, too. A playfulness, maybe? I’d forgotten what playful was like. Peter wasn’t playful. He was almost always serious.
Robert’s expression grew somber. “But, seriously, people want love.” The way he said it made me think he was talking about himself. “They want the happily-ever…”
He mimed screaming and then added, “Aaaaafter!”
I joined him in the mock scream.
Peter would never have admitted that men want happily-ever-afters. He’d once said men only want happily-right-now. But talking about forever love seemed a tad too close to talking about feelings. I itched to change the subject. I glanced up to try to find the waiters with the cake. Where were they?
As if hearing my inner cry, the waiter came and plunked down a piece of cake in front of the nine-year-old flower girl who’d just materialized from wherever she’d been hiding, as if she, too, had a second sense for dessert.
“Hey, kiddo,” Robert said as the waiter served him next.
“Oh, that looks really good,” I said, realizing the waiter had to go back for more cake. Those were his last two servings. Come on, couldn’t he see I was dying for cake over here? My sweets monster was literally having a fit. It looked so good, too. Delicious buttercream icing over…was that white cake or… I needed to know. Now. I grabbed my fork and sunk it into the delicious, sweet goodness. The bite was in my mouth before I even had time to think about how rude it might be.
“Put the cake on the table and the kids run back…” Robert said, trailing off when he saw the missing bite out of his cake. “Excuse me. That’s my cake, woman.”
“Mmmmm…” I murmured, stolen bite still melting on my tongue. I should’ve felt badly about it, but, honestly, the cake was just astounding—buttercream, vanilla-y yumminess. “It’s soooo good.” I grinned. Besides, something about pushing Robert’s buttons just felt fun.
The server returned and plopped my own piece of cake in front of me. Geez—finally!
“Turn about!” He moved his fork into my cake’s airspace. Instinctively, I rose to defend what was mine. I put the tongs of my fork on the back of his hand.
“Uh-uh,” I growled, pushing him away from my cake. The flower girl burst out laughing.
“Do you see what’s going on here?” Robert asked her.
The girl nodded, the ring of blooms in her hair bobbing. “Yeah, she just stole your cake!”
I gobbled the rest of my dessert down in no time, trying not to notice that I’d beaten even the kids at the table. Darn you, inner sweets monster. I finished the last of my champagne and then excused myself so I could head to the restroom. Once inside the ladies’ room, I re-applied my lipstick and smoothed down my dark hair in the mirror. I considered the fact that, shockingly, I wasn’t having a terrible time. I knew that had everything to do with Robert, whose quick wit had made the evening fly by.
I missed that with Peter. He didn’t do flirty banter. Heck, he didn’t do banter, period. Sure, he had a fantastic body and chiseled good looks, but where did that get you if you had no good inside jokes?
