Page 153 of Last First Kiss
The circular driveway is at capacity. Every car is sleek and expensive. The young valets are too busy scrolling through their phones to pay any attention to him.
Jordan wanders to the side of the house. Short palm trees spring up from the manicured lawn. Beautiful flowers crawl out from the hedges. The neatly arranged marble lion statues match a handful of stone benches spread across the green.
This property truly is a fairy-tale setting. Too bad it doesn’t promise magic and silly things like happily-ever-after kisses.
Whatever. Jordan doesn’t need any of that bullshit. He only needs an escape and the quarter-empty bottle of Bollinger he’s clutching.
And someone sniffling nearby?
Clumsily, Jordan turns to his left. In a corner, on one of the benches lit blue by the moon, is Amy. Head in her hands, shoulders quaking as she quietly sobs.
Before he’s even thought about it, Jordan flops down next to her.
“Ames?”
She bolts upright, dragging the back of her hand over her face. It doesn’t help. Her waterproof makeup is flawless, but her eyes are puffy, red circling her brown irises. Her lips tremble. Tears hang off her chin.
Jordan drops a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you… just call me Ames?”
Jordan tries to think back. His brain’s moving at half speed. “Maybe?”
The tears start again. “Sorry, sorry,” she says in a watery voice. “I’m fine. These aren’t sad tears.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. Her eyes scrunch in an attempt to stop anything from coming out. It’s another epic fail.
Jordan offers her the bottle. “You look like you need this.”
Amy doesn’t question where he got it from. Or why he’s drinking at her engagement dinner instead of doing his job. She tips the bottle back, gulping. Jordan’s impressed. She lowers it and burps, her tight shoulders finally dropping.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jordan says.
“No.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but your face says otherwise.”
She takes another lengthy swig. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Here as in… out here? On a bench?”
“No!” She gesticulates in the general direction of the giant white tent in the backyard. “Here.”
Jordan nods, even though he’s lost.
Amy passes him the bottle before pulling her knees up to her chest. Her deep navy flare dress has a plungingVneckline and gorgeous floral appliqués all over. She looks like a young girl, disappointed her date didn’t show up for prom.
“Do you know why my parents are in Seoul?”
“No.”
He never bothered to ask. Should he have? It feels like such a personal question. Jordan’s the wedding planner. He’s not Jamie.
“My harabeoji is in the later stages of Alzheimer’s,” Amy says. “I’ve never met him.”
Another tear rolls down her cheek. Silently, Jordan hands her the bottle. She sips, then sniffs.
