After every dinner had been served, and every glass filled yet again, I found my way to the break room. Lisa was regaling the rest of the staff with stories from the cocktail hour. I wanted to find some place quieter. The darkened vestibule adjacent to the swinging doors of the ballroom was just the ticket. The band was on break, and dinner music played. Frank Sinatra. I closed my eyes and drifted off with “Summer Wind.” Moments later I felt someone in front of me and opened my eyes. Grayson.
He twirled a pink daisy between his fingers. Without saying a word, he tucked the flower into my hair, behind my ear. I felt the warmth of his hand next to my cheek as he untangled his fingers from the tendrils that had escaped my French braid. He stepped back to admire his work.
“That fell out of Bridezilla’s bouquet. It made me think of you.”
I blushed. “Crazy night, huh? I had to take a moment to myself.”
“Yeah, loud in the break room,” he said. “I was just going to grab a soda before we have to become slaves again. Want one?”
“That sounds great, thanks.”
“Be right back,” he said.
I leaned against the wall, giddy from the upturn of my evening.
Moments after Grayson left, Eben came through the swinging doors, throwing up his hands, his face contorting into a silent scream.
“Rough night?” I asked, wincing.
“Rough night? This wedding is the bridal equivalent of a Tarantino film. I almost wish I smoked,” he said, running a hand over his face. “At least it’s half over.”
“That’s very glass-half-full of you,” I answered. He inspected my hair.
“That’s not from Bridezilla’s bouquet, is it?” he asked.
“Oh, it fell out. Grayson gave it to me,” I said, touching the flower.
Eben snapped his fingers in front of his face to reboot. “Okay, I’ve got about five until I have to be ringmaster again . . . so, spill.”
“Spill what?”
“I don’t see any other girls with daisies in their hair, so . . . What’s going on with you and Grayson?”
“Um, nothing.”
Eben rolled his eyes. “Nothing? Get a clue already, Wren. He likes you.”
“Well, he’s acting . . . weird.”
“And you aren’t?”
“No, I’m not,” I answered, glancing over my shoulder to see if Grayson was coming back yet.
Eben put his hand on my shoulder. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when you think about Tall, Dark, and Mysterious, what do you want?”
What did I want? I wanted to see him more than once or twice a week at work. I wanted to hear the way his voice lowered when he spoke my name. I wanted to run my tongue across his bottom lip to see if it made him shiver. I clapped my hand across my eyes.
“Exactly. What are you waiting for?”
“But when? How?”
“I can’t maître d’ your tryst, Wren, but I’ll tell you what,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his key ring. He fingered through the keys until he came to a shiny silver one and loosened it. He gestured for me to take it.
“What’s this?”
“The key to the love shack,” he answered.
“And what am I supposed to do with it?”
He stepped back, his brows bunched up in confusion. “You mean Josh or Brooke never put you wise to Saint Gwen, the Patron Saint of Clandestine Work Hookups?”
“Um, no, Eben.”
“Well, let’s just say, Guinevere’s Cottage is a lovely place to be alone.”
“Are you kidding me? Have you ever?”
“That’s for you to speculate and me to never tell. Wren, I’m not saying go ravish him; it’s just a place with no distractions, quiet, dark,” he said, lowering his voice at the word dark.
“Yeah, right,” I said, feeling slightly queasy. “How would I even get him over there?”
“Use your imagination. Tell him you lost something from before or that I need you to get something or just tell him, Hey, I’ve got the key to this place where we can be alone. I bet he’d be there faster than you can say . . . Grayson, hey. Good job tonight.”
I turned to see Grayson holding two glasses of soda. He handed me one, then took the straw out of his and chugged. His neck stretched, his Adam’s apple moving slightly as he drank. For some reason it made me think of his lacrosse picture. I bit my lip.
“Some night,” he said, putting the empty glass down on the table next to us.
“Well, get ready for part two. Cake, garter, bouquet, chicken dance, and out of here. . . .” Eben said, clapping him on the back as he walked by. “Going to rally the troops.” I watched him walk into the break room, could feel Grayson’s eyes on me. I shoved the key into my pants pocket. Now or never, Wren.
“Hey, think you could give me a ride home after work?” I asked, nibbling on my straw.
He hesitated. The moment felt agonizingly long, but he finally answered.
“Yeah, sure.”
“The Mercedes-Benz of corkscrews?” Grayson asked as we walked up to the cottage.
I grimaced at my stupidity; I was happy my back was to him. Trying to find Dave-the-bartender’s made-in-France, Laguiole corkscrew was the best excuse I could come up with. Why couldn’t I have thought of something without the word screw in it?
“Yeah, he has a carrier for it and everything. Is completely obsessive about it, which is why he’s freaking out,” I answered, jiggling the key in the lock. The door squeaked open. Eben’s last words of wisdom were to keep the lights out so no one would investigate. How we were supposed to be in here searching for something without lights was beyond me, but I was making it up as I went along. And Grayson, being the above-average guy he was, immediately realized we needed some light.
“No,” I said, sort of batting his hand away from the switch. “We need to check the kitchen first.”
“I’d like to get to the kitchen.”
“We can’t have lights on in two rooms at the same time. It’ll blow a fuse,” I answered. “Um, okay.”
The cottage was dark, but streetlights from the parking lot cast a greenish tint so we could see outlines of furniture. I felt my way along the wall, edging around the doorjamb and into the kitchen, thinking of my next move as seductress.
Thwap.
“Oh, fuck,” Gray spluttered behind me. He was hunched forward, hand on his forehead. I went over and snaked my arm through his.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“No. I think I’m seeing stars. I forgot to duck. . . . Maybe if the lights were on . . .” he kind of growl-spoke through gritted teeth.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I opened the freezer and pulled out a handful of ice. A spare bar towel hung over the sink and I grabbed it, even though it had a slightly sour smell, and wrapped the ice in it, handing it to Grayson. He waved it off.
“I’m okay,” he said, rubbing his forehead.
Just then the front door opened with a loud creak. Without thinking I dropped the towel and reached for Grayson’s free hand.
“Wren?!”
“Shhh . . .”
I dragged him over to the pantry door.
“Duck,” I whispered, pulling him into the tiny space. We faced each other, him hunching over me a little as I shut the door, plunging us into darkness.