Page 91 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
He blinked back up at me.
Center table, Adele had said.
My stomach did that thing it had been doing lately every time I tried to reason my way around Delaney Hart.
Complicated. I’d just used that word with Wyatt. My advice still ringing in my ears.
Was I just choosing to complicate things or was there something else going on here?
Chapter Sixteen
DELANEY
Cheryl, Adele, and I entered the local Firehouse Hall and were immediately hit with a wall of noise, expensive perfume, and the kind of collective feminine energy that meant a significant portion of the guests had not come just to donate to charity.
They had come toshop.
I’d been expecting folding tables and a raffle for a gift basket by the front door. Maybe a cash bar that ran out of ice. Something adequately civic and mildly depressing.
Instead, the entryway featured gold rope lining both sides, black lanterns glowing along the floor, and twinkle lights threaded across the ceiling and rafters in a deliberate imitation of the night sky. Draped black curtains framed the main entrance with warm lighting pooling against the parted fabric, and the sliver of the main room I could see from my current vantage point was giving wedding venue vibes for people who made considerably better money than I did.
I stopped walking, and Cheryl slammed into me.
“This is yourFirehouse Hall?” I turned to Adele.
She giggled. “Courtesy of the Kingsley family.”
Of course. I should’ve known.
“Ticket, please.” A teenage girl held out her hand just inside the doorway.
“Hey, Mia,” Cheryl greeted her. “Have you made any decisions for next year?”
The teen smiled, and for a second, that professional composure cracked into something genuinely hopeful. “Fingers crossed, I’ll be going to my top pick art school. We just have to figure out finances first.”
We handed over our tickets. “Good luck,” I told her, and meant it.
She smiled her thanks, handed us our programs, and moved on to the next group, with an efficiency that put most adults to shame.
“Want to grab a drink before we snag a table?” Cheryl asked. She was already eyeing the volunteer fire department members who’d donated their evening to stand behind the bar and look good doing it.
“Obviously,” Adele and I said at the same time.
Adele tugged me along as I gaped at the room. The black and gold theme continued inside—sheer black fabric draped the walls, balloon arches anchored the corners, and round tables were strategically placed within the room.
Impressivedidn’t even cover it.
I sipped my spiked berry lemonade and tried not to feel like I’d accidently wandered into a holiday party for people in a higher tax bracket. “I feel very underdressed.”
Adele ran her eyes up and down my body. “I think you look great.”
“I’m wearing a leather jacket.”
“You lookgreat.”
I turned to her, wanting to acknowledge her chic style, resplendent in a gold and black sequined dress with long sleeves that hugged every generous curve, the deep V-neck and high leg slit doing things that should probably require some kind of permit. “You look like you’re here to make someone regret every decision that led them away from you.” I linked my arm through hers. “Any particular reason you got so dolled up?”
She shook her head, and pink tinted her cheeks so fast she might as well have answered out loud, “yes!”
