“You know Orlando?” she asks, then answers her own question. “Of course. The friend who works for Charles. But where did you two meet?” She nods goodbye to Lyle and Rip, who could care less about our departure; they’re back to arguing between themselves and smiling brightly at the women who sidle in close for a snapshot.

“We grew up together,” I explain as Evelyn steers me through the throng.

The truth is our families lived next door to each other until Ollie went off to college, and even though he’s two years older than me, we were inseparable until Ollie turned twelve and was shipped off to boarding school in Austin. I had been beside myself with envy.

I haven’t seen Ollie for years, but he’s the kind of friend that you don’t need to talk to every day. Months can go by, and then he’ll call me out of the blue, and we pick up the conversation like it had never stopped. He and Jamie are my closest friends in the world and I am beyond giddy that he’s here, right when I need him so desperately.

We’re close now, but he hasn’t noticed us. He’s talking about some television show with another guy, this one in jeans and a sport coat over a pale pink button-down. Very California. Ollie’s hands are moving, because that’s the way he talks, and when he flails one hand my direction, he glances that way out of reflex. I see the moment that realization hits him. He freezes, his hand drops, and he turns to face me, his arms going out wide.

“Nikki? My God, you look amazing.” He pulls me into a tight Ollie hug, then pushes me back, his hands on my shoulders as he looks me up and down.

“Do I pass inspection?”

“When have you not?”

“Why aren’t you in New York?”

“The firm transferred me back last week. I was going to call you this weekend. I couldn’t remember when you were moving out here.” He pulls me into another spontaneous hug, and I’m grinning so wide my mouth is starting to hurt. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“I take it you two know each other,” the guy in jeans says drolly.

“Sorry,” Ollie says. “Nikki, this is Jeff. We work together at Bender, Twain & McGuire.”

“What he means is that I work for him,” Jeff says. “I’m a summer associate. Orlando is a third year now, and they love him there. I think Maynard’s about ready to make him a partner.”

“Very funny,” Ollie says, but he looks pleased.

“Look at you,” I say. “My little guppy’s grown into a full-fledged shark.”

“Ah-ah. You know the rules. For every lawyer joke you make, I get to make two dumb blonde jokes.”

“I take it back.”

“Come on, Jeff,” Evelyn says. “Let’s let these two catch up. We’ll go find our own trouble to get into.”

It would be polite to tell them not to bother, but neither one of us does. We’re too wrapped up in reminiscing, and I’m too happy to have Ollie beside me.

We talk about everything and nothing as we head for the door, taking our conversation outside by silent agreement. I’m completely absorbed, warmed by memories and Ollie’s familiar face. But as we reach the door, I turn back and look at the room. I’m not sure why I do. Maybe it’s just a reflex, but I think it’s something more. I think I’m looking for someone. For him.

Sure enough, my eyes find Damien Stark right away. He’s no longer with Audrey Hepburn. Now he’s talking with a short, balding man. He’s focused and attentive. But his head lifts and his eyes find me.

And in that singular moment, I know that if he asked me to blow off my friend and stay in the room with him, I would do it.

Damn him, and damn me, but I would stay with Damien Stark.

5

I wear Ollie’s jacket and hold my shoes by the straps as we walk along the private beach behind Evelyn’s house. I’m certain we’re not supposed to be out here, but I don’t care. I swing my foot through the water gaily, sending a spray of sea drops scattering. It feels mischievous. It feels good.

“How’s Courtney?” I ask. “Is she glad you’re back?” That’s a dangerous question where Ollie is concerned. Courtney is his on-again/off-again girlfriend. “On again” because she’s amazing and Ollie would be an idiot to do something stupid and screw it up. “Off again” because Ollie has crossed that idiot line more than once.

“She’s engaged,” he says.

“Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. I should be consoling and tell Ollie he’ll find someone else amazing, but all I can think is that he’s screwed up.

Suddenly, he’s laughing. “To me, doofus.”

“Oh, thank God!” I bump him playfully with my shoulder. “I thought you’d blown it.”

His expression turns serious. “I almost did. New York was hard. Being away from her. Being tempted. But no more. She’s the only woman for me. Damn, Nik. How did I manage to get her?”

“Because you’re a great guy.”

“I’m fucked up, and you know it.”

“Everyone’s a little fucked up, but Courtney sees the guy underneath. And she loves you.”

“She does,” he says with a grin. “It amazes me every day, but it’s true. She really does.” He eyes me sideways. “Speaking of fucked up, how are you really doing?”

I pull his jacket tighter around me. “I’m great. I already told you.” I stop walking and dig my toes into the sand. The waves come in and swoosh over my bare feet before rushing out again, leaving me sinking a bit, the ground shifting under me.

Beside me, Ollie just gives me that look. Like he knows all my secrets, and I frown because it’s true.

I shrug. “It’s easier now. College was fucked up for a while, but it got better.” I shoot him a smile because he’d been a big part of making it get better. “And now, I don’t know. But it feels good being away from Texas. Really, I’m doing fine.” I shrug again. I don’t want to talk right now.

I turn around and start walking. “We should get back.”

He nods and falls in step beside me. We walk silently for a while, the lights of Evelyn’s house growing closer. The sound of the ocean fills the space between us. It’s deep and rhythmic and I feel like I could get lost in it. Like maybe I already am a little lost.

We walk about fifty more yards, then he pauses. “So how do you feel about tuxedos?” he asks, as if it’s the most normal question in the world.

“I feel good about them,” I say. “Tuxedos are a time-honored tradition in the world of formal wear. I have to take points off for practicality, though. Hard to surf in a tux. Doable, but hard.”

He laughs. “I want you to be my best man,” he says, and I get a little lump in my throat. “Courtney’s cool with it,” he continues, “but she thinks the pictures will look better if you wear a tux. You know, the guy side in penguin suits, the girl side in silk and satin. What do you say?”

I hug myself and blink back tears. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“That’s why I’m asking. It was either that or marry you, and I think the second option would piss Courtney off.” He watches me, obviously expecting me to laugh. When I don’t, his expression softens. “Thanks.”